fr
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 t 
 
 a
 
 SPEECHES OF A VETERAN 
 By ELIOT CALLENDER 
 
 THE BLUE SKY PRESS 
 CHICAGO MCMI
 
 Of this Book there have been twenty-five 
 copies printed on Van Gelder hand 
 made paper; this being numder V 
 
 Privately printed for 
 Eliot Cal lender by 
 Langworthy & Stevens
 
 5 
 l 
 
 CIVIL WAR PAPERS 
 NUMBER ONE 
 
 SOME EARLY DAYS OF THE 
 REBELLION: Delivered before 
 the Farragut Naval Veterans' As 
 sociation, Palmer House, Chicago, 
 Illinois, October, 1900. 
 
 \ 
 
 V! 

 
 one received such enduring and vivid 
 'impressions of what the Rebellion meant 
 as he who witnessed its beginnings and 
 ^outbreak in the Border States. In the 
 North the sentiment was pretty much 
 one way, and in the extreme South it was altogether 
 so, but in the Border States there existed an atmos 
 phere unknown to either the North or the South, 
 both politically and socially. It was the prize ring 
 in which the contestants were soon to match their 
 strength and endurance, and the preparations for 
 the conflict were as exciting as the battles themselves 
 were. The situation was full of uncertainty, sus 
 picion and apprehension. Life-long friends were 
 friends no longer. Slights grew into insults, and 
 insults rapidly ripened into hatred; boys "scrapped" 
 over the back fence while their fathers passed each 
 other with a sneer on the sidewalk. To be a rebel 
 was bad; to be a Yank was worse, while both sides 
 visited the unfortunate who tried to carry water on 
 both shoulders, as a traitor and a sneak, and true 
 to nothing. This atmosphere penetrated even the 
 family circle, and the natural love between brothers 
 and sisters and parents and children was turned into 
 the bitterest hatred. 
 
 Such were the early days of 1861 in St. Louis, 
 where the writer, the son of a slaveholder, rapidly 
 ran through the scale from love for the South and 
 its institutions, through compromise and peace at 
 any price, up to the time he promised Uncle Sam 
 that for $13.00 a month he would undertake to 
 put down the Rebellion, single-handed and alone, 
 if necessary. The Germans were the most loyal 
 of the population of that city; the French and Irish 
 the most disloyal, an index finger pointing to the
 
 world's next great struggle when the freedom-loving 
 races, made up of the Anglo-Saxon and German 
 would be drawn up in deadly conflict with the Latin 
 and Celt. 
 
 The municipal campaign that year gave every 
 opportunity for the surcharged feeling which was 
 already at boiling point. On more than one oc 
 casion I have seen antagonistic political organiza 
 tions panoplied in capes and caps, and armed with 
 torches, meet on one of the narrow streets, and the 
 efforts which each side made to beat light into the 
 heads of the other, made a harvest for the small 
 boy in gathering up the debris of wrecked torches 
 and torn capes and caps. 
 
 I remember well one night when Frank P. Blair, 
 afterwards a Major-General in the Union Army, 
 and a United States Senator, attempted to speak 
 at a political rally at the west end of Lucas Market 
 Place; his well-turned sentences were punctuated 
 with eggs of all ages and conditions, and the meet 
 ing resolved itself into a free-for-all fight in which 
 there was unanimity of feeling on but one point, 
 and that was, wherever you see a head, hit it. 
 
 The writer's home at that time was with a wealthy 
 citizen of Republican proclivities, and these were 
 so well known that, as the air darkened with the 
 oncoming clouds of War, threatenings loud and 
 deep were made not only against his person, but 
 against his property. St. Louis' four hundred were 
 forming a regiment for the defense of the sacred 
 soil of Missouri, and to resist the aggressions of 
 Federal tyranny; they went into camp on the out 
 skirts of the city, where they were daily showered 
 with bouquets and kisses, and the best bands in 
 the city played from morning until night. The
 
 intention of these heroes to make a raid through 
 the city destroying the property and persons of 
 the Yankees was in no wise concealed, and the 
 writer well remembers four boys who kept watch 
 and ward night after night, in the third story of 
 Hon. John Howe's residence, armed with shot 
 guns, rifles, butcher knives and tuning forks. 
 What would have resulted in that third story if the 
 Confederacy had made a raid upon it, was averted 
 by a kindly providence. But I do know that when 
 ever a fresh rumor struck our ears, a fresh load went 
 into each shot-gun, until it was far more certain of 
 death in the rear than it was in the front. But be 
 fore we were called upon to experiment with this 
 amply-loaded armament, the Germans of St. Louis 
 thought that the silk stockings out at Camp Jack 
 son had had most fun enough, and organized a 
 regiment called the Schwartze-Jaegers, and under 
 the command of Frank Blair went one dark night in 
 March out to Camp Jackson and routed the Con 
 federacy, foot, horse, and dragon, silk stockings, tile 
 hats and bouquets. And the only weapon they 
 appear to have used was double-soled boots, which 
 were applied with such impartiality and vigor that 
 I never knew the Confederacy afterwards to sit 
 down in St. Louis. 
 
 One morning, from the old Berthold mansion, 
 corner of Fifth and Chestnut streets, a yellow flag 
 with the state arms of Missouri was seen waving 
 in the breeze. The excitement was tremendous. 
 No one knew exactly what the flag meant or was 
 intended to represent, but it evidently breathed 
 defiance to the stars and stripes, and as such was 
 cheered by the Southerners and hissed by those 
 who believed in only one country and one flag. The
 
 excitement increased as the hours of the day wore 
 on, until evening, when a desperate conflict took 
 place in front of the house, in which decorated eyes 
 and sanguinary noses and cracked skulls abounded. 
 All the windows in the house were smashed in, and 
 under the leadership of some enthusiastic patriot, 
 an informal call was made upon the family, which 
 resulted in their sliding down the back stairs, while 
 the yellow rag was dragged from its place and torn 
 into shreds. The writer, who watched this scene 
 from the protecting rear of a kindly-disposed to 
 bacco store Indian on the other side of the street, 
 never remembers his heart beating more tumult- 
 ously, unless it was a few days later when the ob 
 ject of his affections, who was wont to lavish on him 
 a whole wealth of smiles and greetings, turned up 
 her petite and classical little nose, and alluded to 
 him as a "mudsill" and "scum of the earth" and 
 said she would "not have anything more to do with 
 such truck as a Yank." , 
 
 My first impressions in the Navy were taken in 
 the Army. Very few of you sad sea dogs partake of 
 my amphibious nature. I suppose I might be called 
 a web-footed soldier. My first naval experience 
 consisted in dropping a steamboat one iark night 
 from St. Louis down to Carondelet,where one hun 
 dred or more employees of the tan yard with which 
 I was connected, loaded the contents of that estab 
 lishment, raw, wrought, and in process of manu 
 facture. This was done to avoid the threatened 
 destruction of the premises by the Southern ele 
 ment, which so cordially hated my Republican em 
 ployer. The stock of the tan yard was brought up 
 the river to Peoria where it was finished and dis 
 posed of. But the war had quite a start by that
 
 time, and I felt that I, personally, had a score to 
 settle with the Southern sympathizers, who had 
 already robbed me of my girl and my job. 
 
 The Eleventh Illinois Cavalry was forming at 
 Peoria, with that redoubtable warrior, Col. Robert 
 G. Ingersoll, in command. I was given a gray horse 
 of abnormal proportions and a backbone that would 
 have done for a continental divide; it was riding 
 this horse that afterwards drove me into the Navy. 
 "Bob" Ingersoll, at no time a military hero, pos 
 sessed at this time but one trait in that line, and 
 that was a love for the cup that both cheers and 
 inebriates. He ran the regiment very much as if 
 it were a circus, and the more fun he got out of it 
 the greater the success he was making. Although 
 a boy of but eighteen years of age at the time, six 
 weeks observation of the discipline, or the lack of 
 it, in the Illinois nth Cavalry, made me hungry 
 for some other branch of the service. I felt that 
 regiment would never come to any good end under 
 its leadership, and subsequent events proved the 
 truth of my impressions. 
 
 Being well acquainted with Col. Ingersoll social 
 ly, I went to him one day and said, "Colonel, I 
 believe I Would like to get into the United States 
 Navy." He answered right promptly, "Callender, 
 you are a damn fool." Informing him that I was 
 well aware of the fact, I told him that my father 
 was a sea-faring man, and the hunger I had for the 
 Navy had become wellnigh insupportable. Look 
 ing me straight in the eye, he said, "Do you mean 
 it?" I said, "I do." "Well," he said, "Go, and 
 be damned to you"; and I went. Although mus 
 tered in, I left that night for St. Louis and enlisted 
 for three years, or during the War, in the Missis-
 
 sippi Squadron. 
 
 The Fremont Gunboats, as they were then 
 called, were being built at St. Louis, five of them I 
 think, under the superintendence of James B. Eads, 
 the celebrated engineer. The style of architecture 
 was something frightful to contemplate, but for 
 all-around boats they could not be beaten. They 
 could go any way, forwards, sideways, or backwards, 
 with equal facility. The best of them, (the racer 
 of the fleet) once made two miles an hour going 
 up stream. They were 135 feet long and 50 feet 
 beam, and were essentially of the mud turtle style 
 of architecture. The nautical ability of Assistant 
 Secretary of the Navy Fox, John C. Fremont, and 
 General Halleck was lavished on these boats. To 
 be sure, none of these gentlemen had ever been 
 accused of nautical ability prior to the inception of 
 these boats, and were probably quite free from any 
 such imputation afterwards. James B. Eads of St. 
 Louis, the engineer who afterwards built the bridge 
 and the jetties at the mouth of the Mississippi, 
 managed to save these boats from bfeing simple 
 floating batteries. They were really quite well 
 adapted for the purpose for which they were in 
 tended. They could get into a fight* but could 
 not get out of it. This made heroes of all who 
 served on them, for no such thing as retreat was 
 possible. They drew but six feet of water, and 
 were remarkably free from all causes tending to 
 seasickness. 
 
 The Benton was the largest and best of these 
 boats, and was named after the famous Missourian, 
 Thomas H. Benton, who was General Fremont's 
 father-in-law. As this noble craft swung out into 
 the Mississippi River on its way to Cairo, it car-
 
 ried a distinguished company amongst whom were 
 the Assistant Secretary of the Navy, General Fre 
 mont, and James B. Eads, to say nothing of my 
 self. I had been offered the position of landsman 
 on the boat, and though doubting my ability to 
 discharge the duties pertaining to that lucrative and 
 responsible office, I felt that somehow I made up 
 in loyalty what I lacked in ability. We ran onto 
 so many bars in the river that we felt no need of 
 one on board, and if we accidently missed one be 
 tween St. Louis and Cairo, it was compensated for 
 by running into the bank. We certainly succeeded 
 in clearing that stretch of the river of all naviga 
 tion during our progress, for all kinds of craft had 
 to take to the woods or get run over. 
 
 It was a momentous day when the five gunboats, 
 the Benton, Cincinnati, St. Louis, Carondolet, and 
 Cairo, lay side by side, moored to the wharf at Cairo 
 with great hawsers. Five hundred real and alleged 
 sailors sat upon the levy, waiting to be assigned to 
 the different boats. There were men there who 
 had grown gray in the United States service, and 
 there were others that made the service turn gray 
 through their ignorance. There were men there 
 who had been in every known sea on the globe un 
 der the old flag; there were others whose knowledge 
 of water had been confined to some period in their 
 youth when they had been forced by an unfeeling 
 parent to take a bath. As this heterogenous and 
 motley mass were waiting to be divided up, there 
 was a shout, and a cry of "Look there, look there." 
 It was some little time before I could locate the 
 tumult, then I observed three rats running along 
 the hawsers from the gunboat Cairo, to the shore. 
 I thought it was a very little thing to create such
 
 a commotion but understood better a little later 
 when the one hundred and twenty-five men who 
 were drawn off for the Cairo flatly refused to go; 
 expressions that they would rather die than go on 
 that boat, being frequent. I had heard before of 
 "rats deserting a sinking ship," but never quite felt 
 the force of it until I saw that same gunboat Cairo, 
 early in the rebellion, blown up by a torpedo in the 
 Yazoo River, sink to the bottom with all on board. 
 She was not over one hundred feet from the boat 
 on which I was signal officer, when she went down. 
 The incident of that afternoon on the levy at Cairo 
 came upon me on the instant with such force that, 
 while I do not claim to be superstitious, I am quite 
 sure I would rather walk even now, than ride in 
 any boat which I had seen deserted by a rat. 
 
 The Confederates had fortified Columbus, eight 
 een or twenty miles below Cairo, and as the river 
 made quite an abrupt turn here, and as the banks 
 were quite precipitous and elevated, a very few guns 
 made a very formidable obstruction, especially a 
 plunging shot directed at boats with the light wood 
 en tops. They had two or three small gunboats, 
 mere river craft fixed up for the occasion. One 
 was a particularly impertinent and saucy fellow that 
 would frequently come up the river and look at 
 matters around Cairo from a distance only measured 
 by the guns on the fortifications. The Parrott rifle, 
 so common since, was new then, and the Benton 
 had one, a 3 2 -pounder. If I remember rightly the 
 old smooth bores could not be relied upon for over 
 a mile. This Parrot would carry three. 
 
 One day Commodore Foote started out on a little 
 reconnaissance, when, on turning the bend below 
 Cairo, we discovered this little rebel craft out on
 
 the same kind of an expedition, coming up the 
 river; she was fully two miles from us, and know 
 ing nothing of anything save the smooth bores, she 
 made no hurry to get away. Flag officer Foote 
 called up Lieutenant Bishop who, by the way, 
 was one of the handsomest young naval officers 
 with which it was my pleasure to become ac 
 quainted in the service, and who was an expert shot 
 with heavy guns, and said to him, "Bishop, do you 
 think you can worry that little fellow with your 
 Parrott?" "I can try," said the lieutenant, who went 
 below, and in a few minutes the Parrott spoke right 
 out in meeting. The officers all watched the shot 
 with their glasses, when to their delight and the 
 consternation of the Confederate gunboat, the shot 
 struck the water apparently not fifty feet from the 
 boat, and for aught I know ricochetted and went 
 right through her. The English language would 
 have to be beggared for adequate words to describe 
 the way in which that little boat gathered herself 
 up and pulled out down the river. They probably 
 had a darky sitting on the safety valve, and fed the 
 furnace with coal oil or anything else that would 
 help hurry. A certain Southern congressman who 
 attempted to make a speech after fortifying him 
 self with several cups of the famous cold tea that 
 was dispensed in a restaurant at the Capitol, lost 
 the thread of his argument, and after talking aim 
 lessly for several minutes, stopped, looked hope 
 lessly around, and in a desperate effort to save him 
 self, called out "Mr. Speaker, where are we at?" 
 The Mississippi squadron, during the first year of 
 its existence, had more occasion than the congress 
 man referred to, to ask this question. The boats 
 were really built under army auspices, with old Gid-
 
 eon Wells, the Secretary of the Navy, acting as a 
 kind of wet nurse. They were officered in part by 
 the regular Navy appointments, but the comple 
 ment was made out from those who had taken a 
 regular course of instruction, and had won diplomas 
 as farmers, merchants and steamboat men, to say 
 nothing of myself, who graduated from a tan yard. 
 General Halleck considered them a part of his 
 Western Army and under his direct orders. 
 
 But we were not a circumstance compared with 
 Ellet's Marine Brigade of Rams, which was organ 
 ized shortly afterwards; that belonged to neither 
 Army nor Navy, and defied both of them. In 
 looking back at it, I considered at that time that 
 we were in a particularly fortunate position, for if 
 the Army did something praiseworthy, we patted 
 ourselves on the back, as an integral portion of that 
 organization. If the glory of the Navy became 
 ascendant, we strutted around with our thumbs in 
 our armpits, and said, "That's us." The like of 
 the drill on those boats, this country has never seen 
 before or since. It was an impartial conglomera 
 tion of infantry, artillery and naval tactics, spiced 
 with a dash of marine and cavalry manoeuvers. We 
 got to feel that we were particularly well equipped, 
 all-around, holy terrors, and like alligators, quite 
 at home afloat or ashore. 
 
 But in all the motley crowd gathered at Cairo in 
 those early days, we certainly constituted the four 
 hundred, and this reminds me of a large party given 
 one evening by a daughter of a leading banker of 
 Cairo. I might not have been very handy at that 
 time in reefing a topsail or splicing a rope, but I 
 was at home in three or four different languages on 
 the waxed floor, and was happiest in the society of
 
 the fair sex. At this party mentioned, there was 
 a large attendance of the cream of Cairo society, 
 as well as of the Army and Navy. During the 
 height of the festivities, "when eyes looked love 
 to eyes that spoke again, and all went happy as a 
 marriage bell," I noticed an officer, rather under 
 sized, who instead of participating in the festivities, 
 looked a long way off from getting his money's 
 worth, as he stood plastered up against the wall, 
 with an expression so unhappy and out of place 
 with his surroundings, that he not only challenged 
 my attention, but exercised my sympathies. "Who 
 is that officer?" I asked the hostess. She said it 
 was General Grant. He had just at that time been 
 made Brigadier General, and looked as if his single 
 star had stuck to his stomach. "Can you not make 
 him dance," I asked. She said, "No, he has de 
 clined all overtures in that direction." I imme 
 diately hunted up a young lady, one of those care 
 less, happy, vivacious, and dare-devil spirits who 
 was up to anything that promised amusement, told 
 her of my intentions, and taking her up to the Gen 
 eral, introduced her, with the request that he fill 
 up one of the sets then forming on the floor. He 
 stammered his declination, said he could not dance, 
 was doing very nicely where he was, but while doing 
 so, the young lady had hooked onto his arm, and 
 assisted by me with the other arm, he was out on 
 the floor, the unhappiest man in two continents, 
 and fairly launched into a quadrille. It is unneces 
 sary to add that he wandered aimlessly around 
 through the quadrille, stepping on everybody else's 
 feet, and running over the ladies on the corner, and 
 put in most of his time hunting for his partner, 
 while the bored and startled expression on his face
 
 would have stopped a clock. But his partner, every 
 now and then would gather him up, and dance 
 him around under the call for "All promenade," and 
 I know the step he struck was never described 
 in Hardee's tactics. She finally took him over to 
 his place against the wall when the set was over, 
 covered with perspiration and confusion, and he 
 then beat a hasty retreat from the room just as soon 
 as his partner's back was turned. 
 
 I went down to the General's cottage at Long 
 Branch, years afterwards, when he was President of 
 the United States, with a request for a favor for a 
 relative. He kindly acceded to my desire, and 
 gave me the necessary order. He then asked me 
 where he had seen me before. I recalled the epi 
 sode of the dance at Banker Candee's at Cairo. A 
 quiet smile played around the General's mouth, 
 and he sententiously remarked, "You got that or 
 der just in time." 
 
 And now I will close this desultory rambling 
 through "Some early days of the Rebellion" with 
 a little episode of personal experience which shows 
 how early in life your true naval hero indicates the 
 history-making power. 
 
 Having risen from the rank of landsman to the 
 absorbing and responsible position of Jack of the 
 Dust, I felt it was only a step from dealing out 
 rations to a hungry crew to the position of line 
 officer with all the shoulder straps, gold lace, but 
 tons and other accessories pertaining thereto. I 
 informed Flag Officer Foote as delicately as I could 
 that I would not refuse a commission as Master's 
 Mate if it was thrust upon me. He asked if I 
 had ever had any sea service, and I told him I had. 
 He then asked what cruise I had taken. He should
 
 not have pushed the matter so far, for I was then 
 obliged to tell him that I had gone from Boston 
 to Portland one night on a steamer. I think the 
 laugh the Flag Officer indulged in upon receipt of 
 this information, was really the cause of my getting 
 the commission. 
 
 The first service I undertook under my new 
 rank was an expedition to a Jew clothing store at 
 Cairo, where I gave the proprietor carte blanche 
 for a uniform that would contain all that the law 
 allowed. I ordered him to spare nothing, and he 
 did not; and when I donned that toggery a couple 
 of days afterwards, I had to look at it through a 
 smoked glass, and the oil lamps with which the 
 store was lighted were not in it for a minute with 
 the buttons on that coat. I was afraid to go out 
 on the street very suddenly for fear I would par 
 alyze traffic. 
 
 My next effort for my country consisted in be 
 sieging Captain Pennock's office for forty-eight 
 hours leave of absence to go home and show my 
 clothes. I suppose I used some other argument 
 with him, but it was in disguise. The captain had 
 but one eye, and that was kindly disposed, and 
 while he felt that the service needed every moment 
 of my time, under the pressing circumstances sur 
 rounding this trip to Peoria, he felt that the country 
 ought to wait and let me go. I could have taken 
 a train that night and reached Peoria in the morn 
 ing; but was I going to hide that uniform on a 
 night train? Perish the thought! 
 
 The next morning found me seeking access to 
 the rear car on the train, which in those days was 
 always the ladies' car. No one in the service was 
 permitted on that car unless accompanied by one
 
 of the other sex. But you will all understand why 
 it was impossible for me to ride in any other car 
 under the circumstances. The brutal brakeman 
 who stood guard at the door refused me admission, 
 when, with the air of a man who had the whole 
 United States Navy at his back, as well as on his 
 coat, I asked him if he did not permit a man to 
 ride on the same car with his sister. He apolo 
 gized and let me in. 
 
 There was quite a number of people in the car, 
 mostly ladies, and two who were both strikingly 
 young and fair to look upon occupied a seat pretty 
 well in front. That was the neighborhood I felt 
 called upon to camp in. Taking a seat on the other 
 side and just in front of them, I stretched my arm 
 with its gold band and circle of big buttons, along 
 the back of the seat, and saw with satisfaction that 
 the young ladies were not only all eyes, but their 
 mouths were opened with ill-concealed wonder 
 ment and admiration. Navy uniforms were very 
 scarce in those days, and few persons in Illinois 
 had ever seen one. This helped render my po 
 sition a particularly gratifying one. 
 
 While in the seventh heaven of happiness over 
 the effect of my presence in the car, a tall and 
 stately man rose from the rear, and walking delib 
 erately forward, faced round in front of me with 
 what was intended for a benevolent smile. Hamlet 
 truly says, "A man may smile and smile, and be 
 a villain," and this was the very fellow. He spoke 
 in a very loud tone of voice so that everyone in 
 the car could hear him and, washing his hands with 
 imaginary soap, he said, "My young friend, I see 
 you belong to the Navy." The young ladies op 
 posite were now all ears, and in a lofty manner I
 
 condescendingly informed him that I did. I felt 
 that I had the honor and dignity of a whole branch 
 of the service to maintain, and I proposed being 
 equal to the occasion. "You are a midshipman, I 
 see," he said. I was not, but I could not help but 
 tell him I was. "What state were you appointed 
 from ?" he inquired in a loud tone of voice. Feel 
 ing that it was just as well to give the state of my 
 present residence the benefit of my position, I 
 stated, "Illinois." He said, "I knew you were a 
 midshipman just as soon as you entered the car; 
 I knew it from your uniform. I had a dear brother 
 once," he said, "who was a midshipman." He 
 did not stop to wipe away a tear, but he ought to 
 have done so, "and when he was obliged to wear 
 a coat like the one you have on, he was at once 
 struck with the peculiarity of that row of buttons 
 around the lower part of the sleeve. He did not 
 understand why those buttons should have been 
 put there, as whenever he tried to write there was 
 always a big button between him and the table, 
 which wobbled his hand from one side to the other." 
 Everybody in the car was now all ears. The 
 situation was exciting, and up to this point was one 
 of the proudest moments of my life. "After de 
 liberating," my interlocutor went on, "through the 
 whys and wherefores of those button-bedecked 
 sleeves, he went to the president of the Naval 
 Academy for the desired information. The pres 
 ident received him kindly, and stated he was pleased 
 at the inquiring turn of mind which my brother 
 exhibited, and stated, 'Those buttons were put on 
 midshipmen's sleeves by a special act of Congress, 
 dated December i4th, 1842, and were designed to 
 prevent midshipmen from the nefarious practice of
 
 wiping their noses on their coat sleeves.' ' 
 
 A shout went up from one end of the car to the 
 other. My persecutor vanished, and for the first 
 time I realized how suffocatingly hot the atmos 
 phere of that infernal car was. I gathered up my 
 little bundle and rode the rest of the journey in 
 the ordinary, every day car, along with the common 
 people.
 
 CIVIL WAR PAPERS 
 NUMBER TWO 
 
 WHAT A BOY SAW ON THE 
 MISSISSIPPI: Given by Eliot 
 Callender at Kinsley's, Chicago, 
 Illinois, October, 1889. 

 
 ,HEN the dark clouds of war rolled up 
 on the hitherto peaceful horizon of our 
 beloved land, when men were saying 
 "What does all this mean, and how will 
 it end," two great minds, at least, 
 grasped the situation and decided that it meant busi 
 ness" and was going to end in a heap of unpleas 
 antness. These two minds also met on another 
 point, and that was, the value of the great Missis 
 sippi River, and the necessity of opening it, and 
 keeping it open. With these minds, to conceive 
 was to act, and Abraham Lincoln ordered a fleet 
 of gunboats built at once, whilst your humble serv 
 ant, working at the other end of the line, promptly 
 accepted the responsible and lucrative position of 
 ordinary seaman on one of them. Everything be 
 ing now in readiness, the war began. 
 
 The first iron-clad gunboats on the Mississippi 
 were fearfully and wonderfully made. General John 
 C. Fremont, James B. Eads, of St. Louis, General 
 Halleck and Assistant Secretary of the Navy Fox, 
 all had a hand in them. To be sure, none of the 
 worthy gentlemen had ever seen a gunboat before, 
 but what of that, they had no mossgrown theories 
 to overcome, and the result of their joint labors 
 was a "what is it," the like of which the world 
 never saw before, and the plates being destroyed, 
 no more copies can be furnished. They could go 
 anywhere that the current went, and the current is 
 pretty swift in that river. The racer of that fleet 
 in an exciting struggle, made two miles an hour 
 upstream, and then tied up to the bank till the less 
 gifted boats caught up with her; what they lacked 
 in speed, however,was more than made up in style. 
 Of the mud-turtle school of architecture, with just
 
 a dash of pollywog treatment in the way of relief, 
 they struck terror to every guilty soul as they 
 floated down the river, especially when it was 
 found they were loaded. 
 
 Commodore (afterwards Rear Admiral) A. H. 
 Foote was sent West to command the Mississippi 
 Squadron. He was the first general officer of the 
 war that I came in contact with, and none made a 
 more lasting impression. I can see him now, as I 
 saw him when I stood before him trying to con 
 vince him that my career in a tan yard had emi 
 nently fitted me for a commission in the U. S. Navy, 
 and the same quiet smile that played over his patient 
 but strong features as he declined my request played 
 there again at Fort Henry when he ordered the Cin 
 cinnati, his flagship, up to within one hundred yards 
 of the Fort, though at twelve hundred yards her 
 decks were slippery with blood, and the cries of the 
 wounded frequently drowned the noise of battle. 
 
 A good many of us, my friends, have proved 
 that the courage which availed us on the field of 
 battle, deserted us in the hour of temptation and 
 moral danger. Admiral Foote was a hero always; 
 a quiet, unassuming gentleman, but one who feared 
 nothing but his God; his duty as he saw it, marked 
 the path in which he trod. At Cairo, one Sunday 
 morning in the closing days of 1861, two or three 
 hundred were gathered together in the leading 
 church of that town. The hour of service arrived 
 and passed and no steps were taken toward a com 
 mencement; at length one of the officers of the 
 church arose in his seat, and stated that for some 
 unknown cause the minister had failed to arrive, 
 and the audience would be dismissed unless it con 
 tained some one who would kindly lead the service.
 
 A pause, and Admiral Foote arose and taking off 
 his overcoat as he walked up the aisle, ascended 
 the pulpit and gave out a hymn, led in prayer, and 
 finally gave us a discourse of half an hour that 
 would have done credit to any divine. A strict 
 disciplinarian, his ear was open to every appeal, and 
 justice was meted out in the Mississippi Squadron 
 without fear or favor. We all felt the prevailing 
 force of a master mind, and all respected and 
 loved it. 
 
 The first battle in the world's history where iron 
 clad vessels were used in the offensive, occurred at 
 Fort Henry February 6th, 1862. England and 
 Germany both had representatives on the scene of 
 battle within ten days time, and received exhaustive 
 reports as to the effect of shot and shell on the iron 
 clad armor, the weight and size of the. guns used 
 on both sides, the range and distances, and every 
 detail of the action. 
 
 It was purely a naval engagement on our side, 
 the advance of General Grant's cavalry galloping 
 into the fort fully forty minutes after the Confed 
 erate flag was lowered and while General Floyd B. 
 Tighlman was on the "Cincinnati" tendering his 
 sword to Admiral Foote. 
 
 Had not such a miscalculation as to the time it 
 would take for the army to reach the twelve-mile 
 road running from Fort Henry on the Tennessee 
 to Fort Donelson on the Cumberland occurred, 
 the entire force of the enemy in Fort Henry con 
 sisting of the better part of a brigade, would have 
 been captured; but this did not seem to worry 
 General Grant much for, satisfied that they were 
 safe in Donelson, he gathered them in together 
 with an entire army about ten days later.
 
 An interesting incident (and one which has never 
 seen print) occurred the evening before the battle: 
 Generals Grant, McClernand, Smith and another 
 officer whose name escapes me, came aboard the 
 "Cincinnati" about dusk to hold a conference with 
 the Admiral and arrange a program for the as 
 sault on the fort the next day. While they were 
 in the cabin, the wooden gunboat "Conestoga," 
 under the command of Lieutenant (now Cap 
 tain) Seffridge, which had been ordered on a re- 
 connoitering expedition up the river to ascertain 
 if the channel was clear of obstructions, dropped 
 alongside of the flagship and unloaded a huge tor 
 pedo which she had pulled out of the river above, 
 on the Cincinnati's fantail. The fantail of these 
 ironclads was a space at the stern of the boat near 
 the water edge, running the width of the boat and 
 about fifteen feet deep; across it worked the steer 
 ing apparatus connected with the rudders. From 
 the extreme end of the fantail arose the iron end 
 of the sun decks about ten feet high on an inclined 
 plane, which was ascended by an ordinary ship lad 
 der. The conference being over, the army officers, 
 accompanied by the Admiral, came down this lad 
 der to the fantail, and were about embarking on 
 the row-boat with which they had reached the flag 
 ship, when their attention was attracted to the tor 
 pedo which lay at their feet. They gathered around 
 it with expressions of interest and curiosity as it 
 was the first seen in the war. It was a formidable 
 affair, being an iron cylinder about five feet long 
 and eighteen inches in diameter, pointed at both 
 ends, with a long iron rod projecting upward, ter 
 minating at one end in three iron prongs to catch 
 the bottom of the boat passing over it and con-
 
 nected at the other end with an ordinary musket 
 lock which was fixed to explode a cap. General 
 Grant expressing a wish to see the mechanism of 
 the affair, the ship armorer was sent for, who soon 
 appeared with monkey wrench, hammer and chis 
 els. The iron end was loosened and removed, 
 disclosing another end in a cap with a screw head. 
 It was now getting interesting and the assembled 
 officers bent closely over it in order to get a better 
 view of the infernal contrivance. As this cap was 
 unscrewed it allowed vent to a quantity of gas in 
 side, probably generated from wet powder; it 
 rushed out with a loud sizzing noise. Believing 
 that the hour for evening prayer had arrived, two 
 of the army officers threw themselves face down 
 upon the deck. Admiral Foote, with the agility 
 of a cat sprang up the ship's ladder followed 
 with commendable enthusiasm by General Grant. 
 Reaching the top, and realizing that the danger, if 
 any, had passed, the Admiral turned to General 
 Grant, who was displaying more energy than grace 
 in his first efforts on a ship's ladder, and said with 
 his quiet smile, "General, why this haste?" "That 
 the Navy may not get ahead of us," as quietly re 
 sponded the General as he turned around to come 
 down. A hearty laugh was now in order and was 
 indulged in by all hands. The armorer proceeded 
 with his work and the dissection was completed. 
 The thought has come to me more than once in 
 these latter days, how the explosion of that torpedo 
 that evening might have changed the entire history 
 of the war. 
 
 After the capture of Forts Henry and Donelson 
 the Confederate line was forced south of Nashville. 
 Columbus on the Mississippi, though strongly for-
 
 tified, was evacuated, and the Mississippi squadron 
 found itself resisted at Island No. 10. General 
 Pope was at New Madrid Mission, two miles be 
 low the Island, but not able to cross the river and 
 attack the Confederate works in the rear, owing to 
 a lack of transportation, and the assiduous atten 
 tions of these Confederate gunboats. Our fleet 
 was held three miles above the island by strong 
 earthworks, which not only lined the entire left 
 side of the island looking down the river, but also 
 the Tennessee shore above. The river here makes 
 a sharp bend and again below at New Madrid, 
 the island occupying nearly the entire length of 
 the bend from north to south. The Missouri shore 
 from our anchorage to General Pope's headquart 
 ers was one vast swamp, impassable to boat or beast. 
 General Pope urged the Admiral to run the block 
 ade with his fleet, but the Admiral, knowing the 
 enemy had a fleet nearly as strong as his own which 
 in case of disaster to him might lay every town on 
 the Ohio and Mississippi under tribute at will, did 
 not deem it wise to venture all on a single cast of 
 the die, but expressed his willingness for 'one of the 
 boats to make the attempt. Every vessel in the 
 fleet applied for the coveted honor, but the "Car- 
 ondelet," Commander Henry Walke, was selected, 
 and active preparations made for the attempt. A 
 long barge loaded with baled hay was lashed to the 
 port side of the boat; her guns run in and made 
 fast, and the first dark night determined upon for 
 the effort. We had not long to wait, about 9 
 o'clock at night on the 4th of April, 1 862, a furious 
 thunder storm came up; the sky was inky black, 
 a darkness that could be almost felt; and when 
 every now and then, a vivid flash of lightning rent
 
 the heavens it but served to make the midnight 
 darkness that swallowed it up all the denser; a sul 
 try, sullen silence, broken only by the distant de 
 tonations of thunder, cast a weird and ominous 
 spell that could be better felt than described. Ev 
 erything being in readiness, the "Carondelet" 
 slipped her cable and slowly glided out into the 
 inky darkness. Her fires were banked, her lights 
 put out, and a low head of steam kept, that the 
 noise of the exhaust might be as faint as possible. 
 A half an hour, and she was just passing the up 
 per batteries on the main shore and heading down 
 the schute past the island, when one of the most 
 vivid and protracted sheets of lightning I ever wit 
 nessed, made everything as bright as day. The 
 crash of thunder that followed was succeeded by just 
 one moment of unearthly calm when, as if fired by 
 electricity, forty -two pieces of siege artillery rained 
 a storm of shot and shell at that devoted boat; 
 but the guns had been trained for a longer range 
 than such an emergency called for, and not one 
 shot struck the gallant boat as she silently and 
 steadily glided on, pointing directly for the head of 
 the island, as the channel passed very close to that 
 shore. When she received the second discharge 
 she was near enough to the batteries on the upper 
 end of the island to hear the hurried exclamations 
 of the men in the fort, and every word of command. 
 Another flash of lightning betrayed her where 
 abouts, but so close was she to the batteries that 
 it was next to impossible for the enemy to depress 
 their guns sufficiently; but the atmosphere was 
 badly cut up and the trees on the other side of the 
 river had a sorry time of it. Curses and yells were 
 heard from the island as the frantic Confederates
 
 rushed hither and yon. The flash and roar of artil 
 lery discharges, drowned as they all were every now 
 and then by vivid lightning and deafening reveb- 
 erations of Heaven's artillery, made up a scene and 
 an event that years will never efface from the mem 
 ory of those that witnessed it. 
 
 Nor was the battle yet ended; anchored in the 
 stream abreast the lower fort was a formidable float 
 ing battery upon which the enemy had built great 
 hopes "Capable of destroying anything the Yan 
 kees have got afloat," was the verdict when the 
 craft was completed. She lay almost directly in 
 the channel and the "Carondelet" nearly ran her 
 down in her career, but so demoralized were her 
 defenders by this unlooked-for midnight race that 
 they fired just one broadside at random, and sought 
 refuge in the river. And now another sound rends 
 the midnight air, a sound, my friends, familiar to 
 us all in the days long gone by, a sound that could 
 not come too often, that cheered and strengthened 
 when all other things failed, the honest, whole- 
 souled Union cheer of victory. It came surging 
 through the night air from twenty thousand of Gen 
 eral Pope's brave boys occupying reserved seats 
 along the river banks for this long-looked-for en 
 tertainment. 
 
 Morning light found the "Carondelet" in hot 
 pursuit of the Confederate gunboats below New 
 Madrid. Sunday, the 6th, with General Gordon 
 Granger and other officers as spectators on board, 
 she destroyed a battery opposite Point Pleasant, 
 spiking the guns. The night of the yth, taking 
 advantage of another storm, the gunboat "Pitts- 
 burg" ran the batteries, and the afternoon of that 
 day the garrison of Island No. 10 surrendered to
 
 Admiral Foote, the same day as the battle of Shiloh. 
 At 4 o'clock on the morning of the 8th, the retreat 
 ing army of the Confederates fell into General 
 Pope's fond embrace. The direct result of this 
 dare-devil act of Commander Walke and his gal 
 lant crew being the capture of five thousand pris 
 oners, three general officers and an imense amount 
 of ammunition and provisions. 
 
 Again the confederate lines were pushed south, 
 and nearly one hundred miles more of the Miss 
 issippi River were reluctantly surrendered to the 
 power of the Federal Union. The Mocking Birds 
 who had for a year been practicing on the strains 
 of Dixie, were obliged to take up a new tune. The 
 tune that led our forefathers on many a hard-fought 
 field, was now for the first time in many months 
 waking the echoes of the Mississippi. Yankee 
 Doodle may not rank high in classical music, my 
 friends, but "it gets there just the same." 
 
 And now Fort Pillow, ninety miles above Mem 
 phis, with its steep, red clay bluffs 165 feet high, 
 with General Beauregard and eighteen thousand 
 Confederate troops and seventy pieces of siege ar 
 tillery, said, "So far and no farther," to our ad 
 vancing Mississippi squadron; and as we are now 
 on the eve of the two great struggles for supremacy 
 between naval forces north and south, operating 
 in the west, I will leave you anchored about five 
 miles above the fort, while we take a hasty look at 
 the bill of fare prepared by our Southern friends 
 for our reception. 
 
 At the very outbreak of the Rebellion, the enemy 
 started the keels of four formidable men-of-war for 
 use on the Mississippi, two being built at New 
 Orleans and two at Memphis. The first two, Ad-
 
 miral Farragut heard from, and I may also add 
 that they heard from him; of the other two, one 
 we destroyed on the stocks at Memphis, the "S. 
 B. Mallory," but the other, the "Arkansas," was 
 towed down the river before the advance of our 
 squadron, and lived to do us much harm before 
 her destruction. 
 
 Commodore Edward Montgomery, C. S. N., 
 under a carte blanche from the Citizens' Defense 
 Association of New Orleans, seized ocean steam 
 ships, gulf tow-boats, and river steamers and went 
 to work with a right good will to get up a navy. 
 The result was the "General Bragg," a large gulf 
 steamer carrying two guns but fitted up mainly as 
 a ram, the "Sumpter" and "General Price," gulf 
 tow-boats with engines of great power converted 
 into rams, the "Little Rebel," "General Beaure- 
 gard," "General Lovell," "General Van Dorn," 
 "General Polk," and the "Livingston." These 
 boats cost the Citizens' Association nearly two mil 
 lions, which amount the Confederate Government 
 agreed to repay provided Commodore Montgom 
 ery fought the Federal fleet above Memphis. This 
 will account for the events now about to be nar 
 rated. 
 
 All of these boats had great speed, walking beam 
 engines, solid bows with iron beaks, but used cot 
 ton bales where we used iron and relied on sinking 
 their opponents by ramming rather than by guns; 
 while we had the superiority in weight and metal, 
 they had advantage in every other particular. Not 
 one of our boats could back upstream, they were 
 not built that way; they were really floating bat 
 teries. Now the advantage possessed by the enemy 
 can be readily seen from the fact that he was fight-
 
 ing upstream with powerful and easily handled 
 boats, while we were fighting down stream with 
 boats that could not be handled at all. In an ac 
 tion, were one of his boats disabled, it drifted down 
 stream into the hands of friends; were one of our 
 boats crippled, the same current carried us quickly 
 where there was "no one to love, none to caress," 
 but where speedy connections could be made with 
 either the bottom of the river or Andersonville, or 
 or both. 
 
 Admiral Foote never recovered from the wound 
 he received in the pilot house of the "Benton" at 
 Fort Donelson; he left the Mississippi Squadron 
 early in May to die at his home in the east. Flag 
 officer Charles H. Davis had assumed command, 
 and early discovered the wild and woolly west to be 
 pretty full of business. He found his fleet at Fort 
 Pillow and had not had time to inspect the eight 
 boats under his command, when he awoke the 
 morning of the loth of May, 1862, to find a mat 
 inee of first-class proportions on his hands. 
 
 I have stated that the fleet lay at anchor five 
 miles above the fort awaiting a movement of our 
 army which they expected to co-operate, but that 
 General Beauregard might not forget that there was 
 a God in Israel, a mortar-boat, throwing a shell 
 thirty-nine inches in circumference, was made fast 
 to the shore just above the point behind which the 
 fort lay, and every half hour during the day one of 
 these little pills would climb a mile or two in the 
 air, look around a bit at the scenery, and finally 
 disintegrate around the fort, to the great interest 
 and excitement of the occupants. One of the gun 
 boats would drop down every night and stand a 
 twenty-four hour watch over this mortar boat.
 
 On this memorable morning, the "Cincinnati's" 
 Commander, Stembel, was lying just above the 
 mortar, made fast to the trees and with steam down, 
 holy-stoning decks. It was a beautiful morning, 
 like one of those June days which so often bless 
 our northern latitudes; Nature had put on her lov- 
 liest garb; the woods were vocal with songsters and 
 the entire surroundings seemed so appropriate for 
 a young man who had left his girl behind him to 
 indite her a few words, that one young man at least 
 on the "Cincinnati" that morning was engaged in 
 that very occupation. While deep in logical argu 
 ment proving that beyond question the stars paled 
 whenever she stepped out of an evening, the hur 
 ried shuffle of steps on the deck overhead, the 
 short, sharp command to call all hands to quarters, 
 caused the writer to drop his pen and climb the 
 companionway. The sight which met his youth 
 ful eyes will never be effaced; steaming rapidly 
 around the point below us, pouring dense clouds 
 from their funnels, came first one, then two, then 
 more, until six war vessels under full head of steam, 
 came surging up the river barely a mile below us; 
 eight minutes would bring them alongside, while 
 the "Cincinnati," with barely steam enough to turn 
 her wheel over, lay three miles from the rest of the 
 Union fleet, not one boat of which had steam 
 enough to hold itself against the current. 
 
 The enemy's plan was, undoubtedly, to surprise 
 (and I may state right here that they did) the gun 
 boat that protected the mortar, sink or capture her, 
 destroy the mortar and get back under cover of the 
 guns of the fort before the Union fleet above could 
 come to the rescue; the plan came very near be 
 ing successful.
 
 The "Cincinnati's" cables were slipped and slow 
 ly she swung out into the stream. Her engineers 
 were throwing oil and everything else inflammable 
 into her fires that the necessary head of steam might 
 be obtained to handle the boat. On came the 
 leader of the Confederate fleet, the "General Bragg," 
 a powerful gulf steamer, built up full in the bow 
 and standing up twenty feet above the surface of 
 the river. Her powerful engines were plowing her 
 along at a rate that raised a billow ten feet high at 
 her bow at a clean-cut right angle. At a dis 
 tance of not over fifty yards she received our full 
 starboard battery of four thirty-two pound guns; 
 cotton bales were seen to tumble and splinters fly, 
 but on she came, her great walking beam engine 
 driving her at a fearful rate. When less than fifty 
 feet away, the "Cincinnati's" bow was thrown 
 around and the two boats came together with a 
 fearful crash, but it was a glancing blow that the 
 "General Bragg" secured and not the one she in 
 tended; a right-angle contact would have sunk us 
 then and there, but glancing blow as it was, it took 
 a piece out of our midships six feet deep and twelve 
 feet long, throwing the magazine open to the in 
 flow of the water and knocking everything down 
 from one end of the boat to the other. The force 
 of the blow fastened the "Bragg's" ram temporarily 
 in the "Cincinnati's" hull. "Give her another 
 broadside, boys" passed the word of command. 
 The men sprang with a cheer to their guns and 
 the entire broadside was emptied into the "Bragg" 
 at such close range that the guns could not be run 
 out of the ports; it is unnecessary to add that this 
 broadside settled the "Bragg," for she lay careened 
 up against us so that it tore an immense hole in
 
 her from side to side. She slowly swung off from 
 the "Cincinnati," and as the command was given 
 to "board the enemy" she lowered her flag. 
 
 But it is doubtful how much "boarding" we 
 could have done, for just at this moment the sec 
 ond Confederate ram, the "Sumpter," reached the 
 scene of action, and coming up under full head of 
 steam, struck the "Cincinnati" in the fantail, cut 
 ting into her, three feet, destroying her rudders and 
 steering apparatus, and letting the water pour into 
 the hull of the boat. Before she struck us, how 
 ever, our stern battery of two six-inch guns got 
 two broadsides into her. 
 
 And now came up the third Confederate ram, 
 the "General Lovell," aiming for our port quarter. 
 "Haul down your flag, Yanks, and we will save 
 you," yelled someone when she was less than fifty 
 feet away. "Our flag will go down when we do," 
 was the response. We got but one gun to bear 
 on her before the crash came; the "Cincinnati" 
 was raised enough by the force of the blow to throw 
 her bows under. The water was pouring in from 
 three directions; the engineers were standing waist 
 deep in the engine room; the fires were being rap 
 idly extinguished; we had just one more round of 
 amunition in the guns, the magazine being flooded. 
 The "General Lovell" was filled with sharpshoot 
 ers who had picked off every exposed man, includ 
 ing Commander Stembel who fell with a minie 
 bullet through his mouth. First Master Hoel 
 who assumed command, came down on the gun- 
 deck and called out: "Boy's give 'em the best 
 you've got, we aint dead yet." A cheer was his 
 answer, and as every gun on the boat poured its 
 iron hail into one or another of the enemy, the
 
 "Cincinnati" rolled first to one side then to another, 
 then gave a convulsive shudder and went down bow 
 first and head on to the enemy. It was an exceed 
 ingly damp time for the crew of that boat; we all 
 piled on the hurricane deck, and from that there 
 was some tall and lofty scrambling for the wheel 
 house, which, thanks to the shallow place we were 
 in, remained above water. And now, perched like 
 so many turkeys on a country corn crib, we were 
 enforced spectators of the exciting and magnifi 
 cent scene around us. 
 
 By this time, our fleet above us, had arrived on 
 the scene of action, led by the flagship "Benton." 
 Running into the very midst of the enemy's fleet 
 she gave her bow battery of nine-inch Dahlgren 
 guns, then wheeling, her starboard, stern and port 
 broadsides. By the time her bow swung around, 
 her guns were again loaded, and repeating her circl 
 ing again and again, she delivered a living sheet of 
 death and destruction. Several of the Confederate 
 rams tried to reach her, but were either intercepted 
 by our other boats, who one after another joined 
 the melee, or were literally beaten back by the 
 storm of shot and shell that poured from her sides. 
 
 Soon the air was so full of smoke that little 
 could be seen; every now and then a Confederate 
 ram would rush past us within a stone's throw; then 
 a shell would burst over our heads, or a solid shot 
 plough up the water. I have seen pictures in our 
 illustrated papers, labelled "by our artist on the 
 spot" but perched up on the wheel house in the 
 midst of this hell on earth, I modestly claim to 
 coming as near filling this bill as any man in 
 America. But ten minutes settled it, two of the 
 enemy's boats were floating broadsides down the
 
 river, the "General Bragg," whose insides we 
 blew out, and one other. The remaining four 
 were making as good time for the fort as lay in 
 their power; we could not save our prizes, for we 
 neither dared to go after them, nor could we have 
 towed them upstream, if we had. The " Cin 
 cinnati's" wheelhouse was soon relieved of its dead 
 and living freight, and an hour afterward the air 
 and the mighty flood had swept away every vestige 
 of the conflict. 
 
 General Halleck's movement on Corinth turned 
 the enemy's position at Fort Pillow and it was 
 abandoned, and on June 4th, 1862, we were again 
 on our way down the river, joined by several Ohio 
 River towboats converted into rams by Colonel 
 Ellet. This Colonel Ellet was one of the remark 
 able characters of the war; he had nearly gone in 
 sane on the ram question and had written circulars 
 and besieged the departments at Washington until 
 they nearly went insane too. He was finally given 
 permission to fit out a ram fleet; sixty days from 
 the time he received this commission, he was on 
 the way down the river with five powerful boats 
 filled in at the bows and around the boilers, and 
 manned by some of the most desperate characters 
 that entered the service on either side; friend 
 feared them as well as foe, they acknowledged 
 allegiance to neither army or navy, but claimed to 
 have a contract to settle the rebellion in their own 
 way. Ordered to report to Flag Officer Davis, 
 Colonel Ellet speedily informed that worthy and 
 dignified officer that he had come down there for 
 a fight, and that he did not propose tying up to a 
 tree and waiting for the fight to find him. The 
 Colonel was a man of war and desired no one to
 
 forget it, but he was a brave old man and the effi 
 cient work he put in during his short career of 
 thirty days may well cover his eccentricities. 
 
 Arriving two miles north of Memphis, the fleet 
 came to anchor and got ready for the engagement 
 it was felt sure would take place before Memphis 
 would fall into our hands. At four o'clock on the 
 morning of June 6th, the entire Confederate navy, 
 consisting of ten vessels, steamed up the river to 
 attack our fleet. The entire population of the 
 city lined the bank of the river, while General 
 Jefferson Thompson, C. S. A., in his best Sunday 
 uniform and on his noblest steed, was explaining 
 to an admiring crowd just how it was going to be 
 done. 
 
 The Confederate Flagship "Little Rebel," 
 opened the battle by a shot when she was a mile 
 below us. Our squadron was soon under way, 
 when Flag Officer Davis ran up the signal for the 
 boats to range themselves in the "third order of 
 sailing." Colonel Ellet was at work getting his 
 rams in order, and this eventful morning found him 
 with but two, the "Queen of the West" and the 
 "Monarch," ready for action. Taking command 
 of the "Oueen," he put his son, A. W. Ellet, in 
 charge of the other. 
 
 This was the time he long had sought, 
 And mourned because he found it not." 
 
 Interpreting Flag Officer Davis' "order of sailing" 
 to mean "sail without order," he called out to his 
 son to "come on" and pulled out from the shore 
 with the "Queen of the West" and started down 
 the stream with every pound of steam his boat 
 would carry. Singing out " Come on " to the 
 Flag Officer, as he dashed past the Flagship, he
 
 selected the leading boat of the enemy's center 
 line, the "General Lovell," as his prey; the "Gen 
 eral Lovell" turned out of line to meet the ad 
 vancing foe and crowded on all steam; if these two 
 boats had met in this way, both would have gone to 
 the bottom of the river, but for some reason the 
 "Lovell" sheered to the right just before the con 
 tact, when the "Queen" struck her on the port bow 
 and pretty nearly went entirely through. The 
 "Lovell" rose up, and then went down with all on 
 board. As soon as the "Queen" could recover her 
 headway, two of the enemy's boats, the "Beaure- 
 gard" and "General Price," both made for her, 
 the one on the right and the other on the left ; the 
 " Queen" was held almost stationary and it was 
 thought she was disabled, when, as both of the 
 onrushing boats were scarcely one hundred feet 
 from her, she crowded on all steam and slipping 
 out from between them, they came together with a 
 fearful crash, cutting the wheelhouse clean off the 
 "Price." The "Beauregard" recovered herself, 
 and turning on the "Queen" succeeded in disabl 
 ing her port wheel, when the "Queen" and the 
 "Price" both made for the Arkansas shore. Col. 
 Ellet had been struck by a bullet, but still had life 
 enough to demand the surrender of the "Price" 
 as they both struck the shore; the "Price" sup 
 posing the "Queen" had followed her for that pur 
 pose, complied with the request; thereupon the 
 Colonel ordered a crew of four men into one of 
 her row boats and sent them across the river to de 
 mand the surrender of Memphis. 
 
 The battle was now on, thick and hot. Our gun 
 boats had formed into three lines to meet the Con 
 federate line of battle, but Colonel Ellet's raid with
 
 the "Queen of the West" had demoralized that to 
 the extent of drawing off the leading boat in each 
 line. One of them already lay at the bottom of 
 the river, another was beached on the Arkansas 
 shore, a third, the "Beauregard," had already been 
 racked in a ramming match with Colonel Ellet's 
 other boat, the "Monarch." Such was the situa 
 tion when the Union fleet,in perfect order,led by the 
 Flagship"Benton,"strucktheadvanceoftheenemy. 
 
 It was a magnificent sight before the first gen 
 eral broadside was fired. The river here is un 
 usually wide, admitting as few places could in the 
 West, of a scientific naval action between fleets, 
 The shore was black with anxious and eager 
 spectators ; an hour was to decide once and for 
 ever, the control of the Mississippi. A deafening 
 roar, as both fleets discharged almost simultan 
 eously a general broadside, and a thick, black 
 cloud of smoke hid everything from the thousands 
 of anxious eyes on the shore; in that dense cloud 
 was being waged one of the sharpest and most 
 decisive battles of the war, a hand-to-hand 
 struggle, no quarter was asked or given. It was 
 literally a fight to the finish. The rapid discharge 
 of heavy guns, the crash of timbers, the yells of 
 the combatants, worked the vast crowd of specta 
 tors on shore into a frenzy. Cheer upon cheer 
 came from that vast throng as some steamer with 
 the Confederate flag flying was seen through the 
 smoke; groans, howls and curses, when a Union 
 boat came in sight. An hour of this awful strain, 
 and the guns were heard less and less often: "The 
 Yankee Fleet is destroyed," was the word. 
 
 The great bank of smoke rose! First dimly, 
 then clearer, vision was restored. What a sight 
 
 (W O'SEO
 
 met that frantic mob! Scattered here and there 
 across the expanse of water, were war vessels, but 
 death and destruction ! they all floated the cursed 
 stars and stripes. Where was the Confederate Navy? 
 Three boats lay at the bottom of the river, with 
 Union sailors busy rescuing the drowning crews; 
 three more were beached on the opposite shore, 
 where Colonel Ellet, with his "Queen of the 
 West" in the same condition, was busy accepting 
 their surrender. The "Jefferson Thompson," 
 with one of our boats in hot pursuit, ran into a 
 point below the island and blew up with a 
 tremendous report; two more of the fleet, with 
 flags down, were lyingpeacefully alongside of Union 
 boats, and the one surviving relic of that once 
 proud fleet, the ' General Van Dorn," made 
 most remarkable time down the river, with the 
 ram "Monitor" in hot pursuit. An indescribable 
 sound, something between a wail and a curse, went 
 up from the throng on shore. General Jefferson 
 Thompson mounted his steed, saying: "They are 
 gone and I am going." Memphis was ours, and 
 the power of the Confederacy afloat on Western 
 waters, was no more. 
 
 The next stage in the history of naval opera 
 tions on the Mississippi brings us to the times 
 of Admiral Porter and that sublime old hero, 
 Farragut 
 
 That Viking of the river fight, 
 The conqueror of the bay, 
 I give the name that fits him best, 
 Aye, better than his own, 
 The sea king of the sovereign West 
 Who made his mast a throne." 
 
 Abler pens than mine must do justice to those 
 later days.
 
 CIVIL WAR PAPERS 
 NUMBER THREE 
 
 CAREER OF THE CONFED 
 ERATE RAM "ARKANSAS." 
 Given by Eliot Callender before 
 the Farragut Naval Veterans Asso 
 ciation, Palmer House, Chicago.
 
 ( N a former paper read before this Asso 
 ciation, in which an effort was made to 
 give the history of the Mississippi Squad 
 ron up to the fall of Memphis, an allu 
 sion was made in describing the prepara 
 tions of the Confederacy in the naval line, to two 
 war vessels in process of construction, one the 
 "Stephen Mallory," which our forces destroyed 
 at Memphis on the stocks, and another, the 
 "Arkansas," which we heard from later. 
 
 This paper will be principally confined to what 
 we heard. I know of no more interesting event 
 of the War than the career of the Confederate 
 Ram "Arkansas," and while the incidents con 
 nected therewith may not touch our pride, I trust 
 there is no soldier or sailor of the late War that 
 can not appreciate bravery and gallantry, no mat 
 ter whether exhibited by friend or foe. We were 
 Americans all, before the days of the Civil War, 
 and, thank God, we are Americans all to-day, and 
 while there was a time when many rose up to deny 
 we were a Nation, they were mistaken. The big 
 "N" in front of that word never shrank up or 
 dropped out. It is there to-day, and those who 
 fought us, will help us henceforth to keep it there. 
 After the battle of Memphis, Flag-Officer 
 Davis found nothing to arrest the progress of his 
 squadron, until the frowning hills of Vicksburg 
 caused him to drop anchor at Young's Point, 
 about five miles in a direct line from the city. 
 Admiral Farragut had already preceded him, hav 
 ing run the batteries at Port Hudson and Grand 
 Gulf and steamed boldly by the three miles of 
 fortifications at Vicksburg, with the "Hartford,"
 
 "Richmond," "Oneida," "Iroquois," "Wenona," 
 " Wissahicon" wooden ships, but manned by iron 
 men. The army, under the command of General 
 Williams, was camped along the shore from 
 Young's Point to Milliken's Bend, a distance of 
 ten miles. The inference was that a combined 
 assault by the army and navy was impending, for, 
 almost daily, fresh arrivals of troops came down the 
 river and every available man-of-war from the Gulf 
 to Cairo lay within ten miles of Vicksburg. It was 
 one of the greatest gatherings of the War and the 
 air was full of the bustle of preparation. Along 
 the Louisiana shore, for a mile or more, lay the 
 army transports, ordinance boats, hospital boats, 
 hay barges and craft of every description. There 
 was a sample of almost everything in the West 
 that carried a wheel or had a hull, and some of 
 these had little to boast of, in either of these 
 essentials. The river here, at the time of which 
 I write, was a turbid stream, about three-quarters 
 of a mile wide, and anchored about two-thirds of 
 the way to the Mississippi shore, in one long line 
 parallel to the transports on the Louisiana shore, 
 lay the combined fleets of Admirals Farragut and 
 Davis. Twelve miles above, the deep and slug 
 gish Yazoo joined its waters with the Mississipi. 
 
 It was not my fortune to witness any of the 
 combined army and naval operations on the 
 Atlantic and Gulf Coasts, but I doubt if any 
 thing in the War rivalled in picturesqueness and 
 interest the scenes above Vicksburg in those Sum 
 mer days of 1862. The day was ushered in with 
 the echoes of bugle calls, the rat-a-tat-tat of snare 
 drums, the smoke of a thousand camp fires 
 mingling with the morning air. Busy little steam
 
 tugs puffed and darted hither and yon across the 
 river. Now and then, the strains of a band of 
 music would be wafted from the deck of one of the 
 big men-of-war, whose frowning batteries were 
 duplicated in the bosom of the river below. 
 Gay-colored signal flags would be run up to the 
 mast head of the Admiral's flag ship and as quickly 
 disappear, as if ashamed to exist in the presence 
 of the magnificent American ensign, which floated 
 idly at the stern. Now some general, with his 
 gaily-caparisoned staff, would gallop along the road 
 beyond the levee and shortly a cloud of dust and 
 loud cracking of whips, accompanied with remarks 
 not appropriate for Sunday Schools, betokened 
 the moving of artillery. A cloud of black smoke 
 away up the river preceded several additional trans 
 ports, loaded to the guards with fresh troops. The 
 cheers from the boats were answered with cheers 
 from the shore, and so all day long and way into 
 the night, this never-ceasing panorama of life and 
 bustle and beauty moved on. As the sun dropped 
 down behind the heavy-wooded Louisiana shore, 
 myriads of camp fires crept out of the darkness. 
 The strains of some familiar song would be wafted 
 on the evening air, to be drowned, perhaps, by a 
 rollicking chorus, shouts of laughter, and finally 
 peace and quiet reigned, disturbed, if at all, by the 
 sweet echoes of the half hour bells on the men- 
 of-war and now and then the regular click, click 
 of oars working in their rowlocks, as some belated 
 officer with his boat's crew hurried home. Can 
 this be war? Look behind you. Frowning and 
 dark and ominous, with its gilded Court House 
 dome like an angel of death inviting all to its 
 deadly embrace, lay the heights of Vicksburg.
 
 While awaiting the proposed movement of the 
 army, there came to our ears from time to time, 
 rumors of a Confederate iron-clad in course of 
 preparation up the dark recesses of the Yazoo. 
 It was generally from the intelligent contraband, 
 just escaped from the old plantation, that the most 
 vivid details of this mysterious craft were derived. 
 They had all seen it, but apparently from different 
 points of the compass, for there seemed to be a 
 marked lack of similarity in the descriptions. 
 Combining the accounts would have produced a 
 monster. "Pretty nigh as big as de whole ribber;" 
 "Guns bigger'n any two around hyer;" "Iron a 
 foot thick all ober her and underneath her and on 
 top of her;" "An as fer de ram, dat was jess de 
 wuss ram agoin could jess bust de stufHns outer 
 de rock of Gibralter;" "An all de lower regions 
 couldn't catch dat boat when she got a move on 
 her you uns will see some morning and nebber 
 know what you was a seein." With all due 
 allowance for the Southern darkies' recognized 
 ability in the line of ornamental and picturesque 
 lying, there seemed to prevail an intuition that 
 these narratives had at least a foundation, and after 
 several conferences between Admirals Farragut 
 and Davis an expedition was formed under the 
 command of Captain Walke, consisting of the 
 partially iron-clad gunboat, "Carondelet," the 
 wooden gunboat, "Tyler" and the Ellet ram, 
 "Queen of the West," with instructions to pro 
 ceed up the Yazoo river and destroy the Confed 
 erate ram, if it were practicable. Captain Walke 
 of the "Carondelet" got underway at four o'clock 
 in the morning of July I5th, and steamed up the 
 river, but was passed by both the "Tyler" and
 
 the "Queen of the West" before reaching the 
 mouth of the Yazoo, ten miles above. 
 
 Now, while all this was going on, Captain Isaac 
 N. Brown, C. S. N., formerly of the United States 
 Navy, a classmate of Captain Walke at Annapolis, 
 found himself in shape this very July morning to 
 get underway with the C. S. S. "Arkansas," which 
 had been fitting out at Yazoo City since the naval 
 action at Memphis. The "Arkansas" was almost 
 a twin of the far-famed "Merrimac"; it was 180 
 feet long, 60 feet beam, heavily plated with T-rail, 
 tongued and grooved, and had a cast iron beak or 
 prow weighing 18,000 pounds. Back of three 
 inches of railroad iron was a foot of live oak. Her 
 sides fell off at an angle of thirty-five degrees. She 
 drew thirteen feet with her armament of ten guns, 
 two of which were loo-pound Columbiads, two 
 rifles, 32*5, and a bow battery of two 64/8. Her 
 engines were very powerful, and the intention of 
 her builders ran much in the direction of her ram, 
 necessitating great speed. She carried a crew of 
 130 men, picked up from the relics of the fight 
 at Memphis, and about seventy Missouri soldiers 
 from General Jefferson Thompson's command. 
 With a motley ill-disciplined crew, with a new 
 and untried boat, Captain Isaac N. Brown cast 
 loose that morning from below the mouth of the 
 Sunflower, fifteen miles from the Mississippi, and 
 turning the bow of the "Arkansas" down stream 
 to face what no men before him, or after him, in 
 that war, or any other war, ever faced before. It 
 was not long before the ram, "Queen of the 
 West," under Captain Jas. Hunter of the army, 
 in rounding a bend, discovered the "Arkansas" 
 coming down the river under a full head of steam.
 
 The "Queen" apparently was not pleased at the 
 discovery, for she swung around and started back 
 with a 64-pound shot crashing through her frame, 
 from the bow guns of the "Arkansas." Passing 
 the "Carondelet" and the "Tyler," she was com 
 manded by Captain Walke to proceed with all 
 speed and inform the fleet of the coming of the 
 "Arkansas." This she did not do, but hovered 
 around the outskirts of the fight, which now 
 opened between the "Arkansas," "Carondelet," 
 and "Tyler." Let us bear in mind that the 
 "Arkansas" was more than a match for these two 
 boats, being heavily armored all around, while the 
 "Carondelet" had but 2^ inches of iron over her 
 bow battery and a similar protection amidships, 
 the length of her boilers. The "Tyler" was 
 simply a wooden gunboat, with no protection, but 
 carried as her commander one of the bravest and 
 truest hearts God ever made, in Lieut-Corn. Wm. 
 W. N. Gwin. The "Carondelet" opened on her 
 rapidly approaching foe with her bow battery, and 
 then made the almost fatal mistake of turning in 
 mid stream, thus exposing her unprotected stern 
 to a raking fire from the heavy bow battery of her 
 antagonist. The "Tyler," from the beginning to 
 the time the "Arkansas" reached the Mississippi, 
 never once withdrew from the range of the enemy's 
 guns, but kept up an incessant fire, and there is 
 no doubt that Gwin's courage and skill saved both 
 his own boat and the "Carondelet." Walke stated 
 that he turned his boat to avoid being rammed and 
 sunk by his antagonist, but failed to state the ad 
 vantage of being rammed in the rear to being ram 
 med in front. The "Arkansas" was now within 100 
 feet of the "Carondelet," but so far not a shot from
 
 the Union boats had succeeded in injuring her. 
 The heavy 64-pound balls would strike and in 
 variably be deflected and shoot up into the air from 
 her inclined sides, while every ball from the 
 "Arkansas" raked the "Carondelet" from stem 
 to stern. The "Arkansas" now made a rush for 
 its antagonist, with the idea of sinking her. The 
 "Carondelet" was past handling, as her rudders 
 and steering apparatus were all shot away. Just 
 at this juncture, one of the engines on the 
 "Arkansas" refused to work, and the rapid action 
 of the other turned her head around and ran her 
 into the woods inside of the "Carondelet." Both 
 boats now lay alongside of each other, discharging 
 broadside after broadside; so near were the com 
 batants that men on both boats were actually 
 blinded by unburnt powder, blown into their faces. 
 Gwin, ever alert, now ran up with the "Tyler," 
 across the bow of the "Arkansas," manned his 
 hammock nettings with sharpshooters, belted a 
 64-pound shell into the "Arkansas's" pilot house, 
 while his sharpshooters took off every man that 
 showed himself. Captain Brown of the "Arkansas" 
 was knocked senseless in the pilot house, and on 
 recovering was struck in the temple by a glancing 
 shot of a Minie ball. The smoke stack of the 
 "Arkansas" was so shot to pieces that it was virtu 
 ally useless as a draft to the furnaces. Another 
 "Tyler" and another Commander Gwin would 
 have settled the "Arkansas then and there, but he 
 had a foeman worthy of his steel, in the gallant 
 Brown of the "Arkansas." Dazed and nearly 
 stunned with his wounds, with broadside after 
 broadside poured into his boat, with dead and 
 wounded men strewn over his deck, in that stifl-
 
 ing heat and smoke, he sprang to his engineer's 
 assistance and soon the "Arkansas" pulled slowly 
 out from the crippled "Carondelet" and started 
 after the "Tyler," with greatly diminished speed. 
 Every shot crashed through the wooden ends of 
 the "Tyler," which kept up the unequal combat 
 until they emerged into the Mississippi in sight 
 of the Union Fleet. First the "Queen of the 
 West," then the "Tyler" riddled with shot, her 
 smoke stacks about ready to fall, her boats hang 
 ing by one end to their davits, but her flag still up, 
 and last the "Arkansas." What a sight met Brown's 
 eyes as he stood that morning on the deck of 
 his boat and ordered her headed down stream. 
 Stretched along for two miles or more was the 
 Union Fleet anchored in midstream. There was 
 the gallant "Hartford," flying Admiral Farragut's 
 blue flag; the sloop of war "Richmond," the 
 "Iroquois," the "Wenona" and the"Wissahicon," 
 then came Flag Officer Davis' squadron, consist 
 ing of five ironclads, to say nothing of some five 
 or six so-called rams, about which, Brown in his 
 report says that they were very harmless sheep. 
 When old Colonel Ellet died, the record of his 
 ram fleet died with him. Eight miles to Vicks- 
 burg. Would he make it? With a partially- 
 disabled engine; with both pilots dead; with one- 
 third of his crew killed or disabled; with his steam 
 run down from 120 pounds to between 30 or 40, 
 owing to the destruction of his furnace draft, 
 there was but one answer to any less daring and 
 gallant heart than his. He would make it and he 
 did. Taking the open space between the army 
 transports along the Louisiana shore, he ordered 
 the man at the wheel to hold her as near the
 
 Union war vessels as possible, and started in. By 
 this action he virtually spiked three-fourths of the 
 guns of the entire fleet, as every shot that missed 
 the "Arkansas" could not fail to strike our own 
 transports and hospital boats that lined the other 
 shore. 
 
 Before we go into the impending struggle, per 
 mit me to call your attention to a choice and select 
 coterie of newspaper reporters, who made life a 
 burden on the Steamboat "J. H. Dickey," which 
 had been assigned to them as headquarters. I 
 cannot now recall many of their names, but Mc- 
 Cullough, of the St. Louis Globe Democrat, and 
 Knox, of the New York Herald, who has since 
 become famous as a writer of books of travel, 
 were leading spirits in this circle. The heavy 
 cannonading up the Yazoo had awakened a lively 
 interest in these gentlemen, all of whom had 
 manufactured whole columns of news, on a good 
 deal less provocation. Their pencils were sharp 
 ened, their paper was ready, if somte one could 
 only tell them what was going on. The informa 
 tion came without any help, when the "Queen of 
 the West," the "Tyler" and the "Arkansas," all 
 came piling out of the Yazoo, with wrecked smoke 
 stacks and hanging boats. As soon as it was evi 
 dent that the Confederate boat contemplated a 
 raid through the Union Fleet, many conflicting 
 emotions pervaded these brethren. They wanted 
 to see the fight, but duty to the dear ones at home 
 didn't seem to call them to be participants. The 
 key note was struck, when one of them suggested 
 that the "J. H. Dickey" was a. great big boat and 
 as such was most likely to call for special attention 
 from the "Arkansas." Contemplation of this
 
 thought, enlarged the "Dickey" to such propor 
 tions, that they unanimously resolved on an in 
 stantaneous and radical change of base. Directly 
 in front of the "Dickey," tied up to the bank was 
 an inoffensive, mild-looking hay barge. It was 
 decked over at each end and open in the middle. 
 "To the hay barge," was the cry, and to the num 
 ber of ten or a dozen, a mad scramble was made 
 for the newly-found haven of refuge, which to their 
 excited imaginations was little less than a Provi 
 dential dispensation, for the "Arkansas" would 
 certainly pay no attention to an insignificant hay 
 barge and under the protection of the covered 
 ends they could watch the fight through the spaces 
 between the boards and push their pencils in that 
 security and peace of mind, so essential to high- 
 grade literary work. 
 
 Down came the "Arkansas" keeping her port 
 battery hot as she passed one after another of the 
 Union Fleet. Paying no attention to the fleet of 
 steamboats on her starboard side, until she came 
 abreast of this hay barge, laden as it was with the 
 brains of a dozen of the leading newspapers of the 
 North evidently figuring it out as an ordnance 
 boat, loaded with ammunition the "Arkansas" 
 let fly her entire starboard broadside at it. Such 
 a crashing of timbers was never heard this side of 
 Pandemonium. The barge doubled up in the 
 middle. The air was full of pine plank and 
 
 "The Boys, Oh where were they ! " 
 
 With a yell that would have done credit to 
 Comanche Indians, they jumped through the 
 wreck of falling timbers; onto and up the bank 
 of the river, and struck out for the interior of the
 
 State at a rate that no cyclometer that ever has 
 been invented could record. 
 
 Onward came the "Arkansas," she had already 
 passed the "Richmond" and the "Iroquois," and 
 now came abreast of the "Hartford," the pride of 
 our Navy. Standing on the deck of that boat, 
 with feelings that could be better imagined than 
 described, stood the lion-hearted Farragut, his face 
 rigid with excitement. Beneath him lay the open 
 mouths of thirteen 64*5; behind these guns stood 
 the trained crews that had dealt out death and 
 destruction with them at New Orleans. Thirteen 
 captains of those guns stood with lock strings in 
 hand, with arms raised, and waited but for a word. 
 Slowly the "Arkansas" glided by; the boats were 
 not over 1 50 yards apart. A puff of white smoke 
 from the bow gun of the "Arkansas," followed in 
 rapid succession by two more from her port bat 
 tery. The shells flew past and over the "Hart 
 ford," cutting some of her rigging. The pale face 
 of the Admiral never changed. The word that 
 every man, from the Executive Officer to the 
 Messenger boy, was crazy to hear, never came. 
 Why this soul-destroying silence? Look beyond 
 the "Arkansas" and see the yellow flag in a direct 
 line flying over the hospital boat. Look beyond 
 the yellow flag and see the white tents of our army 
 stretching along and away from the shore, and you 
 can explain the Admiral's pale face and tell why 
 his lips never opened. The "Hartford" passed, 
 the "Arkansas" gives a gun to the "Wenona" 
 and two to the "Wissahicon," receiving a gun 
 from both as she passed them, and the shore was 
 no longer in a direct line. Every shot striking 
 the "Arkansas" and in every case being deflected
 
 up into the air, by her inclined iron casements; but 
 as she got well past the "Wissahicon," that spite 
 ful little boat put a nine-inch shell into one of the 
 after-ports of the ram, which exploded, disabling 
 a gun and killing and wounding eleven men. 
 
 Flag Officer Davis' iron-clad fleet lay rather to 
 the rear toward the Mississippi shore and farther 
 down the river; but few guns were fired from this 
 fleet, for reasons already given. One iron clad, 
 the "Cincinnati," lay half a mile below the rest, 
 on picket duty. She had barely steam enough 
 raised to turn her wheel over. The "Arkansas," 
 though badly disfigured, was still in the ring, and 
 having passed all the other boats, made for the 
 lone "Cincinnati," with no very amiable intentions. 
 The "Cincinnati" gave her her bow battery of 
 three nine-inch Dahlgrens; every shot struck her 
 antagonist square on her bow casemates, and all 
 three of these immense solid shot flew up in the 
 air, plainly visible to the naked eye, until they 
 were hardly larger than marbles. The "Arkansas" 
 appeared to have but one of her forward guns in 
 working order, but with that she struck the "Cin 
 cinnati" twice, and then started for her with her 
 great steel beak. The "Cincinnati" slipped her 
 anchor, and having so little steam on she drifted 
 quartering down the river toward the Mississippi 
 shore. A long sand bar extended out into the 
 river from this shore. On came the "Arkansas," 
 with every pound of steam her disabled engines 
 could handle, when within one hundred feet of the 
 "Cincinnati" she ran aground, drawing thirteen 
 feet, while our boat drew only six. Now was the 
 "Cincinnati's" chance. Oh, for steam to handle 
 that boat! But it was not there. She got in her
 
 bow and starboard batteries of nine-inch Dahlgrens 
 and smooth 64*8, but not one shot appeared to hurt 
 her antagonist, which was doing its best to get off 
 the bar. Could the "Cincinnati" have run up 
 alongside and boarded, the ram might have 
 changed her colors. But it was not to be. Slowly 
 the ram drew off the bar and swung down stream 
 and was soon around the bend. Our boys on the 
 other shore could plainly hear the cheers of the 
 Confederates as the gallant Brown and his battered 
 boat tied up to the shore at the foot of the Main 
 Street in Vicksburg. 
 
 I respectfully insist that for coolness and brav 
 ery, for desperate chances offered and taken, the 
 records of the Civil War will show nothing equal 
 to the raid that morning of the Confederate 
 steamer "Arkansas" through the combined fleets 
 of Admiral Farragut and Flag Officer Davis. She 
 had been struck between forty and fifty times; had 
 both of her pilots killed; her commander badly 
 wounded; one engine completely disabled; her 
 boilers were leaking so that one could not see across 
 her decks for the escaping steam; and out of a 
 crew of two hundred men, the night of July 1 5th 
 found her with but twenty-eight able for duty, and 
 with but four of her ten guns in condition for 
 service. But Captain I. N. Brown, C. S. N., had 
 thrown the gauntlet in the face of one that morn 
 ing that could not live and stand it. 
 
 The "Arkansas" had hardly turned the bend at 
 Vicksburg when there was a bustle of preparation 
 on the deck of the "Harford" and by afternoon 
 an immense anchor was safely triced out on the 
 end of her main yard. That night, Farragut's 
 entire fleet turned down stream, the "Hartford" in
 
 the lead. The Admiral's plan was to run up along 
 side the "Arkansas," and if his broadsides wouldn't 
 faze her, to drop that anchor from its lofty perch, 
 feeling assured that it would carry with it to the 
 bottom of the river all that was left of his gallant 
 antagonist. But he was still doomed to disap 
 pointment. The "Arkansas" could not be found 
 in the darkness of the night, until they had passed, 
 she having been run up into a little cove or bay. 
 Brown says he never saw anything equal to the run 
 ning of the three miles of batteries that night by 
 Farragut's wooden ships. They doubled on their 
 tracks and ran back searching for their antagonist 
 when sky, land and water were merged into a com 
 mon hell of death and destruction. 
 
 Five days after, the "Essex," Com. W. D. 
 Porter, which had just joined Flag Officer Davis' 
 fleet, together with the ram "Queen of the West," 
 made a savage assault on the "Arkansas" in the 
 dead of a very dark night. 
 
 The "Arkansas" was undergoing repairs had 
 but one engine and but four guns that could be 
 served. Both the "Essex" and the "Queen" 
 made repeated attempts at ramming, and the 
 former, with her magnificent battery, pretty nearly 
 closed up the "Arkansas' " career. The latter had 
 but twenty-eight men on her, and eleven of these 
 were killed, together with the Missouri soldier, 
 who had piloted her through our fleet after the 
 death of both her regular pilots. But the bluff 
 and shore batteries made it too warm for our 
 boats, and the "Essex" dropped down the river 
 to Farragut's fleet, while the "Queen of the 
 West," badly riddled with shell and shot, returned 
 to the fleet above, and the "Arkansas" still lived.
 
 Partially repaired, but still not fit for service, she 
 was ordered down the river by General Van Dorn 
 to fight Farragut's fleet at Grand Gulf. Brown, 
 her commander, being yet in the hospital from his 
 wounds, she left Vicksburg with but half her com 
 plement of men, on the morning of August 6th. 
 Brown, hearing of this, jumped on a train to over 
 take her, if possible. He reached Grand Gulf and 
 looked up the river. There was the "Arkansas" 
 on the Louisiana shore. Drawing nearer her every 
 moment, was her old antagonist, the "Essex." A 
 great cloud of white smoke sprang up in the air, 
 a dull heavy report followed. The cloud rolled 
 away. The "Essex" was there alone. 
 
 So passed away the "Arkansas," whose decks 
 had never been pressed by the foot of an emeny. 
 Lieutenant Stevens, finding his boat hopelessly 
 aground, with a merciless antagonist on his star 
 board quarter, ordered his men into the boats, 
 bade them make for the Louisiana shore and 
 alone, with the roo-pound shells of the "Essex" 
 crashing through her side, touched a train to the 
 magazine jumped into the river and was heard 
 of no more. A few minutes later, a Confederate 
 ensign floated down across the "Essex's" bow. 
 For the first time in its history, it had trailed in 
 the presence of an enemy.
 
 CIVIL WAR PAPERS 
 NUMBER FOUR 
 
 VICKSBURG VAGARIES. 
 A Reminiscent Address given by 
 Eliot Callender before the Farragut 
 Naval Veterans* Association, at the 
 Palmer House, Chicago, May 19,
 
 HERE are certain scenes or incidents 
 of our younger years, that from some 
 unexplainable cause fasten themselves 
 upon our memory to the exclusion, 
 perhaps, of all others of far more mo 
 ment. While, during the three years of my life 
 spent in service in the Civil War, many stirring 
 events occurred, there is nothing that comes back 
 so clearly and distinctly to my memory, as the 
 months which I spent around Vicksburg. Whether 
 this arises from the enforced idleness of blockade 
 duty giving one more time to think, and im 
 pressing more strongly the incidents of a stirring 
 nature, which from time to time occurred there; or, 
 from the fact that I served through two Vicksburg 
 campaigns: one during the summer of 1862, when 
 Williams made his unsuccessful attempt upon that 
 stronghold, and then again later during the Grant 
 and Sherman regime. 
 
 I have called this paper "Vicksburg Vagaries," 
 because it is at best only an effort to string upon 
 the thread of memory the impressions made dur 
 ing these two campaigns. It will attempt to give 
 no history of the Whys and Wherefores of the 
 various movements made, but simply the incidents 
 and scenes that an impressionable nature, not yet 
 guilty of whiskers, succeeded in carrying away 
 with it into future years. 
 
 As the insect of the summer night, attracted 
 by the glow of the lamp, flies toward it but to 
 burn its wings and fly away again, and dazed, in 
 spite of experiences scorches its wings again and 
 again; so, through two long summers, the great 
 cupola of the Court House on the hills of Vicks-
 
 burg shone like some great beacon lamp, which 
 we approached first from one side and then from 
 another, and then from still another, taking a hurt 
 at each attempt, scorched every time we tried to 
 reach it, yet, as if impelled by fate, a few weeks 
 or months found us engaged in another attempt 
 to reach that shining dome, but alas! with the same 
 experience. 
 
 I have seen that dome glistening under the rays 
 of the summer sun, and during the watches of the 
 night, I have seen it lightened up with the glare of 
 bursting bombs. Still day after day it stood, until 
 it became an emblem to me of Eternity. Men 
 might come and men might go, but that dome 
 would go on forever. I never realized till during 
 the hours of meditation that I put in watching 
 that Court House in the distance, how much 
 was expressed by that trite saying, "So near, and 
 yet so far." Nor did I always escape it in the 
 hours of sleep, for often when that blessed day 
 dawned when plum-duff was served us, so heavy 
 that it bent our forks in attempting to raise it, 
 have I waked with a cold sweat standing out on 
 my forehead, to find that the Court House dome, 
 which I was sure was resting on the pit of my 
 stomach, had proved to be the efforts of duff try 
 ing to assimilate itself with my rebellious system. 
 I often thought that if Porter could have loaded 
 his mortars with plum-duff which our ship's cook 
 incubated, Vicksburg would have disappeared long 
 before Grant reached it. 
 
 There is a story told of a soldier captured by 
 the Confederates on the Black Bayou expedition, 
 being taken by the colonel of the rebel regiment, 
 and asked what in the world the Yankees were try-
 
 ing to do up that swamp. He was informed by the 
 Yankee that Grant was trying to reach the rear of 
 Vicksburg that way. The Confederate officer re 
 plied, "The old fool, he has failed on three plans 
 already, should think that would be enough for 
 him." Whereupon the Union soldier replied that 
 to his certain knowledge, Grant had thirty-seven 
 other distinct and separate plans for taking Vicks 
 burg, and one of them would fetch it sure. 
 
 I was part and parcel, in a humble way, of all 
 of the plans, excepting the one that was success 
 ful, and I would have been in that, had our boat 
 operated as favorably on land as it did on the 
 water. 
 
 One of the most distinctly marked incidents 
 which my memory has stored up, was the attack 
 made on Haines' Bluff on the Yazoo in the sum 
 mer of 1862. General Sherman's idea was for the 
 navy to attack and destroy the fortifications, upon 
 the conclusion of which, he would land his forces 
 there and march them into Vicksburg on high 
 ground. This plan was mainly successful, with 
 two exceptions: first, the navy did not destroy the 
 fortifications, and second, Sherman did not get his 
 troops on high ground. But we had one of the 
 sharpest battles between the gunboats and the forts 
 that I was called upon to go through during the 
 War. The flagship was the U. S. S. "Benton," 
 in charge of Lieut.-Com. Wm. N. Gwin, one of 
 the bravest and best officers in the United States 
 Navy, and one of the most strikingly handsome 
 men I ever saw. What Hancock was to the army, 
 Gwin was to the navy, and they were not unlike in 
 their personal appearance. I never will forget my 
 sensations as signal officer of the "Benton," when 

 
 I stood on the upper deck with Gwin, as the "Ben- 
 ton" glided through the still, glassy, green waters of 
 the Yazoo, almost in the shadow of the heights 
 which were crowned with the rebel fortifications. 
 The explosion of our I i-inch Dahlgrens directly 
 under us, nearly shook our heads off, and what 
 they failed to do in this line, I was morally certain 
 the bursting of the rebel shells over our heads 
 would complete. There are more pleasant things 
 than standing on an upper deck of an iron clad, 
 looking up at the flash and white cloud of smoke 
 from a gun not three hundred yards away, know 
 ing that the projectile will not fail to hit the boat 
 in some part, and wondering if the particular part 
 is where you are at. I was never noted for my 
 politeness, but the lessons I took that morning in 
 bowing, ducking and posing, must have been re 
 markable. Commander Gwin said to me, "There 
 is no use dodging, you are as apt to dodge into the 
 shell, as away from it." This was rather disheart 
 ening to one whose intentions were so well meant 
 as mine. Only a few moments elapsed after this 
 remark, before a shell exploded right over our 
 heads, and a great section hurled down, cut off 
 Commander Gwin's breast as clean as it could have 
 been done with a butcher's cleaver. He fell to the 
 deck, and survived but a few hours. I was glad to 
 notice, not long since, that this gallant man's name 
 has been commemorated in one of the new torpedo 
 boats that the Government has just built. 
 
 At the breaking out of the War, I was attend 
 ing the Washington University in the city of St. 
 Louis, and belonged to the Debating Society, 
 which, one warm day in the early Fall of 1861, 
 tackled the subject, "Resolved, that it is the duty
 
 of the young men of Missouri to stand by the 
 Federal Government in the present crisis." The 
 result of the evening's debate was, that we who 
 were on the affirmative badly needed a Federal 
 Government to stand by us. The leading orator 
 on the negative, by the name of Carlisle, was a 
 fiery, untamed fellow at that time, and quite un 
 reconstructed. The judge of the debate thought 
 best to reserve his decision, and the adjournment 
 of the Society under these unsatisfactory condi 
 tions left no way open but for the disputants to 
 settle the matter out on the sidewalk. There was 
 no lack of material in that neighborhood for hair- 
 mattresses the next morning, and the sacred soil 
 of Missouri absorbed some of the first blood of 
 the War. 
 
 One bright morning, during the Summer of '63, 
 a flag of truce came up in a row boat from Vicks- 
 burg, and I was ordered by our captain to go out 
 and meet it. Calling away the cutter, I proceeded 
 down the river, and as I drew near the Confeder 
 ate boat the young officer seated in the stern had 
 a strangely familiar look about him. Asking his 
 mission, and learning that it was relative to the 
 passing of some parties north through our lines, 
 I dropped down alongside of his boat, to see be 
 fore me Sam Carlisle, the leading debater on the 
 negative side on the eventful night at Washington 
 University. Forgetting my surroundings, I ex 
 claimed, "Why Sam, old fellow, how do you do," 
 and the next instant I would have been shaking 
 hands with him, had he not drawn himself up to 
 his full height, saying, "I recognize no friends 
 amongst the enemies of the South." I then wanted 
 to /irown him, but he was protected by a flag of
 
 truce, and besides looked as if he might object to 
 my taking any liberties of that kind. Poor fel 
 low, his fiery blood had a chance to cool off, for, 
 with the courage of his convictions, he gave up his 
 young life not long after that, in defence of what 
 he believed was the right. 
 
 In this connection, it appears to me that a goodly 
 portion of the time put in by me in Uncle Sam's 
 service was spent in either a dingey or a cutter. If 
 I was not getting out of trouble in one of these 
 boats, I was assuredly getting into it. A heavy 
 fog rolled down the river one afternoon, so dense 
 that objects a boat's length or two away, were not 
 discernible. Our fleet lay along the Louisiana 
 shore, with the exception of one vessel anchored 
 off the Mississippi shore, just out of range of the 
 upper Confederate battery. Called by Captain 
 Winslow (who afterwards commanded the "Kear- 
 sage), I was ordered to take a communication to 
 the commanding officer of this boat on the east 
 side of the river. Looking out of the port hole, 
 as he handed me the letter, the captain asked me 
 if I thought I could find that boat in the prevail 
 ing fog. With all the presumption of youth, I 
 answered "Certainly," and called the cutter away. 
 "What an absurd question for the captain to ask," 
 I thought, for, with the swift current running down 
 stream, I had but to put my hand over the side of 
 the boat and feel which way the current was run 
 ning, and keep her headed straight across it. A few 
 strokes of the oars, and we were enveloped in the 
 dense fog and as completely shut out of the world 
 as if we alone remained in it. Then the brilliant 
 youth that commanded that boat learned that as 
 long as it was propelled by the oars, there would
 
 be the resistance of the water, no matter which 
 way he was going, and with no objects on either 
 shore visible, it was not possible to tell whether 
 he was going north, south, east or west. It is \in- 
 necessary to add that compasses were not in use 
 in the Mississippi Squadron. Well, I had started 
 in the right direction, of a necessity, and I would 
 hold the tiller firm and bring up all right, leaving 
 out of all my calculations a six-mile current, which, 
 however, attended strictly to business without any 
 help on my part. It was a mile straight away to 
 the point of my destination, and pretty soon I 
 ought to have been there, but I wasn't. Slowing 
 up a little, and peering through the fog, it seemed 
 to turn red and yellow, a queer phenomenon, I 
 thought. Just then, clear and strong out of the 
 profound silence came a "Who's there?" and the 
 same instant the red and yellow phenomenon! 
 materialized into a camp-fire, with a dark object 
 between it and us, holding a gun. We were below 
 the upper battery of the Confederates, and about 
 landing into the arms of our friend the Enemy. 
 As I had no instructions from the captain to land 
 and capture Vicksburg, I whispered "Back water," 
 stopped the progress of the cutter, and we got just 
 one shot as a salute from the sentry, as we bent to 
 our oars, and disappeared in the fog. We pro 
 ceeded fully half a mile up stream without finding 
 the vessel we were after, and started back, to land 
 again fully half a mile below our own boat on the 
 point directly opposite Vicksburg. A half hour 
 afterward the fog lifted, and we carried out our 
 instructions without interfering with either the 
 Confederate forts or forces. 
 
 General Sherman never seemed to get it out of
 
 his head that the only way to capture Vicksburg, 
 was to reach it on the north side, by way of the 
 Yazoo River and the Vicksburg Hills, which ter 
 minated at Haines' Bluff on that stream. And at 
 this time, when the attention of every one is so 
 much directed to the subject of torpedoes, my 
 memory often runs back and recalls one bright 
 morning when an expedition under command of 
 Lieut.-Com. Thomas O. Selfredge, who but a few 
 weeks ago was put on the retired list as Admiral 
 Selfredge, was proceeding up the Yazoo. The 
 iron-clad gunboat "Cairo" was his flagship, and 
 among the vessels comprising the expedition were 
 two or three light-draft gunboats, on one of which, 
 the "Marmora," I had the honor to serve. We 
 were in the lead, but on the left side of the river, 
 the "Cairo" being on the right side, but the stream 
 being a narrow one, we were not far apart. As we 
 were in advance we kept a sharp lookout ahead, 
 and soon discovered evidences of torpedoes. I 
 never saw but one style in use by the Confederates 
 on Western waters. This was a metal cylinder, 
 from four to six feet in length, anchored, and with 
 a long slender iron rod terminating in three points, 
 which was designed to reach just to the surface of 
 the water. 
 
 Seeing one of the unpleasant objects just ahead 
 of us anxiously waiting a closer acquaintance, our 
 boat was stopped, eliciting a sharp query from Com 
 mander Selfredge on the "Cairo," as to why we did 
 not go ahead. Our captain sung out in reply that 
 there were torpedoes just ahead of us. Selfredge 
 was a very impetuous, hot-headed man, and the 
 pre-emptory order came back to "Go ahead." 
 "But there are torpedoes in our path," replied our
 
 captain. "Go ahead," said Selfredge, "I tell you, 
 go ahead." We nailed a couple of short cleats on 
 a twelve-foot sounding pole which lay in our fore 
 castle and which was operated by two or three men 
 on the forecastle, with one of the officers at the bow 
 giving the pilot directions, we went ahead slowly, 
 threading our way among the projectiles. Selfredge, 
 as if to give our captain an object lesson, started 
 ahead with full steam with the "Cairo," and in less 
 time almost than it takes to tell it, there was a dull, 
 heavy report, the water boiled up in great waves 
 around the "Cairo's" bow, her stern raised slightly, 
 and with a convulsive shudder, she went down in 
 about ten feet of water, and instead of picking up 
 torpedoes, we steamed over and picked up the 
 "Cairo's" crew, who lost no time in getting out 
 on the upper deck, which remained six or eight 
 inches above water. 
 
 Since that time and scene, which will never be 
 effaced from my memory, I have held a largely 
 developed apprehension as to the danger and de- 
 structiveness of this style of warfare, which has not 
 been at all diminished by the loss of our splendid 
 battleship "Maine" in Havana harbor. I never 
 read an account of one of our new battleships, 
 built at such tremendous expense, that it does not 
 occur to me that a miserable one-horse torpedo or 
 mine is all that is necessary to remove her from the 
 sphere of existence, thirteen-inch guns, Harvey- 
 ized armor, dynamos, electrical equipment and all. 
 The thought has often come to me, how quickly 
 the proudest navy in the world could be demoral 
 ized, and in fact exterminated, with this infernal 
 and diabolical modern method of warfare. A kid 
 once said, when the story of David and Goliath
 
 was read to him from the Bible, that he didn't 
 think it was a fair fight, anyway, for David threw 
 stones, and it is with a pang of regret that I con 
 template that the old days are gone by when gal 
 lantry and seamanship and pluck were the factors 
 that decided a naval conflict. Like the kid, it 
 seems to me that it is not a fair fight when a ship 
 is sent to the bottom, perhaps before her officers 
 and men have had any opportunity to show what 
 was in them. Everything that we eat, wear, and 
 use is now produced by machinery, and I suppose 
 we ought not to complain if our righting has to be 
 done in the same way. The noble old Jack Tar, 
 celebrated in the annals of our navy, both in prose 
 and song, is disappearing from view, and in his 
 place comes the hard-handed mechanic, with his 
 oil cup and monkey wrench. 
 
 Probably the same pang of regret ran through 
 our navy, when the white sails gave way to me 
 smoke stack and boilers. This is a world of 
 changes, and I suppose the feeling comes to every 
 one, sooner or later, that he is getting left behind. 
 But we little like to admit this in public, even if 
 we do console ourselves in the privacy of our room 
 by singing in our hearts that old ditty of our fore 
 fathers 
 
 " Oh, oh, I grieve, I grieve, 
 
 For the good old days of Adam and Eve." 
 
 The discipline in the Mississippi Squadron under 
 Foote and Davis was something terrible to contem 
 plate. With eighty per cent, of the officers and 
 men taken from the ranks of civil life, and western 
 civil life at that, the other twenty per cent, had its 
 hands full in attempting to leaven the rest. Still 
 the work went on, and under as strict a discipli-
 
 narian as Admiral Porter advance was marked and 
 rapid. It is a wonder that Porter did not die of 
 apoplexy before the men arrived at what he con 
 sidered a proper state of efficiency, for he was a 
 very choleric man, and if things did not go his way 
 at the drop of the hat, there was an explosion. 
 
 Very strongly impressed on my memory is an 
 incident that happened in the Spring of '64, when 
 General Grant lay at Milliken's Bend with his entire 
 army. I was detailed to accompany the Admiral, 
 who desired to confer with the General on some 
 important matter. The "Black Hawk," which was 
 the Admiral's flagship, lay just inside the mouth of 
 the Yazoo River, while General Grant had his head 
 quarters on the steamer "Magnolia," which lay 
 several miles below on the Louisiana bank of the 
 river. 
 
 Proceeding on the Admiral's tug down the river, 
 we soon came alongside the "Magnolia." It is un 
 necessary to state that the Admiral was fully uni 
 formed, and I had all on me that the law allowed, or I 
 should not have been taken along. The lower deck 
 ot the "Magnolia" was covered with soldiers, some 
 lying asleep, some playing cards, and about all of 
 them smoking pipes. There was no sentry on 
 guard to receive the Admiral, and no one paid any 
 attention to him beyond looking up from their 
 game when the tug struck the side of the boat. 
 The Admiral got red behind the ears, and I 
 thought a storm of the first magnitude was com 
 ing. The Admiral usually opened out on his 
 subordinates when he could find no one else to 
 listen to him, but on this occasion his feelings were 
 too deep for utterance, and having learned from 
 past experience with him, that the quieter I was
 
 the safer my position, I meekly fell into the 
 Admiral's rear, and clambered off the tug onto 
 the steamer. We walked along the guards toward 
 the front of the boat, stepping over some soldiers 
 and around others, till we came to the gangway 
 leading to the upper deck. The scene below was 
 repeated above, more groups of soldiers playing 
 cards, more lying around asleep, only a sentry paced 
 to and fro in front of the cabin, who paid no more 
 attention to us than if we had been two sides of sole 
 leather. No salute, no recognition of any kind. 
 
 The Admiral in a voice hoarse with rage, asked 
 the sentry where he could find General Grant. The 
 sentry pointed over his shoulder as he walked past 
 us, toward the cabin, which was the only answer to 
 the Admiral's query. We entered the cabin, which 
 was divested of furniture,which probably accounted 
 for the position of the soldiers on the floor engaged 
 in the same occupations as those on the outside 
 deck and the deck below. A group right in front 
 of us, was in the very midst of a very exciting 
 game, for one of the boys rose up part way as we 
 entered, and slamming a card down upon the 
 floor, sang out, "High, low, Jack and the game, 
 by G-d!" 
 
 One would have thought that this information, 
 so very enthusiastically conveyed, would have 
 moved the Admiral's ruffled feelings, but he had 
 his chin so high in the air by this time, that I was 
 afraid it would lift his feet off the floor. Passing 
 through the front cabin, we came to the sliding 
 doors that shut off what was called the "Ladies' 
 Cabin" on Mississippi River steamboats. Here, 
 another sentry paced to and fro, but he had left all 
 his salutes, as well as the knowledge of making
 
 them, at home. But he was better than his com 
 rade on the front of the boat, for when asked by 
 the Admiral for General Grant, he opened the 
 sliding doors wide enough for the Admiral and 
 myself to squeeze through, and over at the end of 
 the cabin, sitting in his shirt sleeves, hard at work 
 at his desk, was Major-General U. S. Grant, Com 
 mander of the United States forces at Vicksburg. 
 Half a dozen or more officers were lounging around 
 on the sofas and chairs, but I do not remember that 
 one rose to greet us, or pay us any attention. 
 
 The General looked up from his desk, with 
 a hearty "Hello, Admiral, glad to see you, take a 
 chair," which I will do the army justice to say, was 
 furnished more or less promptly by one of the 
 General's staff. In a few moments, the General 
 was through his writing, and turning around to 
 the Admiral, was ready for business. 
 
 The curtain now rises on a scene some two 
 weeks later. The General came to the flagship 
 on a little despatch boat used by him. No notice 
 had been sent of his coming. He just came in his 
 own artless, General-Grant-kind-of-a-way. He 
 had not approached within two hundred yards of 
 the "Black Hawk" before the air was rent with the 
 shrill piping of the boatswain's whistle, and as the 
 despatch boat came alongside of the "Black 
 Hawk," six side boys lined either side of the 
 gangway, with their hands to their caps. The offi 
 cer of the deck received him at the end of the pass 
 age so formed by these side boys, and together the 
 officer of the deck and the General passed up the 
 companionway between two files of blue jackets, 
 all saluting, and were received at the head of the 
 stairs by the fleet captain, who conveyed him
 
 through the cabin to the Admiral's headquarters, 
 and they passed not a man nor an officer, from the 
 time the General entered the boat until he left it, 
 whose hat was not raised. 
 
 Now, candor compels me to state, that the Gen 
 eral looked about as much bored at all this cere 
 mony as the Admiral had looked at the lack of 
 it on his visit of two weeks previous. This little 
 incident illustrates the difference between these two 
 heroes of the War. One free and easy, indifferent 
 to all form and ceremony; the other would almost 
 rather overlook a breach of patriotism than he 
 would a breach of etiquette. 
 
 The watches stood through two campaigns left 
 a great many enduring impressions on my mind. 
 I doubt if anything in the War rivalled in pic- 
 turesqueness and interest, the scenes above Vicks- 
 burg in the summer days of '62. 
 
 I watched the "Carondelet" in the early morn 
 ing hours, as she departed on her mission of cap 
 turing and destroying the "Arkansas," and saw her 
 come back a few hours later, all but captured and 
 destroyed herself. I watched the "Hartford" that 
 same day, after the "Arkansas" had successfully 
 passed the united fleets and was tied to the shore 
 at Vicksburg, and saw her men at work raising and 
 fastening a huge anchor over near the extreme end 
 of her mainyard, little knowing the plans that were 
 going through stern old Admiral Farragut's mind. 
 I saw her drop down the river under the darkness 
 of night, followed by the "Essex," in their vain 
 attempt to destroy the rebel craft which had thrown 
 such an insulting gauntlet at the feet of our navy. 
 That anchor out on her mainyard was designed 
 to be dropped through the upper deck of the
 
 "Arkansas," and undoubtedly would have done 
 so, had the Admiral succeeded in getting alongside 
 of her. They found her in a little cove which was 
 a better protection to her than all the batteries of 
 Vicksburg. 
 
 And more than once have I seen the dark hours 
 of the night lighted up by a most incessant flash of 
 battery after battery from the earth works below, 
 to the forts on the heights above, and from north 
 to south three miles in extent, a living fire upon 
 our fleet as they ran that supposedly impregnable 
 position. Then, more than ever, the gilded dome 
 of the Court House shone like an angel of death, 
 and the air trembled with the roar of a hundred 
 pieces of heavy artillery. Now the flash from the 
 guns was held by the lurid light leaping into the 
 heavens from a burning boat, as she dropped out 
 of line and drifted aimlessly down the river. 
 
 What a volume it would make were all the in 
 cidents and events which centered in and around 
 Vicksburg from first to last recorded of the army 
 and navy, from the time General Williams started 
 to cut his little canal across from the point opposite 
 the city, to the time when General Grant proposed, 
 in lieu of unconditional surrender, to move im 
 mediately upon their works! 
 
 Then, what a glorious Fourth of July was that 
 in 1863, when the glad news, rushing westward 
 from Gettysburg, that Lee's army was fleeing 
 homeward, shattered and broken, was met midway 
 by the news speeding eastward that Vicksburg, the 
 last hold of the Confederacy on the Father of 
 Waters, was resting under the Stars and Stripes. 
 Ever memorable day! 
 
 A child was born in the family of Nations July
 
 4th, 1776. The world recognized, July 4th, 1863, 
 that it had reached man's estate, not only com 
 petent to manage its own affairs, but with the 
 strength and virility to help others not so fortu 
 nately situated.
 
 SHORT ADDRESSES
 
 NUMBER ONE 
 
 OPENING ADDRESS, Memorial Day, 
 1899, at Springdale Cemetery, given by 
 Eliot Callender, President of the Day. 
 
 O the survivor of the great Civil War, 
 these memorial services have an effect 
 which no one else can appreciate. To 
 the large majority of this audience, the 
 great war is simply a matter of history. To many 
 who lived through those days, it is more than a 
 matter of history, it is like an awful dream which 
 they would like to efface from memory. But to 
 the survivors of the G. A. R., Memorial Day 
 brings up afresh the sad and exciting experiences 
 of days gone by. 
 
 Those graves in yonder lot, my friends, have, 
 we believe, more than passing interest to you, or 
 you would not be here to-day. For those head 
 stones mark to us the last resting place of those 
 whose shoulders touched ours in the long marches, 
 whose voices mingled with ours in the din of battle, 
 who slept by our sides during the long hours of the 
 night, with nothing, perhaps, but a blanket between 
 us and the stars of heaven. 
 
 There is, perhaps, to each of you, a grave some 
 where in this beautiful cemetery, precious to you 
 because it is the last resting place of one near and 
 dear. Such a feeling comes to every veteran as he 
 gazes upon the mound which covers the remains 
 of a comrade. And so I say, to those of us who 
 were active participants in that great conflict, there
 
 is a depth and a solemnity to these memorial exer 
 cises, which no one else can appreciate, and it fills 
 our hearts with gratitude and joy to see the young 
 and the old, the rich and the poor, the great and 
 the small, turning out at these memorial services, 
 to do honor to the memory of our departed, and 
 by so doing expressing the same loyalty to the 
 country and the flag which caused these brave com 
 rades of ours to lay down their lives. 
 
 And our hearts warm toward this noble Asso 
 ciation of ladies, organized at the outbreak of the 
 War. They cared for us who were at the front, 
 and they cared for those we left behind. The 
 War over, they have the honor and memory of 
 those who laid down their lives, in their keeping. 
 This beautiful carpet of green that covers our de 
 parted comrades, will soon fade into the sere and 
 brown of fall and the death of winter, but in no 
 month of the year, in no year of the past thirty- 
 eight, when in the heart of the Ladies' Memorial 
 Association the soldier's grave was not green, and 
 flowers strewn over his mound; and the veteran 
 turns with pride and hope to the splendid speci 
 mens of American manhood that have come to the 
 front in these latter days. Like the warriors who 
 sprang from the dragon's teeth that Cadmus sowed, 
 it would seem as if from the blood-soaked soil ot 
 the Republic struggling for its very life, there had 
 come a race ready and willing to hold up the Stars 
 and Stripes against the whole world if needs be. 
 
 In one of the crises of the Roman Empire, 
 when the enemies of Rome were almost thunder 
 ing at her gates, a little girl and her grandfather 
 were watching the march of soldiers hurrying to 
 the front, a column of old battle-scarred veterans,
 
 every man of whom had earned honors in many 
 hard contest for his native land. At their 
 head, one carried a banner with the inscription, 
 "We have been brave." "Surely," said the 
 little girl, "we need not fear, see all those old 
 soldiers; they know how to fight and will drive 
 our enemies all away." But the old man shook 
 his head, saying, "Truly, my child, they do 
 know how to fight, and they will not run away; 
 but see, some are lame, and some are stiff, and all 
 are old. The enemy will soon tire them, and 
 their battle will not be for long." Then on came 
 a column of young men, marching along with 
 elastic step, eagerness and determination in their 
 faces, and at their head a banner with the inscript 
 ion, "We will be brave." The little girl clapped 
 her hands, and cried, "What do you say ot these, 
 grandfather?" The old veteran's eyes brightened 
 as he looked at the sturdy forms passing by, and 
 said, "Let us go home and rest in peace, my child. 
 Our land is safe with such as these." 
 
 I will now call on a worthy representative of 
 this advance guard of American hope and pride, 
 Rev. S. H. Moore, of Peoria, the orator of the 
 day.
 
 NUMBER TWO 
 
 ADDRESS by Eliot Callender, Patriotic 
 Service, First Presbyterian Church, Peoria, 
 Illinois. 
 
 HE two best known expressions that 
 have come to us from the War, are 
 probably General Grant's "Fighting it 
 out on this line if it takes all summer," 
 and "Let us have peace." It was a quiet, almost 
 a silent man who said this, but everyone knew and 
 felt that there was not only sincerity in the words, 
 but that all the force of a mighty character was 
 behind it. Our Southern foes knew when Grant's 
 determination reached them, that it simply meant 
 a survival of the fittest or strongest, they knew 
 that blood would flow like water, and North and 
 South the expression was not infrequent of "Beast 
 and Butcher." But because he did fight it out, 
 because blood did flow like water, that silent man 
 was enabled to say a little later on, "Let us have 
 peace." Grant and Foote were types of soldier 
 Christians. May we not use them tonight as types 
 of Christian soldiers to whom the instruction comes, 
 "Let us, therefore, follow after the things which 
 make for peace, and those things whereby one may 
 edify another." The true soldier is a peace-maker, 
 and not a peace-breaker. Because peace was broken 
 in 1 86 1, the call for volunteers was made that peace 
 might be restored. Grant and Foote and Farragut 
 fought for peace, and the silent commander's whole 
 heart was in those words, "Let us have peace."
 
 My friends, our numbers are few here tonight 
 who fought in the great Civil Strife, but there isn't 
 one here, young or old, who hasn't all the battle 
 on his hands that he can stand up under. We 
 wrestle, not against flesh and blood,but against prin 
 cipalities and powers, against spiritual wickedness in 
 high places, against the prince of the power of dark 
 ness, and "Let him that thinketh he standeth, take 
 heed lest he fall." Paul exhausts the power of lan 
 guage in depicting this great strife, and the necessity 
 of preparing for it, and having prepared, to put up 
 the best fight that in us lies. "Put on the helmet 
 of salvation and the breast-plate of righteousness, 
 armed with the sword of the Spirit, which is the 
 word of God. Put on the whole armor of God, 
 and having done all, stand." Not lie down, not 
 run away; but stand and fight, and fight just as 
 Grant and Foote fought for peace; not, perhaps, 
 a peace from trouble, but a peace in trouble, a 
 peace that can only come to the Christian soldier, 
 clad in the armor of God, and sustained and sup 
 ported by His Almighty Power. "Thou wilt give 
 him perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee," 
 a "peace that passeth understanding," a peace that 
 is worth more than all the perishing things of this 
 life, that can gather around us. 
 
 A soldier of the Crimea was being carried off 
 the field of battle by his comrades. "Lay me 
 down," he said, "and go back, I am wounded to 
 death. It is useless to spend time on me." They 
 laid him down and left him, but a kindhearted offi 
 cer came across him, and said, "My poor fellow, 
 can I do anything for you?" "Nothing," was the 
 
 reply. "Can I not get you some water?" 
 I thank you," the dying soldier said. "Can I 
 
 "No, 
 not
 
 send word home to your friends?" "No," came 
 the reply, "I have no friends that you can reach; 
 but," he said, "if you look in my knapsack, you 
 will find a Testament. Open it at the fourteenth 
 chapter of John, and along toward the end of the 
 chapter, you will find a verse marked; read it to 
 me." The officer complied, and read the words: 
 "Peace I leave with you; My peace I give unto 
 you. Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. 
 Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be 
 afraid." A smile, lighted from above, passed over 
 the soldier's face. "I have that peace," he said; 
 and his spirit fled to God, who gave it.
 
 NUMBER THREE 
 
 WHAT IS THE WOMEN'S RELIEF 
 CORPS DOING FOR THE G. A. R.? 
 ADDRESS given by Eliot Callender at the 
 Camp-Fire of the Women's Relief Corps, 
 on the Occasion of the Fourteenth District 
 Convention, 1899. 
 
 ,HAT is the Women's Relief Corps 
 doing for the G. A. R.? In answering 
 that question, we are not all at a loss, 
 as was the aged darkey, who had been 
 stricken with a very severe illness, and 
 had come so near the point of death that the doctor 
 was making three visits a day; but on visiting his 
 patient one morning, he found a great and radical 
 change had taken place for the better, and the 
 patient was on the sure road to recovery. He said 
 to him, "Sam, you are so much better this morn 
 ing, that I will not be obliged to call again before 
 to-morrow; but for fear you might have a little 
 pain in the interim, I will leave this prescription." 
 After the doctor had gone, Sam called in a feeble 
 voice to his wife, who was in an adjoining room, 
 "Dinah, da's a 'scription on de table, what de 
 doctah lef ; it's for my interum; please take it to 
 de drug store and ask de man whether I is to take 
 it eternally, or jus' rub it on de outside, an' if so, 
 whar." 
 
 He didn't know the exact place where he was go 
 ing to be benefitted, but we do. The work of the 
 Relief Corps for the G. A. R. covers us in every
 
 way, and like a Jersey shirt clings to us just as 
 much in one place as another; and if we are cold 
 and weak in any one place, that is just where the 
 Relief Corps is on hand, in its ministering mercy 
 and applying relief. 
 
 And look at its vitality! I have watched our 
 own local Corps with unfeigned admiration; noth 
 ing downs it or discourages it. I have known 
 them to have lawn teas, with no lawn to have them 
 on; they have had successful steamboat excursions 
 up the river, when there was so little water that the 
 boat raised a cloud of dust as it moved off; they 
 have had entertainments gotten up at considerable 
 expense, where the weather, or something else, 
 knocked out the attendance, and any other 
 organization would have gone broke but not 
 they instead of that, they first paid all their 
 bills, then declared a dividend out of the balance, 
 and then had money left to turn into the Relief 
 Fund of the Post. 
 
 If the spiritual condition of the city was low 
 and the churches neglected, they would get up card 
 parties to get money away from the ungodly and 
 put it to some good purpose. If a revival should 
 break out in this city, I would expect to see our 
 Relief Corps advertising "Converts' Chicken Cro 
 quettes, nothing but real Methodist chickens 
 used"; and what the ladies are going to do when 
 they get to that better land, where there is no sick 
 ness or sorrow, and no one needs help, I don't 
 know. 
 
 I will give way to no man in America in the 
 matter of respect for the Women's Relief Corps, 
 and the more I am brought into contact with it, 
 the better I know it, the more I respect and love
 
 it. Heretofore, I have loved it for the good it 
 has done, but now I am growing a wholesome 
 respect for it as the most powerful organization 
 amongst the patriotic societies of America. I 
 speak advisedly. 
 
 You may talk as you please about the G. A. R., 
 the Military Order of the Loyal Legion, the Sons 
 of Veterans, and other patriotic organizations, but 
 the Women's Relief Corps stands to-day, the first 
 in strength, in life, and in its resources. With its 
 four thousand organizations, expending last year 
 $ 1 60,000 in charity, and $19,000,000 since its 
 organization, where will you find its equal in 
 strength and vitality? With an active member 
 ship of 1 50,000, it is growing; while, Comrades of 
 the G. A. R., in the natural order of things, we are 
 diminishing. As was said this afternoon, the G. 
 A. R. brings to the Relief Corps, nothing; while 
 the Relief Corps brings to us, everything. 
 
 The great tie that binds the G. A. R. is the one 
 of comradeship; no one outside of the Order can 
 appreciate the thrill that goes over the old soldier 
 as he meets and grasps the hand of one who was 
 a partner in all the vicissitudes of that awful war; 
 who trudged with him in the long hours of the 
 weary march; who lay with him during the long 
 hours of the night, with the damp sod for a mat 
 tress and the stars for a covering; who drank with 
 him from the same canteen; who exchanged ex 
 periences with him, perhaps in rebel prisons, or in 
 adjoining cots in the same hospital. 
 
 Comrade Schimpff, who belongs to a number of 
 societies, said in this hall once, that he knew of 
 none whose ties were so strong as those of the 
 G. A. R. But there is a new tie forming and
 
 growing stronger every day in the G. A. R. It 
 will not supplant the other, but it will grow along 
 with it. It is a tie born of women's love, tender 
 ness, and sympathy, and it holds the G. A. R. and 
 the Women's Relief Corps together in bonds that 
 the extinction of the G. A. R. alone will sever, and 
 then it will take up our sons and do for them what 
 it has already done for us.
 
 NUMBER FOUR 
 
 ADDRESS given by Eliot Callender at 
 Installation of Sons of Veterans, January, 
 1900. 
 
 the early days of the Civil War, a 
 small force which we had at Lexington, 
 Mo., after a sharp conflict, surrended to 
 General Price with largely superior num 
 bers. General Price detailed a number 
 of his officers to search amongst the captured 
 Union soldiers for ammunition, of which the Con 
 federate army was very much in need. An Irish 
 adjutant, by the name of Cosgrove, was interro 
 gated by one of these officers, as to whether or not 
 his command had any ammunition, and if so, where 
 it was. "Bedad, sir," said Cosgrove, "all the am 
 munition we had, we give to you before we sur 
 rendered, and if we had any more, we would have 
 given it to you before now." 
 
 I been have asked so often to address the Sons 
 of Veterans, that I am quite sure I am in the 
 same position as the adjutant, and have given you 
 all I had on previous occasions, but I am glad of 
 an opportunity to meet with you this evening, and 
 still more glad to see there are lots of Bryner Post 
 that feel as I do. No one can, or ought to be 
 more interested in the Sons of Veterans, than the 
 members of the Grand Army of the Republic, for 
 if we have done anything that should live in the 
 future, it is only through the Sons of Veterans and 
 the Ladies' Relief Corps that it will be cherished 
 and kept alive in the years to come.
 
 
 I listened to a very interesting sermon last Sun 
 day morning, on the relations of the old year just 
 expired, to the new one which we are entering, and 
 the text was taken from the words of the old 
 priest, Simeon, when in the temple, the Infant 
 Saviour was brought in: "Lord, now lettest Thou 
 Thy servant depart in peace, for my eyes have 
 seen the glory of the Lord." 
 
 Yesterday is history, tomorrow is hope, and their 
 only meeting place is in the to-day. Simeon repre 
 sented a day and generation that was past; the In 
 fant Saviour, one that was to come: so the old 
 year drops out, and the new year comes in; the 
 one has become history, and the other, hope. 
 
 And it strikes me, my young friends, as a fit 
 ting illustration of the relations existing between 
 the Grand Army of the Republic and the Sons of 
 Veterans. Our day has gone, we live but in 
 memory; gone are the days of the camp-fire, the 
 dreary marches, the roar of artillery, and the rattle 
 of musketry, the laying on our arms in the snow 
 and storm by night, the midnight alarms, the shout 
 of combat; we shall no longer look upon the up 
 turned faces of our dead on the field of battle, nor 
 carry our wounded comrades in our arms. That 
 is now history, glorious history, you may say, 
 but it is all of yesterday, and to-day we stand be 
 fore you Sons of Veterans, who are our tomorrow, 
 our hope, and our pride. Yours the reveille, call 
 ing you, full of the strength of young manhood, 
 to fight the battle of life. For us, taps are sound 
 ing over the valley, and the time of our rest is at 
 hand. 
 
 All over this broad land have been erected mag 
 nificent monuments to the memory of those who
 
 upheld our country's flag in its hour of supreme 
 peril; we have one in our own Court House yard 
 that is the peer of any of them, in design, grace 
 fulness, and beauty. But the best monuments 
 to the boys in blue will not be found in marble 
 shafts and bronze statues, no matter how costly or 
 beautiful, but in the brave and loyal hearts of our 
 boys, the Sons of Veterans. 
 
 You are our hope, you are our tomorrow, in 
 you we live again. The principles for which we 
 fought, you will fight for, if necessary; the flag we 
 followed so proudly, is the flag you have sworn to 
 protect; the work we have done, you have taken 
 up, and no insult or dishonor to that beautiful ban 
 ner of liberty will ever go unpunished as long as a 
 son of a veteran is left. 
 
 Old Simeon, with his heart full of joy, took the 
 Infant Saviour in his arms and blessed him, and 
 so the Grand Army of the Republic, as it looks 
 with pride on the stalwart and growing ranks of 
 the Sons of Veterans, extends its "God bless you 
 and keep you."
 
 NUMBER FIVE 
 
 INAUGURAL ADDRESS AS COM 
 MANDER OF BRYNER POST, De 
 livered by Eliot Callender, January, 1897. 
 
 'LLOW me to extend to my comrades of 
 Bryner Post, my sincere thanks for the 
 trust and confidence they have seen fit 
 
 to repose, by calling me to the position 
 
 of Commander of this Post. In accepting the 
 same, I can but say that whatever lies in me shall 
 be yours for the welfare of the Post, during the 
 year we are just entering. Never was responsible 
 position bestowed where the recipient felt more un 
 worthy, or was more conscious how far he would 
 fall short of rising to the wants and needs of the 
 duties entrusted to him. We are not as young as 
 we once were; the youth and vigor and life and 
 strength that was ours in the 6o's was sadly 
 strained in the great struggle, and has been still 
 further exhausted by the battle of life that we 
 have been obliged to fight since those days. Our 
 hearts may be young; our desires and intentions 
 all that they should be; but the strength and 
 vitality to carry those intentions into execution 
 are no longer yours nor mine. And then, too, 
 when it is taken into consideration that each year 
 adds to the disabilities of our membership, it will 
 be readily seen that the duties of your officers 
 must, in the very nature of things, increase in the 
 same ratio. Let me, therefore, Comrades, ask for 
 myself and those who will come after me, your
 
 patience. Credit me with the sincerest desire to 
 fill this position to the best interests of the Post, 
 and the satisfaction of every member in it. Mis 
 takes, I shall not fail to make; shortcomings will 
 outnumber the overcomings; I know of but one 
 way we can be sure of success: are you willing to do 
 your part to secure so desirable an end? If you 
 are, I congratulate you here and now on the record 
 that Bryner Post will make in 1897. If not, you 
 can have no just cause for complaint, if we fall 
 short of the privileges and opportunities lying 
 within our reach. Let me ask every member of 
 the Post to thoughtfully consider the words that 
 fell from the lips of our Installing Officer tonight. 
 They are the words of wisdom, and are founded 
 on truth and experience: "Comrades of the Post, 
 I now present to you the officers of your choice. 
 I counsel you to aid them in the performance of 
 their duties; to strengthen their hands, and to 
 encourage them in their labors. With your help, 
 their turn of office may be highly successful; with 
 out it, the result of their labors must be barren." 
 Now I take it that there is no member, but desires 
 the welfare and prosperity of this Post, and if this 
 is so, your officers can count on every shoulder be 
 ing put to the wheel. 
 
 A good parson once took charge of a large con 
 gregation in a flourishing city. He was received 
 royally. Every member of his church took him by 
 the hand and wished him "God speed." Every 
 branch of work in the church took a new lease of 
 life, and the good man felt that he had at last been 
 located by God's Providence in a place that made 
 life worth living. But before long, things began 
 to drag a little. The life that started into his
 
 church with him, didn't keep up its vitality. The 
 parson felt that the fault must be his, and he 
 worked all the harder. He rose early and worked 
 late, but in spite of all he could do, things did not 
 go on as he thought they ought to. Reproaching 
 himself, he redoubled his efforts, but with no 
 measure of success. Returning to his home after 
 a particularly discouraging and disappointing day, 
 he fell asleep and dreamed he was walking along a 
 country road, and was surprised to come across his 
 entire congregation surrounding a huge stage coach, 
 which was without horses and blocked up the road 
 way. "We cannot get this thing out of the way," 
 his elders told him as he came up to the throng. 
 Taking in the situation, the parson said, "I will 
 take hold of the tongue, you elders get hold of the 
 front wheels, let the deacons tackle the rear wheels, 
 and the balance of the congregation get behind the 
 coach and push." It fairly flew at first, but soon 
 the parson felt it pull a little harder, so he put in 
 more muscle and bent himself to his work. But 
 it pulled harder and harder, and when fairly out of 
 breath with his efforts and nearly exhausted, he 
 stopped and looked back to ascertain the cause of 
 his trouble. Judge of his surprise when he found 
 that one after another of his helpers had dropped 
 their work and piled into the coach, and the poor 
 preacher had been trying to pull the whole outfit. 
 Comrades, your officers need your help much 
 more than you need theirs. Then, too, this in 
 coming administration was born at a very unfortu 
 nate time. We take up the reins laid down by one 
 of the most faithful and painstaking officers that 
 this Post has ever had. Few know the hard work 
 that Commander Smith has put in it during the
 
 past year, but we all know how successful it has 
 been. It is one thing to sit down and enjoy a 
 dainty repast, but who gives a thought to the 
 worry and care and skill that the good wife and 
 mother has expended in getting up that repast for 
 our enjoyment. I believe I voice the sentiment 
 of the entire Post in acknowledging the debt of 
 gratitude we owe to Commander Phil Smith and 
 those he called around him as assistants, for one 
 of the most successful and enjoyable years that 
 Bryner Post has ever experienced. 
 
 And I can but hope that this new administration 
 may find its way into the smiles and favor of that 
 noble auxiliary organization, the Ladies' Relief 
 Corps. The Grand Army has no friend so true, 
 so loyal, so necessary to its very existence as the 
 Ladies' Relief Corps. What the wife is to the 
 home, in her never-ceasing ministrations, so is the 
 Relief Corps to the Grand Army. And it is not 
 only our duty, but our great privilege to aid and 
 sustain that organization by every means in our 
 power. 
 
 Now, next to the wife comes the child. The 
 Grand Army has a child that is proud of his name, 
 "Son of a Veteran," and we are unworthy sires if 
 we neglect our offspring. May I ask every Com 
 rade to join me in an effort to awaken a renewed 
 interest in this organization of our boys? They 
 have not only a right to demand our fostering care, 
 but their success and welfare should lie very close 
 to the heart of every member of the Post, for it is 
 only through them that in a few years will the 
 rising generation know of the Grand Army. The 
 work that we are now trying to do, we will soon 
 have to lay on them.
 
 And now speaking of that work, and passing 
 its fraternal and charitable features, I want to say 
 one word on the duty laid on us all of fostering in 
 the community where we live, that spirit of loyalty 
 that saved this land over thirty years ago. We can 
 preach it in our lives as well as our words, but our 
 great opportunity and where the most telling and 
 lasting work can be done, is in the privilege we 
 enjoy of reaching the children in our public shools. 
 Let me urge oh those who are called to take a lead 
 ing part in this work, to make the most careful pre 
 paration that their time will permit. Do not make 
 the mistake that anything will do for the children; 
 remember, the impression that your words make 
 upon them, may be seeds from which may spring 
 the future safety of the nation. We all value 
 things by what they cost. Those young hearts 
 little know what it cost "to keep our country un 
 divided, and our flag maintained unsullied." It is 
 our place to tell them, and indellibly impress upon 
 them the priceless value of the liberty which will 
 soon be in their keeping, and which can only be 
 kept by eternal vigilance. It is our place to show 
 them that "the only hope of our Republic rests 
 in one country and one flag." Oh, at what a bit 
 ter cost, Comrades, have we learned this lesson. 
 
 No one knows, much less can anyone express 
 in words, the tie that binds together the member 
 ship of the Grand Army of the Republic. A tie 
 born on the field of battle, sealed with blood, and 
 cemented by hours and days and years of hard 
 ship, self-denial, and deprivation, endured that 
 those we hold dear and those who should come 
 after us, might not only respect themselves, but 
 demand and receive the respect of the world.
 
 There has never been any love lost by the 
 monarchies of Europe for the Republic carved out 
 of English territory by the sword of Washington. 
 They both hated and feared us, for its success 
 meant nothing less than the downfall of monarch- 
 ial institutions. Let it be once demonstrated that 
 the people could govern themselves, and every 
 civilized people would insist on, and sooner or 
 later secure their rights. So when the cloud of 
 war rolled over this fair land, there were no tears 
 shed in Europe, and czar, king, and emperor 
 looked gleefully for the time when the United 
 States, rent asunder by civil strife, devastated and 
 despoiled by the ravages of war, would no longer 
 threaten the permanency of monarchial institu 
 tions. And would-be pall-bearers were not con 
 fined to Europe alone; right here on American 
 soil, in the dark days of the 6o's, many believed 
 and said "the days of the Union are ended." And 
 many more were for peace at any price. "Com 
 promise" was the cry. "Let the South go!" 
 And in the sullen atmosphere that preceded the 
 storm Old Glory hung drooping at the masthead, 
 and a cry went up over this once happy land, 
 "Great God, what are we coming to!" 
 
 The foundations of the Government were 
 shaken, and with it tottered every institution 
 commercial, industrial and educational that lived 
 and flourished because the Government lived and 
 flourished. And now, with panic and fear in 
 Washington, with consternation and distress in 
 New York and Boston and Philadelphia, there 
 arose one hitherto unknown in this country, with 
 out any name or prestage to inspire confidence, 
 who took the American ensign and holding it
 
 aloft, said, "I will make room for more stars in 
 the azure heaven of that flag, and with God's 
 help, there never shall be one less." Who is 
 this, that in the then dark hours, when dismay 
 and terror hung like a funeral pall all over this 
 broad land? When the politician was wringing 
 his hands, and the bondholder crying, "What 
 shall we do to be saved?" When the wealthy 
 were shipping their families to Europe, and the 
 streets of every city in this country were filled 
 with blanched faces and quaking knees. Who is 
 this? Hitherto unknown, unhonored, and un 
 sung, steps forward as the saviour of his country, 
 bidding faith to the faithless, and hope to the 
 hopeless? 
 
 // is the Boy in Blue. 
 
 How the Boy in Blue carried out his resolve, 
 history has recorded. He lowered the first Con 
 federate flag at Fort Henry; laid all night in the 
 falling snow, and fought all day at Donelson. He 
 was shot down in the Hornet's Nest at Shiloh, 
 and sank beneath the blue waters of Hampton 
 Roads in the "Congress" and "Cumberland." 
 He ran the batteries at Vicksburg, and burned up 
 with swamp fever at Chicasaw Bayou and Chica- 
 hominy. He dug trenches, was blown up by 
 mines. He ate poor food and drank water that 
 he would have refused to wash swine in, at home. 
 He languished in Southern prisons. He bared 
 his breast to the thrust of the bayonet, and left 
 arms and limbs on the battlefield and in the hos 
 pital. There was no privation that he was not 
 called upon to endure, no suffering to which he 
 was a stranger. Through weeks, and months, and
 
 years, he kept his face to the foe until there was 
 no more foe to face, and when Old Glory floated 
 the undisputed emblem of the Nation from Maine 
 to California, and from the Great Lakes to the 
 Gulf, he could be found at Washington at the 
 Grand Review, somewhat ragged and unkempt, 
 to be sure, but with a heart that beat time to the 
 music of Victory, and with the same step that he 
 had followed the foe from Atlanta to the sea. 
 The politician and the bondholder emerged 
 
 zp 
 
 from their hiding places, and never ceased telling 
 how they saved the country, while the Boy in 
 Blue, paid off at the rate of $13 a month in 
 money that was worth sixty cents on the dollar, 
 went back to the farm and the store and the shop, 
 poorer in purse than when he entered the army, 
 but with a consciousness of duty done, that was 
 worth more to him than all the wealth of the 
 Indias. The Good Book tells us that "All that 
 a man hath will he give for his life." Four hun 
 dred thousand brave, loyal spirits during that aw 
 ful struggle had fled to the God that gave them. 
 Three hundred thousand more, took up the battle 
 of life again, shattered in limb and body, crippled 
 in everything but that God-given courage and 
 loyalty that had held up the flag of his country in 
 one hand, while he struck down treason with the 
 other. A million more, hardened as they were to 
 bloodshed and the strife of battle, took up the 
 pursuits of every-day life, ploughed neglected 
 fields, built barns and houses, bought and sold. 
 An era of unexampled prosperity dawned over 
 this once stricken land, and Europe stood aghast 
 at the spectacle. History had never before chroni 
 cled such a country and such a people. Never be-
 
 fore had such perfect liberty failed to merge into 
 the most unbridled license. Never before had 
 such an army thrown down their implements of 
 warfare and taken up the implements of peace. 
 One day the shock of battle; the next, the hum 
 of industry. Emerging from a baptism of blood, 
 Lincoln voiced a united people in the words, 
 "With malice toward none and charity for all, let 
 us do right as God gives us to see the right." 
 And around the world rang the praises of the 
 Great Republic. It had stood the test. It had 
 come to stay. And in the third of a century that 
 has passed since those days, what has the Boy in 
 Blue done? He has been found always and all 
 the time, just where you would expect to find one 
 who had offered his life for his country's need. 
 On that side of every question which would up 
 hold his country's honor, serve her truest and best 
 interests. The man does not live that ever bought 
 or sold a soldier's vote. No cunning and speci 
 ously devised political trick, meaning wrong but 
 masquerading under the name of right, ever vic 
 timized him. He had had burned into his very 
 soul such a brand of loyalty, that he fought treason 
 to that country's best interests as he had fought for 
 its life in the years gone by. 
 
 And he has lived to see the day when, under 
 the blessing of God, no nation in Europe or 
 America but looks with respect on the Great 
 Republic. He has lived to see the day when 
 England, our old time enemy, seeks the arbitra 
 tion of commissioners rather than that of war. 
 He has lived to see the day when the United 
 States of America can say to the proudest nation 
 of Europe, "So far, and no farther," and the
 
 mandate is obeyed. He has lived to see the day 
 when Uncle Sam's finger is felt way off in South 
 America, and when the oldest, haughtiest, and 
 most bigoted of monarchies dreads that finger 
 more than it does all the rest of the world put 
 together, and when that monarchy is beseeching 
 the Powers of Europe to stand between it and the 
 wrath to come, arising all over this great land at 
 the cruelty and oppression going on at our very 
 doors. The Monroe Doctrine was a theory fifty 
 years ago, to-day it is a great substantial fact. 
 The Stars and Stripes carry respect with them, no 
 matter in what part of the world they wave. A 
 great many things have contributed to this state of 
 affairs, but with due respect, wherever respect is 
 due, the fact that the United States was able, alone 
 and without the consent or help of any other 
 nation, to rise in its might and put down the most 
 gigantic rebellion in the world's history, and when 
 that was done, to turn its vast army into peace 
 able and law-abiding citizens, was the one great 
 thing that woke the world to a knowledge of its 
 power, and earned for our land the respect that it 
 enjoys to-day. And, Comrades, the Boy in Blue 
 put down that rebellion, and the Boy in Blue was 
 the one that became the peaceable, law-abiding 
 citizen. 
 
 I claim (and I do not think the claim can be 
 disputed) that there is no distinctive class in our 
 Nation that, first and last, has begun to do what 
 the Union soldier has done for the life, perpetuity, 
 and prosperity of our country. No man has more 
 right to the respect and love of the community in 
 which he lives, than the old soldier. And if he has 
 not this, it is because he does not respect himself.
 
 It is because he does not claim that which belongs 
 to him. A whole generation, Comrades, has come 
 and gone since the prayers of a nation followed you 
 to the front. Let me ask you to leave no means 
 in your power unused, to impress on those who 
 are rapidly taking our places, the great principles 
 for which you fought, and the great fight you put 
 up for those principles. It will teach them that 
 the priceless privileges they are enjoying, cost 
 blood and treasure beyond expression, and it will 
 teach them, too, that their young lives are what 
 they are, because you were what you were, in the 
 dark days of the 6o's. And to that end, let me 
 ask every soldier of the Civil War in this com 
 munity to unite himself with the Grand Army of 
 the Republic. Let those of us who know what 
 the greatness of this Republic cost, stand together 
 and by each other, during the days of life yet left 
 us. We can do each other good, and we can do 
 the community in which we live good, by and in 
 this organization. You did not fight alone, but 
 marched shoulder to shoulder. Come, Comrades, 
 let us now walk together hand in hand. Our 
 marching days are over, the evening has come, 
 and the time for gathering around the camp. Will 
 you not join us? We will gladly share with you. 
 A soldier's welcome awaits you. Come and ex 
 change experiences with us, of your battle of life, 
 just as you used to in the old time recount around 
 the camp fire the events of the day just past. 
 
 What a beautiful and touching sight that is, so 
 often witnessed in this great land of ours, when 
 once a year the family are gathered together in 
 joyful re-union. From far and near, the sons and 
 daughters, the brothers and sisters, gather under
 
 the old roof where were spent their childhood 
 years. Touching, I say, because with each year the 
 locks are getting scantier and whiter on mother's 
 and father's heads. Touching, because one year 
 finds a vacant chair which has always been filled 
 before. And each recurring gathering brings 
 added aching hearts; but, how even the sadness 
 binds in closer union, the survivors. They were 
 all so necessary to each other in the days gone by; 
 doubly dear when their numbers have become few, 
 and their memories, many. 
 
 Soldiers of the Great War, if you have not 
 already united with the Grand Army, wait no 
 longer, and let each meeting of our Post be like a 
 family re-union. Let us come together and talk 
 of the old days. And if the memories of those 
 who have been called home, lend a tinge of sad 
 ness to our meetings, those very memories will 
 bind us who are left, closer and closer together, 
 until we meet where our ranks will nevermore be 
 broken and our Great Commander reigns supreme.
 
 NUMBER SIX 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY ADDRESS given by 
 Eliot Callender at Irving School. 
 
 HIRTY-THREE years ago this very 
 month of May this city of Peoria was 
 just such a bower of beauty as it is to 
 day. Flowers were blooming in the 
 gardens, birds were singing. The trees were 
 luxuriant with their wealth of Spring foliage; but 
 there was something the matter, what was it? 
 There was a kind of a hush; people hurried along 
 the streets and hardly spoke to each other. Every 
 one had an anxious, half-frightened look. Have 
 you ever noticed how queerly things look just be 
 fore a thunderstorm in Summer? What an awful 
 stillness there is! How the birds hurry to their 
 nests to protect their young! How everyone 
 looks at that great black cloud with the lightning 
 zigzagging through it! How the blinds and doors 
 are shut and everyone waiting and fearing the 
 moment when the storm will burst in all its fury! 
 Well, it was some such an atmosphere as that, 
 that hung over this city thirty-three years ago. 
 The awful cloud of war had rolled up over this 
 land, and was about to burst in all its fury, 
 changing the most happy and peaceful and pros 
 perous land on the face of the globe into one 
 great scene of distress and anguish and horror. 
 
 Hark! what noise is that? Way off, up this 
 very street that passes this schoolhouse, could be 
 heard the sound of drums and fifes: nearer it 
 conies, louder and clearer can that martial music
 
 be heard; and there they come y the boys in blue, 
 the first Company raised in this city, marching 
 with steady tread down this street on their way to 
 the War. Some cheered them as they went by 
 holding the beautiful stars and stripes aloft; some 
 waived their hats and handkerchiefs. But many 
 a mother turned from that sight, her heart nearly 
 broken with anguish, not knowing whether she 
 ever would see her boy again. Many a wife buried 
 her face in her hands and wept, desolate and alone 
 in her house, as her stay and support and comfort 
 marched away behind those drums; would he ever 
 come back? God alone could tell. But our Flag 
 had been fired on. All that made this land worth 
 living in had been threatened; wicked hands and 
 cruel hearts would break up this, the best Govern 
 ment on the face of the earth, and fathers and sons 
 left the farms, the stores, and the offices, deter 
 mined to save this glorious Republic of freedom, 
 or die. 
 
 A few months, and another company of soldiers 
 marched down this street on its way to the South, 
 and then another, and another, leaving behind the 
 weeping eyes and burdened hearts of more mothers 
 and daughters and sweethearts. 
 
 Then came those dreadful battles, with their 
 hundreds and thousands of torn and mangled and 
 maimed human beings. The ground all along the 
 border states was soaked in blood. Every shell 
 that shrieked through the air and tore the life- 
 blood from some brave heart, caused another 
 shriek somewhere in the North, when the news 
 reached some hitherto peaceful and happy home. 
 
 Let us draw a veil over the horrors of awful 
 war. It lasted four years, and 600,000 brave men
 
 laid down their lives before it was decided that the 
 Stars and Stripes should continue to wave over the 
 length and breadth of this great land, the undis 
 puted emblem of the greatest Republic and the 
 best Government on the face of the globe. Six 
 hundred thousand men! Do you know how many 
 that is? Standing in line as close as they could 
 stand they would make a procession 170 miles 
 long; farther than from here to Chicago. And as 
 many more only lived to pass the remainder of 
 their days with broken limbs and arms and shat 
 tered health. What an awful sacrifice! 
 
 Most of these have gone during these thirty- 
 three years to join their comrades who died on the 
 field of battle. And it is in memory of these de 
 parted heroes that one day was set apart in each 
 year, called "Memorial Day," that grateful and 
 loving hearts might show their appreciation of 
 what these heroes have done. 
 
 The Good Book says, "All that a man hath will 
 he give for his life." These men gave their Jives 
 that you and I might live and enjoy just what we 
 are enjoying this day, and that is, the blessing of 
 a free and peaceful land. You little appreciate 
 now what that means free and peaceful because 
 you have never known anything else, and I trust 
 God in His mercy will never let you know any 
 thing else. But the day is coming when all those 
 who are now working and planning and striving 
 to keep this country free and peaceful, will have 
 passed away, and this land will then be in the care 
 and keeping of the boys and girls of to-day. 
 
 And why is it necessary for people to plan and 
 to work to keep this land free and peaceful? No 
 foreign power dares to insult this beautiful flag.
 
 No, the danger is not there; it lies right in our 
 midst. There are those living in this beautiful 
 land of ours to-day, that, if they dared, would 
 strike down these free public schools; there are 
 those who have came to this country because they 
 did not dare to say their souls were their own in 
 the land to which they belong, who would gladly 
 tear down this Government of ours, if they dared, 
 and have no government, no law, no order. Then 
 there are large numbers of short-haired women and 
 long-haired men who, if they had their own way, 
 would make this land of ours a howling wilder 
 ness in a year's time, with their crazy notions of 
 what the Government ought to do for the people. 
 
 Now, my young friends, we who have fought to 
 keep this land, "The land of the free and the home 
 of the brave," will soon step down and out and 
 leave it in your hands. Will you fight, if neces 
 sary, to keep it free and peaceful; or will you let 
 a crazy horde of foreigners, or a still more crazy 
 horde of domestic cranks, take it away from you 
 and turn what is now the most blessed, peaceful, 
 and happy land on the face of the earth, into a 
 home of anarchy and distress; will you do it? 
 
 There are just two things I want you to remem 
 ber every time your eye rests on the flag of our 
 country. John Paul Jones, who commanded the 
 first ship that ever carried an American gun, had 
 a flag, and on it was a rattlesnake, and right over 
 the snake were the words, "Don't tread on me." 
 Now you know it isn't at all healthy to tread on a 
 rattlesnake; he will let you alone if you don't 
 bother him, but he is as frill of fight as an egg is 
 full of meat, and will settle you for all time to 
 come if you go near him. 

 
 And so, my young friends, see that brave and 
 true hearts stand behind that flag, and let every 
 foe of the Stars and Stripes whether at home or 
 abroad know that of all the unhealthy jobs he 
 ever undertakes, insulting that flag will be the 
 worst. 
 
 During the War of 1812, in the engagement 
 between the United States ship "Cheasapeake" and 
 the British ship "Shannon," Captain Lawrence, as 
 brave and true an American as ever lived, was 
 mortally wounded, and was carried dying down 
 into the cabin; gasping for breath, he beckoned 
 to those standing around him, and with the words, 
 "Don't give up the ship," he fell back dead. 
 
 It was such a spirit as that, that wrested this 
 land from English tyranny in the Revolutionary 
 War; it was such a spirit as that, that humbled 
 the pride of that same nation in the war of 1812; 
 it was such a spirit as that, that carried that flag 
 through the dark days of 1861 and 1862, and en 
 abled us to thank God to-day for our country, for 
 our homes, and for our flag.
 
 NUMBER SEVEN 
 
 RESPONSE TO A TOAST TO "THE 
 UNITED STATES NAVY," given by 
 Eliot Callender before the Loyal Legion 
 and invited guests, at the Auditorium Hotel 
 Banqueting Room, January, i 
 
 N Irishman was once working with his 
 spade in the basement of a house, and 
 whether Pat dug too near the founda- 
 
 tion, or what was the trouble, no one 
 
 knows, but with a terrific crash the whole wall of 
 the building commenced to fall in. Pat only 
 stayed long enough to take in the situation, when, 
 dropping his spade, he ran the length of the cel 
 lar and with a mighty leap sprang up into the air 
 and through the basement window, and went roll 
 ing out over the sidewalk into the gutter. The 
 air was filled with crashing timbers, bricks, and 
 mortar. A crowd quickly gathered supposing the 
 man was killed, but Pat jumped up, "a little dis 
 figured but still in the ring," much to the astonish 
 ment of those gathered around. A good and pious 
 friend laid his hand on Pat's shoulder, saying, 
 "Your escape is simply a miracle, you ought to 
 thank God from the bottom of your heart for 
 preserving your life." "Well," said Pat, brushing 
 the dirt and mortar from his clothes, "It is very 
 grateful I am, to be sure, but did you mind the 
 agility of me?" Forgive me, my friends, if in the 
 five minutes alloted to me in responding to the 
 subject of the "United States Navy," I indulge
 
 in a little of the pardonable pride Pat showed on 
 this occasion. 
 
 The first flag that ever floated from the mast 
 head of an American ship, John Paul Jones ran 
 up on the "Bon Homme Richard" in the Revolu 
 tionary War. It was a blue field, with a rattle 
 snake coiled and ready to strike, and under it is 
 the inscription, "Don't tread on me," and that 
 conies so near indicating the spirit of the United 
 States Navy from that day to this, that it shall 
 serve me for a text. It was that spirit that, when 
 England, stung by the loss of her colonies and 
 despising the infant Republic, sought in 1812 to 
 trample it under foot, created the American Navy. 
 
 It was that spirit that spread the sails and man 
 ned the guns of the ten serviceable vessels owned 
 by the United States, and started them out on the 
 blue waters of the Atlantic to take up the gage of 
 battle with the greatest maritime power of the 
 world; to make the domineering and arrogant 
 Royal Cross of St. George see stars and feel stripes; 
 and to break into England's boasted record that, 
 in no equal or nearly equal naval action had she 
 ever lost a ship or lowered a flag. 
 
 It was that spirit that fired Captain Hull, when 
 on August 19, 1812, he ran the "Constitution" 
 alongside the "Guerriere" and in one short hour 
 stripped that vessel of every spar, and dropped 
 her blood-red ensign into the sea. 
 
 It was that spirit that in October of the same 
 year brought Stephen Decatur in the frigate 
 "United States" into Newport Harbor, with the 
 American ensign flying from the "Macedonian," 
 one of the finest vessels in the English Navy. 
 And who can blame the poet of that time, fairly
 
 bursting with a combined attack of patriotism and 
 the divine afflatus, relieving himself in these burn 
 ing words: 
 
 " Then quickly met our Nation's eyes 
 The noblest sight in nater, 
 A first-class frigate as a prize 
 Brought home by brave Decatur." 
 
 And now in December of the same year, the 
 gallant Bainbridge in the "Constitution" over 
 hauls the "Java," an English frigate outclassing 
 old Ironsides in every way, and in less than two 
 hours, one flag serves for two of them, and that 
 flag the Stars and Stripes. 
 
 It was that spirit that took Perry in September, 
 1813, with his little fleet carrying but fifty-five 
 guns, out of Put-in-Bay and into the midst of the 
 British Fleet carrying sixty-three; and it was in the 
 satisfaction of that spirit when, at the close of that 
 bloody conflict, seven English officers having ten 
 dered him their swords, that he tore the back off 
 of an old letter and using his hat for a writing-desk, 
 penned that immortal message to General Harrison, 
 "We have met the enemy, and they are ours." 
 
 And coming down to later days, when a part of 
 the people of this land asserted their right to 
 trample the Constitution under foot and desecrate 
 our flag, by plucking stars from its azure field, it 
 was that spirit that lowered the first Confederate 
 flag at Fort Henry to Foote; that destroyed the 
 Confederate Fleet at Memphis; that passed the 
 lion-hearted Farragut through a seething hell of 
 destruction at New Orleans, which rained alike in 
 the air, on the earth, and in the waters. 
 
 It was that spirit which turned the guns of the 
 Confederate ram "Tennessee" in one hour and
 
 forty minutes, on those who up to that time had 
 made them and served them. 
 
 It was that spirit that moved the "Little Moni 
 tor," that Sunday morning, from under the lee of 
 the "Minnesota" and ranged her alongside a foe 
 four times her size, and whose fate was sealed from 
 that hour. 
 
 It was that spirit which took Charles Waldo 
 of this commandery into Galveston Harbor that 
 dark night, when he captured and destroyed the 
 "Royal Yacht," so close under the guns of the 
 Confederate Fort, that they could not be trained 
 on his boats. It was the spirit on which fed the 
 gallant Rogers and Meade and Dahlgren and 
 Porter, and last, but not least, that carried the 
 ever-memorable "Kearsarge" over the broad At 
 lantic to search, meet, and destroy a foe her equal 
 in every respect, and more than her equal in many 
 respects. 
 
 And it was that spirit that, when Spain spurned 
 our offers of mediation with Cuba, and Spanish 
 students trampled and spat upon the American 
 Flag in the streets of Barcelona, that sent Fight 
 ing Bob Evans to the Navy Department with the 
 prayer and promise that if they would let him 
 take the "Indiana" to Havana, there "would be 
 nothing but Spanish spoken in hell for the next 
 three months. 
 
 Mr. Commander, every American revels in the 
 glories of American History; I am willing that 
 history should speak, as it does speak, and always 
 will speak, for our navy. It has never failed to 
 rise to the full measure of its country's necessities, 
 and mark my words, the history yet to be made of 
 the military achievements of our Great Republic,
 
 and which will be read by those who come after 
 us, will show that the glory shed upon the Ameri 
 can Navy by Hull, Decatur, Bainbridge, Perry, 
 and Farragut, was taken up by those upon whom 
 the mantle of these immortals had fallen, and was 
 carried to still higher and more dazzling heights.
 
 NUMBER EIGHT 
 
 WHAT THIS OLD GUN SAW. Given 
 by Eliot Callender, Court House Square, 
 Peoria, October, 1899. 
 
 I F this grim trophy could speak, what his 
 tory more interesting than the tale it 
 could tell? Mounted on the rocky 
 heights at the entrance of the harbor of 
 Santiago, peering through the embrasure in the 
 dark and gloomy fortress of Morro Castle for 
 many and many a year, it has looked out over the 
 bright green waters of the southern sea by day, 
 and listened to the waves by night as they dashed 
 against the giant rocks that guard the dark and 
 narrow entrance to the harbor; and over and above 
 it all these years, has floated in sullen defiance, the 
 red and yellow banner of Spain the emblem of 
 tyranny and oppression, superstition and bigotry, 
 the parallel of which the history of the world 
 shows us no counterpart. 
 
 This gun has witnessed one of the most mar 
 vellous workings of Divine Providence, ever un 
 folded to man: it has seen that nation which alone 
 of all the Powers of Europe, has resisted the on 
 ward march of civilization and enlightenment, who, 
 at one time was the dominant Power of the world, 
 upon whose possessions the sun never set, but 
 whose progress and whose history is little less 
 than a horrible record of cruelty and bloodshed; 
 a nation without the word "Liberty" in its lan 
 guage, and who hated and fought it whenever and 
 wherever they found it: the Inquisition was a fit
 
 expression of the undying hatred of the Spaniard 
 to everything in the nature of individual liberty or 
 freedom of conscience. 
 
 This gun is now to see the curtain rung down 
 on this last ditch of Mediaeval barbarism, whose 
 banner of blood and gold tells of the one that has 
 been shed for the other, that has been carried 
 around the world, leaving a trail of death and de 
 struction, of misery and oppression; the flag of 
 the infamous Alva, whose victims will cry to God 
 for vengeance as long as time lasts; the flag of 
 Cortes that waved in triumph over a land fairly 
 soaked with the blood of the gentlest and most 
 peace-loving race of its time; the flag of Pizarro, 
 who fairly incarnadined the snow-clad Peruvian 
 Andes in his thirst for gold. 
 
 This gun has heard the wail that rose from one 
 end of Cuba to the other, as she was ground under 
 the iron heel of the oppressor; heard the reports 
 of the guns that dropped to the earth the Ameri 
 cans that comprised the "Virginius' " crew; has 
 heard the clanking chains in the still hours of the 
 night, that echoed from the dungeons under the 
 Castle walls, and, finally, heard the call of God to 
 the young Republic across the sea, to smite the 
 oppressor, hip and thigh, and wipe away every 
 vestige of Spanish rule from the face of the West 
 ern Continent. 
 
 And what a sight was this! Arrayed against 
 each other stood the last stronghold of tyranny, 
 darkness, and cruelty, whose history was written 
 in blood, and the cries of whose victims encom 
 passed the world; and facing it stood America, the 
 youngest of nations, who had no history, except 
 a struggle for liberty, the home of freedom, of
 
 education, of humanity, and of civilization. It was 
 a struggle of darkness and light for mastery, and 
 there could be but one issue for such a conflict. 
 
 And so this old gun awoke one bright morning 
 and barked its indignation to see the beautiful, 
 bright banner of liberty proudly floating from an 
 American man-of-war, as it stood watch and ward 
 off the mouth of the harbor of Santiago, and it 
 probably failed to do justice to the wrath which 
 filled it, as it saw that solitary cruiser joined by 
 another, and another, until the whole offing was 
 spotted with men-of-war, large and small, armored 
 and unarmored, but over each and every one 
 proudly floated the glorious Stars and Stripes. 
 
 Whatever that flag represented, the Spaniard 
 hated he had hated it from the time that the 
 Declaration of Independence had declared that all 
 men were created free and equal he hated the free 
 dom, the enlightenment, the progress, the strength; 
 and that the United States is not wiped off the map 
 of the world, and its flag nothing but a memory, 
 is no fault of Spain, and no fault of this old gun 
 whose advent among us we are celebrating to-day. 
 
 And now this old gun was kept busy seeing 
 things by night as well as by day: it saw about an 
 hour before dawn, when the darkness had sur 
 passed that of midnight, the " Merrimac" crawling 
 through the narrow entrance to the harbor, on 
 whose decks Hobson and his equally brave com 
 rades silently guided it to its destination feeling 
 his way along through the still, black waters, 
 though it rained a perfect hell of shot and shell 
 on their devoted heads, from the hills above and 
 the waters .beneath; mines were exploded before 
 him and after him, and the air was full of flying
 
 missiles, and how one of that gallant little crew 
 ever lived to tell the tale, God alone knows. 
 
 It saw the fated "Merrimac" blown into the air 
 by Hobson's own hands; saw it sink beneath the 
 waves; saw its struggling crew with only their heads 
 above the water, clinging to the raft, from which 
 they were taken, by no less a hand than Cervera's, 
 and immured in one of the dungeons of old Morro. 
 
 It saw the gallant Cadet Powell with a little steam 
 launch following closely after the " Merrimac," with 
 the hopes of rescuing and carrying back to the fleet, 
 its crew; saw him, when hope was lost, put back 
 through the perfect storm of Mauser bullets that 
 fairly churned the water through which he rushed, 
 unharmed. 
 
 And many a night this old gun trembled as the 
 little "Vesuvius" poked her nose close up to the 
 mouth of the harbor in the stillness of the night, 
 and woke the lower part of Santiago Bay with the 
 thunder of its dynamite shells. Once, twice, three 
 times did it see Sampson's Fleet steam boldly up 
 within a thousand yards and then turning, steam 
 back leaving broken walls, death, and destruction 
 in its wake. 
 
 It saw the "Reine Mercedes," while gallantly 
 helping the forts resist Sampson's assault, struck 
 in the bow by a missile from one of our thirteen- 
 inch rifles, which plowed through it from end to 
 end and sank it in the dark waters of the bay. 
 
 It could hear the sharp cracks of the rifles over 
 on San Juan hill and at Siboney, as the gallant 
 Wood, Wheeler, and Roosevelt charged up those 
 perilous heights; and its peace of mind was hardly 
 strengthened as it saw the Stars and Stripes float 
 over that hill as well as the sea in front of it.
 
 And, finally, on that ever memorable third of 
 July morning when Sampson's magnificent fleet 
 was- quietly rocking on the swell of the ocean, with 
 a little pennant flying over each vessel, showing 
 that the hour of inspection and divine service had 
 arrived, when every sailor in that fleet, garbed in 
 clothes of spotless white, was ranged along the 
 decks ready to hear the words from the Book that 
 taught "Peace on earth, good will to men", it saw 
 the black smoke rising from the northern end of 
 the harbor; saw the "Marie Teresa," flying Ad 
 miral Cervera's flag, coming down the harbor out 
 of the cloud of smoke which had enveloped her, 
 with every pound of steam that her immense boil 
 ers could carry, decks all cleared for action, guns 
 all shotted and trained in readiness for the inevi 
 table; saw her dash through the tortuous outlet of 
 the harbor, past old Morro Castle, followed by the 
 huge black sides and bristling ports of the "Ad- 
 miranti Oquendo," the smoke of her black funnels 
 rising just in time to admit a view of the pride of 
 the Spanish Navy, the beautiful "Vizcaya," with 
 the haughty and imperious Eulate pacing up and 
 down its quarter-deck, its crew of 500 men strip 
 ped to the waist and eager for the fray, followed in 
 turn by that fleet-footed monster, the "Christobal 
 Colon," fairly dividing the waters of the bay as it 
 rushed on; and last, but not least, the torpedo 
 boat destroyers, "Pluton" and "Furor," looking 
 like black imps of the devil, and whose presence 
 in American waters had caused more apprehension 
 than all Spain's war vessels put together. On they 
 came, with their speed at thirty miles an hour, tor 
 pedo boats loaded and ready to carry to the bot 
 tom any vessel that might come in their path.
 
 And now, if this old gun which has been look 
 ing at this sight, had cast its eyes toward the sea, 
 what a transformation it would have witnessed! 
 The long rows of seamen ranged along the decks 
 of the United States vessels, arrayed in their spot 
 less garments, are gone huge volumes of smoke 
 are pouring from every funnel of every vessel in 
 the range of vision; the magnificent "Brooklyn," 
 under the command of the gallant Schley, runs up 
 the signal, "Make for the enemy," "Remember 
 the 'Maine." A mighty cheer arises from that 
 fleet; Old Glory that had been hanging listless at 
 the masthead, stands out proud and firm, as each 
 vessel, with the engineer's bell clanging "Go ahead 
 at full steam," starts through the waters on a race 
 for victory or for death; a terrific roar as the 
 tremendous batteries on both fleets belched forth 
 defiance; vivid flashes of light as whole broadsides 
 spoke at once; a heavy cloud envelopes the excit 
 ing scene; all the guns on Morro Castle and the 
 Socapa open on our fleet, and the valleys around 
 old Santiago fairly tremble with the reverberation. 
 On comes the "Maria Teresa," encountering 
 first the "Indiana," then the "Brooklyn," and, 
 with her decks slippery with blood, her guns dis 
 mounted, on fire at both ends, her helm is turned 
 for the shore as the peerless "Oregon" rushes on the 
 scene, followed by the "Texas" and the "Iowa"; a 
 crash on the rocks, and Admiral Cervera's flagship 
 is no more. The "Admiranti Oquendo," with all 
 steam on, tries to run the terrible gauntlet, but gets 
 a mile beyond the wreck of the "Maria Teresa," 
 when she fairly breaks in two in the middle under 
 the terrible rain of shot and shell. 
 
 Eulate, on the "Vizcaya," seeing the hopeless-
 
 ness of the -struggle, turns out of his course to 
 attack the "Brooklyn." If destruction must come, 
 he will destroy, as well as be , destroyed ; but the 
 "Brooklyn's" terrible guns are ringing her death 
 knell as her helm is thrown to port to parallel the 
 "Vizcaya's" new course: a running battle of eight 
 miles, and with half his men killed and wounded, 
 his ship on fire, Eulate, with a broken heart, turns 
 his prow to the shore and with the steel projectiles 
 of the "Brooklyn," "Texas," and "Oregon" tear 
 ing his beautiful boat asunder, the "Vizcaya" 
 crashes on the shore. "Don't cheer," says Captain 
 Jack Phillips of the "Texas," "the poor devils are 
 dying"; and he turns all the resources of his gal 
 lant battleship (but a moment ago a demon of de 
 struction) into an angel of mercy. 
 
 But that greyhound of the Spanish Fleet, the 
 "Christobal Colon," keeping close to the shore and 
 running like a deer, had passed the "Vizcaya" be 
 fore Eulate had given up the struggle, and was two 
 miles to the west, on the road to Havana and safety. 
 Safety! there was no safety in sky, sea, or air, for 
 that Spanish Fleet. The "Brooklyn," by this 
 time, had gotten full steam up and put out after 
 the "Colon" at the rate of eighteen knots an hour; 
 she could just reach the "Colon" with her long 
 guns, but if the "Colon" could outfoot her, an 
 hour would put her in safety. But what is that 
 huge black mass that comes rushing through the 
 water with the roaring foam piled to the golden 
 crest of her breakwater? It is the immortal 
 "Oregon" under the gallant Clark; passing the 
 "Brooklyn" (thought to be the fleetest boat in 
 our navy), with her engineers and firemen stripped 
 to the waist, her furnaces at white heat, and with
 
 Eberle at his thirteen-inch rifle, dropping a thous 
 and-pound steel projectile on and in the immediate 
 vicinity of the on-rushing "Colon" every seven 
 minutes, the "Oregon" made the run of her life 
 and won a place that will never be lost as long as 
 an American heart shall beat. For forty-eight 
 miles the "Colon" kept up the struggle, when, 
 seeing its hopelessness, with the "Brooklyn" and 
 the "Oregon" already off her port bow, her com 
 mander turned her head to the shore, and dropping 
 her ensign of blood and gold in token of defeat, 
 he opened her sea valves and Cervera's Fleet was 
 no more. 
 
 And now, on the morning of July i4th, our gun 
 is a witness to the last act in the drama: Santiago 
 surrenders, and from that tall flagstaff on Morro 
 Castle is slowly and sadly lowered the Spanish 
 standard, which has flouted defiance to the world 
 from time almost beyond the memory of man, and 
 it hardly disappears until there bursts into view, 
 climbing into the air, the flag of the Great Re 
 public the glorious Stars and Stripes. A new 
 day had dawned upon Cuba and, let me add, the 
 world.
 
 NUMBER NINE 
 
 
 
 ADDRESS AT THE GRAVE OF 
 COLONEL THRUSH, Memorial Day; 
 for Sons of Veterans, by Eliot Callender. 
 
 'TILL waters run deep." It is not in the 
 noisy brook, but in the silent river that 
 we look for strength and depth. The 
 froth and fury of the breakers on the 
 ocean shore but mark the sandy shoal. It is away 
 out where the deep sea rolls in silent grandeur, that 
 the navies of the world ride in safety. As in 
 nature, so with humanity. The world's greatest 
 heroes have come from the ranks of its quiet men. 
 It was not the general who filled the newspapers 
 with his general orders from headquarters in the 
 saddle, but the one who in thirteen words designa 
 ted his line of action that compelled the surrender 
 of Lee's army. It has been actions, not words. 
 It has been thought and not sounds that has 
 wrought out the problems that have come up for 
 solution in the world's history. 
 
 We stand to-day around the grave of one who 
 in life was one of the world's quiet men, gentle, 
 modest, unassuming, but with a quiet dignity that, 
 like the silent river, betokened depth. There was 
 that about him that told of a reserved force, irre 
 sistible if once aroused. A warm friend, a loving 
 father, a faithful and devoted husband with all 
 about him to create an ideal and happy life. Loved 
 and being loved, he cut every tie at his country's 
 call and sought his place at the forefront of battle. 
 Of such stuff are heroes made. I know of no
 
 one who comes nearer my ideal of a hero than 
 Colonel Wm. A. Thrush. 
 
 In the month of April, 1862, the Mississippi 
 Squadron, under command of Rear Admiral A. 
 H. Foote, ran the blockade at Island No. 10, 
 destroyed the batteries below the island, put to 
 flight the Confederate gunboats, ferried General 
 Pope's army across the river, and on the yth day 
 of April, the island, with its extensive fortifications, 
 including sixty-four pieces of siege artillery sur 
 rendered to Admiral Foote; while, the next day, 
 General Pope took in the Confederate army num 
 bering over 5,000, together with a large store of 
 munitions of war. This was the same day as the 
 battle of Shiloh. On the evening of April 8th, 
 after the turmoil and confusion of three days of 
 fighting, the gunboat "Cincinnati," on which I 
 was serving, tied up to the bank of the river at 
 New Madrid Mission, where General Pope's army 
 was encamped. A number of army officers came 
 aboard the boat, amongst them, Colonel Thrush. 
 Coming up to me, with his quiet smile and taking 
 my hand, he said: "I have just returned from home. 
 I bring you a message from one who looked as if 
 she would have given worlds to have brought it 
 to you herself." I can see that kindly eye and feel 
 the pressure of that hand even now. Just six 
 months to a day from that eventful evening, that 
 hand was cold in death, and those eyes that ex 
 pressed so much to me, were closed forever. His 
 life's blood was ebbing away on the bloody field of 
 Corinth. A sacrificial offering on his country's 
 altar, offered up that this land might be a Nation 
 and not a Confederation; that not a star might be 
 effaced from that glorious banner, and that this land
 
 might, indeed, be the land of the free as well as the 
 home of the brave. 
 
 " How sleep the brave" who sink to rest 
 With all their country's wishes blest, 
 When spring with dewy fingers cold 
 Returns to deck their hallowed mould, 
 If there shall dress a sweeter sod 
 Than blooming fancy ever trod." 
 
 Peacefully, amid these beautiful surroundings, 
 in the home he loved so well, he sleeps; but sleep 
 ing, he speaks, and the word to you, Sons of Vet 
 erans, who have honored yourselves in honoring 
 him, is this, "Suffer not this precious blood which 
 has been shed, to have been shed in vain; suffer 
 not a traitorous tongue to wag throughout the 
 length and breadth of this fair land." A priceless 
 heritage is intrusted to your care and keeping; a 
 heritage of freedom, a heritage of the grandest sys 
 tem of government the sun ever shone on. Can 
 you look upon the folds of that starry flag and not 
 have your hearts stirred within you, the thought of 
 all the blood and tears and agony that it has cost, 
 that it might float as it does to-day over a nation 
 of freemen? That flag first saw the light of day 
 in heroic hands, for heroes like Colonel Thrush 
 have lived and died, and into the hands of the 
 young men of America, it now passes. I know it 
 will never lack in their hands, the love, devotion, 
 and courage that has held it aloft since the days of 
 Washington. 
 
 ' Flag of the Heroes who left us their glory 
 Borne through our battlefields' thunder and flame, 
 Blazoned in song and illuminant in story, 
 Wave o'er us all who inherit their fame. 
 
 Lord of the Universe shield us and guide us 
 Trusting Thee always through shadow and sun, 
 Thou hast united us who shall divide us ? 
 Keep us, O keep us, the many in one."
 
 NUMBER TEN 
 
 ADDRESS ON BEHALF OF THE Y. 
 M. C. A., given by Eliot Callender, before 
 the Congregation of Christ Church, Peoria, 
 
 VER twenty years ago, some eight or ten 
 gentlemen were gathered one evening at 
 the residence of one of Peoria's leading 
 merchants. It was not an extraordinary 
 meeting, in any sense of the word, many meet 
 ings, before and since, have taken place in Peoria, 
 more noticeable in many ways, but none, perhaps, 
 that have resulted in more good from both a civic 
 and religious point of view, than this meeting. 
 For then and there it was decided to organize a 
 Young Men's Christian Association in the city of 
 Peoria. I will not weary you with an account of 
 the early years of this Association, for every move 
 ment of a religious or reformatory nature in this 
 city has passed through a like experience. Days 
 when weak-kneed friends advocated a funeral. 
 Days when no one knew how long the patient 
 could survive the ordeal it was passing through. 
 This church, and, so far as I know, every church 
 in this city has passed through just such times, but 
 if God be for us, who can be against us, and who 
 can doubt His sustaining power and help to any 
 organization which has for its avowed purpose, 
 God's glory, and the good of mankind? 
 
 And now, friends of Christ Church of Peoria, 
 on this, the twenty-first anniversary of the organi 
 zation of the Young Men's Christian Association
 
 of Peoria, I have been delegated to set before you: 
 
 1. What this Association is. 
 
 2. What it is doing. 
 
 3. What we expect to do. 
 
 4. What we will ask you to do for us. 
 Now, please don't anticipate a collection, and look 
 at me as if you had plenty on your own account. 
 We need money just as badly as any one, but I 
 am not here to-day to ask you for one cent. The 
 only collection I will ask, will be for you to collect 
 your thoughts for just a few moments on the facts 
 and figures I am to give you, and then I will ask 
 you, if the Associatian commends itself to your 
 judgment as a Christian and a citizen of Peoria, 
 that you will give us your good will, your prayers, 
 and your cordial co-operation and help, whenever 
 and wherever you can find opportunity to do so. 
 
 FIRST: What is the Young Men's Christian 
 Association? It is not an association of Christian 
 young men, but an association that aims to help 
 young men, morally, physically, and" religiously. 
 It comes into direct competition with the saloon, 
 the gambling hell, and the brothel, as to where the 
 spare hours of the growing boys of Peoria shall be 
 spent. It provides pleasant rooms, pleasant com 
 pany, good reading, opportunities for study, and 
 innocent and healthful amusements. It comes at 
 a time when so many young men feel they have 
 outgrown the Sunday School of their boyhood 
 days, at a time when fond parents fear their con 
 trol of this boy is slipping away from them. It 
 comes to such and says: "Here are hundreds of 
 your young friends and associates, here are pleas 
 ant and profitable surroundings, here is exercise for 
 your growing muscles, and food for your growing
 
 minds. Here are amusements free from vile asso 
 ciations, and pleasures unmarred by the trail of the 
 serpent. All that you will get here will make your 
 home the dearer, and your church the more sacred, 
 for He who made the one and founded the other, 
 is the Way, and the Truth, and the Life, of every 
 Young Men's Christian Association." To the 
 youth so unfortunate as to be devoid of home or 
 church, or both, it says, as Moses said unto Hobab, 
 "Come and go thou with us, and we will do thee 
 good." While God has given us nothing that can 
 fully take the place of either home or church, the 
 properly equipped Association will go a long ways 
 toward supplying the wary:, and what is best of all, 
 tends to inculcate a desire and love for both. 
 
 There is no more restless time in a man's life, 
 than when changing from boyhood to manhood. 
 He feels the warm, rich, healthy blood surging 
 through his veins. He feels the coming of a 
 man's strength, which often gets in ahead of man's 
 wisdom and discretion, and that is a dangerous 
 time. That budding man is going to find a vent 
 for his energies, and if he does not find it in good 
 ways, he is going to find it in bad. He is going 
 to seek company of some kind, and go with the 
 crowd. The Young Men's Christian Association 
 steps right in here and does some of its best work. 
 It aims to surround the young man with bright, 
 wide awake company, and plenty of it. It has 
 got him to blowing cornets and pounding drums. 
 It has got him kicking footballs and riding wheels. 
 It has got him training his voice and expanding his 
 chest. It has got him studying bookkeeping and 
 German, and brightening his wits in Debating 
 Societies, and there are more than a thousand of
 
 them doing these very things in the Young Men's 
 Christian Association of Peoria. You cannot take 
 a hearty, healthy, vigorous boy and give him a copy 
 of "Baxter's Saints' Rest," and tell him to be good. 
 It will be anything but a saint's rest in his vicinity. 
 Take up that hearty, vigorous vitality, give it some 
 thing healthful to expand and grow on. Turn 
 those energies in right channels, and you will soon 
 develop a good, strong, healthy man, with good, 
 honest true impulses. You will get a good citizen, 
 a good father, and a good Christian. 
 
 This is the work we are doing, my friends, and 
 I ask you in all sincerity, if we do not demonstrate 
 not only our right to live, but our right to your 
 hearty co-operation and help to your God-speed. 
 The church cannot do this work, it cannot provide 
 the accessories. Neither can we do the work of the 
 church. Have you ever gone into the printing 
 rooms of one of our daily papers, and seen that 
 machine that takes up, sheet by sheet, from the pile 
 of paper, and feeds it into the great press? Well, 
 the Young Men's Christian Association is the 
 feeding machine, and the press is the church. All 
 through the year our young men are coming to the 
 church, and saying, "I am now ready to enter into 
 covenant relations with the people of God." 
 
 But I find in telling you what the Young Men's 
 Christian Association is, I have run into my second 
 part, and am telling you what it doing; so I will 
 pass that in a few statistics for 1898. 
 
 I have lived to see the membership grow from 
 eighteen to this number one thousand and I 
 expect to live to see it nearly double that number, 
 and that brings me around to our third heading of 
 "What we expect to do."
 
 Well, with God's help, we expect to keep pace 
 with the growth of the city of Peoria, and that 
 means a good deal. Have you any idea how this 
 city has shaken itself out of its swaddling clothes 
 during the past five years, and what marvellous 
 strides it is taking toward a metropolitan city? 
 Have you noted the manufactories built, building, 
 and in contemplation? Do you know that the 
 business of this city has nearly doubled in that 
 time, and that literally thousands are coming to 
 this city every year, and making their homes here? 
 Think of this city five years ago, and then jump 
 on the street cars and just note what you can see 
 for a nickle north, south, and west, farther and 
 farther out advances the army of dwellings. Where 
 corn was raised five years ago, ground is now worth 
 $20 a front foot, and there is no day in the year, 
 excepting Sundays, when you may not hear a whole 
 orchestra of saws, hammers, chisels, and planes, in 
 any part of the city you choose to go. If you do 
 not know this, there are those all over the United 
 States that do> and you are going to meet them face 
 to face before long. Railroads that turned the cold 
 shoulder to Peoria a few years ago, are lying awake 
 nights now to figure out how they can best get in, 
 and this all means, my friends, that every Christian, 
 or reformatory, or benevolent organization in the 
 city that expects to keep pace with its growth, has 
 got all the work on its hands that it can attend to. 
 And when you consider that the pioneers in any 
 city's growth, are men and mostly young men 
 you can begin to realize what the Young Men's 
 Christian Association has got to do, if it does its 
 duty. Hardly a day passes by, when a stranger 
 does not drop into our rooms. Every effort is
 
 made to make him feel at home, to make him 
 acquainted. Cheerful rooms, good papers and 
 books, are at his disposal; if needed, a boarding 
 house is looked up for him, and now let me ask 
 you, where else in the city could he go as a 
 stranger and be made welcome, unless it was some 
 place where he would have to buy his welcome, and 
 the welcome runs out at the same time his money 
 does? 
 
 Now, what do we ask you to do for us? 
 
 Remember us and our work in every way in 
 your power. Encourage your boys to unite with 
 us, and have them do so with the thought that they 
 are not only helping themselves, but others, by so 
 doing, that they are taking up real, practical, 
 Christian work in the Association, and work that 
 God is blessing by results that can be seen and 
 felt. We ask you to look on us as your helpers, 
 and not in any sense of the word, rivals. We ask 
 you to join hands with us in the good work we are 
 trying to do in a special field; to save our young 
 men, to guide their feet in safe roads, to lead them 
 into the course that will make them good citizens, 
 good heads of families, and above all, good Christ 
 ians. And in doing this, you will aid in a work 
 that was dear to the hearts of two honored and 
 revered members of this church A. G. Tyng and 
 Charles F. Bacon. And amongst the many friends 
 the Young Men's Christian Association of Peoria 
 claim in your living membership, you have given 
 us our vice-president, one of two who have fairly 
 carried the financial burden of the Association in 
 the most trying times of its history.
 
 NUMBER ELEVEN 
 
 RESPONSE TO TOAST: "WOMAN 
 AND HER RELATION TO BANK 
 ING," given by Eliot Callender at Banquet, 
 National Hotel, Peoria; on the occasion of 
 Illinois State Bankers' Convention. 
 
 HEN half of this country was at war 
 with the other half, and our half was 
 down in their half, we were obliged to 
 keep our eyes open whenever we wan 
 dered away from camp, that we might be able to 
 get back when we wanted to. I approach this 
 toast with very much such a feeling, and only trust 
 that if I can pick up courage to go into it a little 
 way, I may be able to get back in good order. 
 Any subject connected with woman or her inter 
 ests, has to be delicately and carefully handled in 
 this city of Peoria, for the sex has a club here, 
 some four hundred strong, with many of the 
 brightest and keenest intellects of the city for 
 members, with a handsome and commodious club 
 house, equipped with anything and everything 
 necessary for the maintenance of women's rights, 
 and woe to the unlucky wight who throws down 
 his gauntlet at the portal of that institution. Only 
 one man living ever attempted it, and he is not 
 here now, and he didn't dare to live alone any 
 longer, even where he went. 
 
 So I want to say right here and now, if any 
 thing in my response to this toast meets with the 
 disapproval of any lady in Peoria, I want it under 
 stood, in the first place, that I never said it, and
 
 in the second place, that I didn't mean at all what 
 she supposed I did. I have long watched with 
 anxious solicitude the waning vegetation on the 
 top of my head, and I am not willing to have it 
 suddenly and violently converted into a desert 
 place. 
 
 WOMAN AND HER RELATION TO BANKING. 
 
 I infer that this toast brings up to mind the 
 story of the husband who surprised his wife on 
 her birthday, with a bank book, showing a sub 
 stantial little deposit, and a check book, the only 
 condition being that this was her money, she was 
 to spend it just as she pleased (husbands are always 
 doing such things as these). She gave him a hearty 
 kiss and opened up next morning on her financial 
 career, by buying a paper of pins and proudly giv 
 ing the storekeeper a check on her bank account 
 for the amount. 
 
 She walked the streets, conscious that as long as 
 that check book lasted she was monarch of all she 
 surveyed. And she was going to show John, too, 
 what a sensible little head rested on her shoulders. 
 She would not make the mistake that Rockefeller 
 did, and buy a university that turned out boys and 
 girls with those hideous mortar board hats, at 
 least not while Graves had such lovely ones, and 
 so reasonable too. 
 
 So she went on her way, dispensing her checks 
 in her own sweet and incomparable manner, until 
 one morning the mail carrier brought her a com 
 munication from the cashier, that her account was 
 overdrawn, and trusting that there was no mistake, 
 etc., he was most truly hers. 
 
 The horrid wretch, how dared he invade the 
 sancity of that home, and mix himself up in her
 
 family affairs. She wouldn't tell John because he 
 would thrash that fellow within an inch of his life. 
 She would settle him herself, and she did. When 
 he looked up the next morning through the pol 
 ished brass railing, built expressly to keep the poor 
 banker from the vengeance of an outraged public, 
 he saw a slight figure, but Oh my! the roses on top 
 of her hat were playing leap frog, and the icy glint 
 of those blue eyes would have forced frost into the 
 North Pole. If it had been a man, he would have 
 grabbed for his revolver, but as it was, his knees 
 rattled, and he suffered and was still. 
 
 "What does this mean?" she said in a tone that 
 stopped the clock and dropped the thermometer 
 off the wall. "Why, madame, that is you 
 know our books show that your account has 
 been overdrawn, as it were, maybe it is a mis 
 take, madame. Leave your book here and we 
 will have it written up." "I will do nothing of 
 the kind," she replied, "I am entirely capable of 
 doing all the writing in that book that is neces 
 sary," and majestically taking her check book out 
 of its newspaper wrapping fastened with two pins, 
 she said, "See here, young man (cashiers are always 
 young, their life is such a happy one), my husband 
 gave me that book for my very own. It is not half 
 used up yet, and I will just thank you to mind your 
 own business." There was a vanishing rustle of 
 skirts, and the silence she left in that banking room 
 was something apalling. 
 
 But I have never seen the papers for this story, 
 and it may be a miserable slander. For I start out 
 with the assertion that while some bankers become 
 financiers by force of circumstances, women were 
 born so.
 
 When money gathers at all the centers and the 
 market is glutted, who so sweetly and persistently 
 starts it into needed circulation? Financiers may 
 study and write and plan and think over the situa 
 tion, but woman, with her unerring instinct, cuts 
 the Gordian knot. "If money is so plenty, what 
 better time, John, to get my seal skin sacque and 
 winter hat, and put a new carpet in the parlor, and 
 give that little company we have been talking about 
 so long." John weakens, and the hearts of the 
 furrier, the milliner, the carpet man, and the caterer, 
 are rejoiced, and so are their creditors and their 
 creditors' creditors, and times get better, and busi 
 ness picks up. What wont pick up when a 
 woman gets after it. 
 
 The best banker is probably he who is the best 
 judge of credits. Then women should be bankers, 
 and the men stay at home and mind the children. 
 A woman will go into church, and with one sweep 
 of her eye, will correctly diagnosis the financial 
 condition of every family in it. She will recognize 
 Mrs. Brown's last year's hat, in spite of the new 
 trimming on it. Why didn't Mrs. Brown have a 
 new hat? Poor Mrs. B. sorry her husband isn't 
 doing better. And she wont get fooled, either. 
 There are the Smiths, all with new hats; but that 
 don't work, for Mrs. Smith has let one of her 
 girls go, and they only take one quart of milk a 
 day. The Smiths are sledding along on hard 
 ground, and she knows it, and their new hats 
 don't throw any dust in her eyes. 
 
 I often think, if we bankers had less sense, and 
 more of woman's unerring instinct, we would not 
 have so much to charge up to profit and loss. 
 
 The items of interest and discount are very im-
 
 portant factors in a banker's business. How about 
 women in relation to them? 
 
 Well, there is nothing in this mundane sphere 
 in which there is so much interest taken, as in 
 woman. As for discount, she discounts the whole 
 world, and you know it. As to bills receivable 
 and bills payable, who so competent to deplete the 
 one and build up the other. The banker lies awake 
 nights planning to keep up his reserves, while there 
 is no woman living who hasn't reserve to burn. 
 
 So we see that in every detail of banking, woman 
 not only holds her own, but is really, as in other 
 relations of life, the Better Half. She is the power 
 behind the throne. She is now, and always has been, 
 the active moving spirit of the world. Adam would 
 have been lying around the Garden of Eden yet, 
 naming animals for a living, if it hadn't been for 
 woman. When Eve appeared, business started 
 up. She opened up negotiations with the Serpent, 
 and while the pomological deal that resulted, has 
 been looked upon as a bad investment for their 
 children; it was quite the reverse, for work is not 
 a curse, but the lack of it certainly is. Adam and 
 Eve went on the road, and the commercial traveller 
 is with us yet to-day. 
 
 Some old dyspeptic pagan slanders Pandora, 
 when he tells us that she let all man's blessings but 
 one escape out of her box. I would like to know 
 what the blessings were good for, shut up in the 
 box. Pandora did just what her sex has done for 
 man ever since: scattered blessings along his path 
 of life, so that he has been enabled to sing while 
 he worked, and feel that life was worth living, be 
 cause she lived and loved and toiled and planned 
 for him.
 
 "To chase the clouds of life's tempestuous hours, 
 To strew its short but weary way with flowers, 
 New hopes to raise, new feelings to impart, 
 And pour celestial balsam on the heart. 
 For this to man was lovely woman given, 
 The last, best work, the noblest gift of Heaven." 
 
 And I can see in my mind's eye, walking down 
 to his business of a morning, a banker with digni 
 fied mien, white necktie and gold eye-glass. He 
 is a big man in the community in which he lives, 
 he knows, in fact he has often told himself so, 
 confidentially. He can paralyze the industries of 
 his town by drawing up his purse strings; yet he 
 has just left one who could paralyze him and would 
 too, if he didn't behave himself. If he is (and we 
 will admit he is) honorably filling an honorable 
 position, ten to one he has left one at home who 
 has made him what he is. 
 
 " Disguise our bondage as we will, 
 'Tis woman, woman rules us sail." 
 
 And it is a blessed good thing that this is so. 
 Blessed, if honor and honesty and justice and 
 mercy have anything to do with dealings between 
 man and man. 
 
 ' God in his harmony has equal ends 
 For cedar that resists and reed that bends. 
 For good it is that woman sometimes rules, 
 Holds in her hands the power, and manners, schools, 
 And laws, and mind, succeeding master proud, 
 With gentle will and smiles she leads the crowd."
 
 NUMBER TWELVE 
 
 THE HORSE HE RODE. Written by 
 Eliot Callender for Frank Leslie's Weekly, 
 1899. 
 
 O one of a reflective turn of mind, the 
 study of fellow-passengers is an unfail 
 ing source of enjoyment; the more so, 
 _ on the Trans-Continental lines of rail 
 
 road, where stations are far apart and the scenery 
 somewhat tiresome at times, through sameness. 
 
 On a bright day some time ago, it was my for 
 tune to constitute one of a well-filled carload of 
 passengers who had been domiciled in the Pullman 
 car "Moza," enroute from Kansas City to El Paso, 
 Texas. My interest in my fellow-travellers con 
 centrated on two, representing as they did, widely 
 divergent phases of life. As far as the East is 
 from the West, so far, indeed, were these lives re 
 moved from each other past, present, and future. 
 They occupied only in common, the plain of youth. 
 God's mysterious Providence had set a great and 
 impassible gulf between them otherwise. 
 
 Lieutenant H of the U. S. Infantry, 
 
 enroute to the San Carlos Agency to enlist a com 
 pany of Apache Indians for his regiment, was one 
 of the finest specimens of physical manhood it has 
 been my fortune to meet. West Point turns out 
 many such, manly, brave, vigorous, young fellows, 
 as well equipped in mind as in body. What is 
 more beautiful than youth? When to the graces 
 of person are added those charms of easy self-pos 
 session acquired by mental discipline, aided, per-
 
 haps, by travel at home and abroad. Then too, 
 these young officers, whose future is assured so far 
 as this life is concerned, show a freedom from the 
 care and anxiety that so early furrows the brows of 
 the young men in civil life. Well fed, well clothed, 
 an honorable and honored profession, an education 
 which, so far as the practical phase of life is con 
 cerned, is not furnished by the best colleges of our 
 land. Necessarily sound in body, they come from 
 West Point to enter the duties of life, endowed 
 with all that the wealth of this great Nation can 
 give them. And the lieutenant, this bright morn 
 ing, full of life, was the center of attraction to 
 more than myself. There is a contagion of the 
 sunshine of youth, and I pity one who does not 
 seek to warm himself in its rays. Of a genial dis 
 position, attractive person, and interesting talker, 
 the lieutenant's hearty laugh now and then rang 
 through the car, causing an approving smile from 
 those even too remote to catch the volley of wit 
 that provoked it. God bless you, lieutenant, with 
 all your wealth of health, life and spirits. May 
 that life long be spared from the treacherous 
 Apaches' rifle, or the Sioux hunting knife. That 
 life carries not only enjoyment to its owner, but to 
 all those with whom it comes in contact. 
 
 At the further end of the car sits another young 
 man. He occupies two seats, with his attendant. 
 His cheeks are sunken, his eyes are large and bril 
 liant with fever's consuming fire. His hands are 
 like skeletons, while his sunken chest heaves with 
 his labored breathings. His clothes hang loosely 
 about his attenuated form. "How are you feeling 
 now?" his attendant kindly asked. With the con 
 sumptive's never-failing hope, a sickly smile passes
 
 over his wan features. "Better this morning, lots 
 better; I will be riding a broncho in less than two 
 weeks." 
 
 At Deming, we lose the lieutenant. El Paso is 
 reached at noon. The far-gone sufferer is taken to 
 the Grand Central Hotel. We go to one directly 
 across the Plaza. The shades of night fall, and 
 the city is wrapped in slumber. At just that hour 
 before dawn, when sleep secures its firmest hold 
 on the tired traveller, pistol shots rang out on the 
 still morning air. We jump from our beds. A 
 lurid glare pervades our rooms. We rush to the 
 window, the Grand Central Hotel is on fire! 
 Higher and higher the red flames leap into the 
 darkness. The hotel is doomed; may not ours 
 be in danger? Hastily dressing, we run down 
 stairs. Two or three partly-dressed and excited 
 guests of the burning hotel are seeking protection 
 in ours. What is coming? One bearing a burden 
 on his shoulders. We open the door, it is the 
 consumptive in the arms of his faithful attendant. 
 Those large eyes are closed, the pale face is now 
 a ghastly hue, the breath comes in short, quick 
 gasps. Excitement and exposure have proved too 
 much. He is carried to a room, and a physician 
 is sent for, but the sufferer is beyond human help. 
 
 He rode his horse before the two weeks of his 
 morning's prediction, but it was the Pale Horse 
 we all must sooner or later ride.
 
 SUPERSTITION 
 
 ADDRESS by Eliot Callender, de 
 livered May 26, 1901, before the 
 Pentsemon Cosmopolitan Associa 
 tion.
 
 [HEN I came out here last year on an 
 invitation to enjoy an outing with the 
 Pentsemon Cosmopolitan Association, I 
 was interrupted in my enjoyment by the 
 information that I had been nominated for His 
 torian for the year 1901. Never having attended 
 any previous meetings of the Association, I had 
 not the slightest idea of what the Association His 
 torian was expected to do; but having known of 
 some very poor historians, and knowing that as a 
 Nation, the United States was making history 
 pretty rapidly, I thought I might hold down the 
 job nominally, if not creditably; and declaring I 
 I "would ne'er consent, consented." 
 
 It was not until after hearing the masterly paper 
 of my predecessor, Judge Worthington, and read 
 ing over the proceedings of previous meetings of 
 the Association, that the truth dawned upon me, 
 that your Committee on Nomination, in their 
 desperation to fill out this year's programme, had 
 thrown a poor mortal that could not swim, into 
 water over his head. It is folly to suppose that 
 one with no college education, a business man 
 whose hours have been assiduously devoted to the 
 chase of the elusive dollar, instead of books; 
 whose mind is untrained and unimproved, with no 
 power of concentrating thought; I say it is simply 
 folly to place a man of that kind in a place like 
 this, and expect him to hold his own with pundits 
 and philosophers, with doctors and lawyers, and 
 editors, who think for a living, and are able 
 through their advantages and accomplishments to 
 elevate and help their fellow men. I have had no 
 time to think, excepting of the times when I have
 
 been badly left; and have little education, except 
 ing that which my eyes and ears have brought me 
 in my endeavors to keep up with the procession, 
 and so far as possible, to secure a seat in the "band 
 wagon." So if my paper this afternoon falls short, 
 as it certainly will, of its able and scholarly pre 
 decessors, please visit your disappointment and 
 indignation on the Committee who, suffering from 
 sandwiches taken in excess, dragged me from a 
 happy obscurity, and forced me to advertise my 
 mental poverty and threadbare attainments. 
 
 I can say, however, Brother Philosophers, that 
 I am in thorough sympathy with the principles of 
 this Association, so far as its love of nature is con 
 cerned, and its freedom of thought and expression. 
 You have not assembled here to do or undo each 
 other; you can, and do differ with your associates, 
 and yet respect them and their opinions. To be 
 sure, a man must have a reason for the faith that 
 is in him, and so far as he has a reason, his faith 
 is respected. He may be a simple searcher after 
 the truth, with no fixed convictions, and as such 
 he is welcome here. Of this much I am certain: 
 that no man whose soul ever expanded as he drank 
 in the beauties of Nature, no man who ever found 
 delight in the modest violet or the field daisy, who 
 ever looked from Nature to Nature's God, ever 
 burned his fellow man at the stake for differences 
 of opinion, or gave him a pass to perdition with 
 no stop-overs. 
 
 So, "with malice toward none and charity for all" 
 and the desire to do right as it is given us to see the 
 right, this Association will go on, and live on, so 
 long as it has this solid foundation. The warm 
 grasp of the hand is a better religion than the lip
 
 of scorn or the heart of hate, and he is but reflect 
 ing the ideal of a Supreme Ruler of the universe 
 whose heart and hand are open and not closed to 
 his fellow man. I believe that as the centuries 
 roll on, they are rolling on to a realization of the 
 brotherhood of man. The dark ages are in the 
 past, not in the future. Ignorance, superstition, 
 and fanaticism, are great clouds which the strong 
 sunlight of civilization and progress is dissipating; 
 but it is simply astonishing what a sunburst it will 
 take to destroy them; but truth is mighty and must 
 prevail. 
 
 I propose to call your thoughts, this afternoon, 
 to an octopus that has ridden the world from its 
 earliest beginnings, rides it to-day, though bom 
 barded by the intellects of the ages; its fallacies 
 shown up, still it lives and thrives, and so far as I 
 can see, always will so long as man is fallible, and 
 our knowledge of the hereafter, vague and un 
 certain. 
 
 Superstition, like a shadow, attends the king on 
 his throne, and the peasant in his cottage. It 
 wraps the sailor closer than his peajacket, on every 
 sea and in every clime. It absolutely rules the un 
 civilized races of the world, and makes itself felt 
 in the daily doings of the 400. It regulates the 
 time and details of the marriage service, and though 
 we bury our dead, we do not bury the shadow. We 
 draw in superstition with our mother's milk, and 
 though reason and common sense arise in maturer 
 years and rebel against it, it is ever present with 
 us, an unbidden and uncomfortable ghost, and like 
 Banquo's, it will not down. Like some of Dore's 
 celebrated pictures, our atmosphere is peopled with 
 uncertain and uncanny forms, more or less vivid,
 
 as our imaginations are strong or weak. Napoleon, 
 himself a fatalist, said that imagination governs the 
 universe. 
 
 Now my imagination is strong enough to dis 
 cern in my audience, more than one knife being 
 whetted to cut this paper up, for I know that if 
 there is anything upon which this Association is a 
 unit, it is its enmity to superstition in any and every 
 form. Nearly every Historian who has appeared 
 before you, has thrown his lance at it, and since it 
 seems to have no friends, I present it to you for 
 another fusilade, and as like as not, its most doughty 
 assailant will be found with a buckeye in his pocket 
 to ward off rheumatism, or a coin that he has carried 
 for a lucky-piece for years. 
 
 If superstition is a mental disease, it is heredi 
 tary, and very few have entirely escaped the in 
 heritance. Whittier says: "There is scarcely a 
 superstition of the past three centuries which has 
 not at this very time, more or less hold upon in 
 dividual minds among us." Is this true? Take 
 up your daily paper and note the advertisements 
 of soothsayers, clairvoyants, and palmists, who 
 offer to unfold the mysteries of the future for a 
 dollar and upwards; and do you think that the 
 clientage of these necromancers consists of servant 
 girls and the ignorant classes in the community 
 alone? It would, in my opinion, be something 
 startling, if a list of those who have paid a dollar 
 and upwards, was also published. It would include 
 business men seeking a solution of their troubles; 
 husbands and wives, separate and apart, however, 
 anxious to know if there was no God in Israel; 
 and lovers, anxious to read the answer to their 
 hopes in the stars. My lady in the brown-stone
 
 front is no stranger in these places, which reap a 
 rich harvest from the credulity and superstitions 
 of the community. Many a merry dinner party 
 has been thrown into consternation when the ab 
 sence of a guest was found to leave the fated 
 thirteen to gather around the festal board, and I 
 do not believe there is a lady in the city of Peoria 
 that would brave this superstition willingly. I 
 know of prominent and intelligent men in this city, 
 who pass a month in more or less dread and fear, 
 if, perchance, they were so unfortunate as to catch 
 the first glimpse of the new moon over their left 
 shoulder. The farmer's wife, practical and sensi 
 ble, as a class firmly holds to the right or wrong 
 time of the moon in which to plant her vegetables. 
 Boys still whistle in passing graveyards by night, 
 and haunted houses are found in every town. 
 
 No ocean liner sails on Friday. The Chicago 
 Post of January loth, says: " 'Twas a Friday night 
 when we set sail." Those who recall the lines of 
 this nautical ditty, will remember that the gallant 
 ship did a sort of merry-go-round on the foaming 
 billows, and then sank to the bottom of the sea, 
 thus ending the voyage which began so merrily, 
 near the close of a luckless day. The song is old, 
 but not so old as the sailors' superstition that 
 "Davy Jones' locker" is the most likely port of 
 any vessel which flies in the face of fate by begin 
 ning a voyage on a Friday. It is difficult to find 
 a sailor who would willingly embark in such a ship, 
 even to-day, and the Navy Department, only last 
 January, has given proof that the superstition has 
 life enough left to influence prosaic Government 
 officials. It was determined sometime previous, 
 that the new battleship "Wisconsin," then near-
 
 ing completion, should be placed in commission 
 February ist. Old salts examined the calendar, 
 and their blood chilled when they saw that this 
 date fell on Friday. They never heard of a battle 
 ship that was reckless enough to go into active 
 commission Friday, and they did not believe that 
 human skill could construct a craft strong enough 
 to thus presumptiously sail into the teeth of dis 
 aster. Their expert opinions reached the ears of 
 the Department at Washington, and an order was 
 issued that the "Wisconsin" be put into commission 
 February 4th, Monday. 
 
 Superstition dies hard, if it ever dies at all. 
 Those who went down to sea in ships centuries 
 ago, believed Friday a day fraught with ill luck, 
 and sailors are equally afraid of it to-day; and it 
 is the well-established policy of the United States 
 Navy Department, to respect this hoary supersti 
 tion, since it cannot well get along without sea 
 men. Having spent three years of my life with 
 Jack Tar, I could fill out this day with the super 
 stitions of the sea. There is but a plank between 
 the sailor and Eternity, and every incident is 
 clothed by him with portent for good or evil. 
 His life and actions are controlled and guided by 
 signs in which he puts more faith than he does all 
 the preaching and the science of the world. Let 
 me narrate one instance which came under my per 
 sonal experience: One day in January, 1862, seven 
 hundred and fifty men were seated on the stones 
 of the levee at Cairo in five groups of one hundred 
 and fifty each. Tied up to the levee, side by side 
 in front of them, were five ironclad gunboats, built 
 by James B. Eads the "Cairo," "Cincinnati," 
 "St. Louis," "Louisville," and "Pittsburgh One
 
 hundred and fifty men were the quota assigned to 
 each boat. These men were awaiting their respect 
 ive assignments, and while we were sitting there, 
 some one cried, "Look there," which was picked 
 up by another and another, until a hundred voices 
 were raised, and as many fingers pointing at the 
 gunboat "Cairo." The cause of all this excite 
 ment was two large rats which were leaving the 
 boat and running along the great hawser which 
 moored her to the shore. There was nothing sur 
 prising in this to me, but I saw many heads shake 
 and heard many mutterings. But the matter be 
 came much plainer when the one hundred and fifty 
 men were tallied off to go on the "Cairo," and to 
 a man they refused to go. The Jacks believe that 
 rats desert a sinking ship, and these men carried 
 their refusal to be assigned to the "Cairo," to the 
 point of being put under arrest and taken back to 
 the receiving ship. Some said they might as well 
 die right there, as to die aboard that boat, and her 
 crew was afterwards made up of landsmen, some 
 of which, I believe, were obtained from the army. 
 Inside of a year, the "Cairo," under command of 
 Lieutenant Thos. O. Selfridge (now retired Ad 
 miral), in an expedition up the Yazoo River, ran 
 onto a torpedo, was blown up and sunk, with a 
 large loss of life. None of the regular sailors in 
 the Mississippi Squadron, of which there were two 
 or three thousand, were a bit surprised their only 
 wonder was that the "Cairo" had lasted so long. 
 
 A sailor will sing, but he will never whistle. I 
 had acquired the whistling habit before entering 
 the service, but when I was assured that I would 
 be thrown overboard, if I did not make a radical 
 change, I discontinued it.
 
 Every railroad man will tell you that travel in 
 variably falls off on Friday in the most marked 
 manner. The Pullman Palace Car Company re 
 port less reservations on that day than any day of 
 the week. Every railroad company has one or two 
 engines that it is difficult to keep a crew on, be 
 ing considered unlucky; and engines unfortunate 
 enough to have been in disasters, have been rebuilt 
 and different numbers given them, hoping to de 
 stroy their identity with misfortune. 
 
 Note any day, as a funeral procession passes up 
 Perry Avenue, those waiting on the corners till 
 the last vehicle has gone by, before crossing the 
 street, and that too, no matter how wide the break 
 between the vehicles, or how much the need of 
 haste by the pedestrian. Do you say that is out 
 of respect for the dead, or from the universal be 
 lief that it is unlucky to cross a funeral? No lover, 
 however absorbed in his fair one, would dare to give 
 her that most beautiful of gems the emerald for 
 her engagement ring, and the opal is shunned as 
 the incarnation of disaster and grief. No young 
 couple is properly started out in life without a 
 bombardment of old shoes and a shower of rice. 
 When the present Duke and Duchess of Albany 
 left Windsor Castle, the Princesses Louise and 
 Beatrice opened up a fusilade of ancient footwear, 
 one of which the Duke caught on the fly, and 
 with a well-directed shot, landed it on the august 
 person of the Duke of Edinborough. Tennyson 
 says, "And whereso'er thou move, good luck shall 
 throw her old shoe after." The wedding ring is 
 born of an old superstition, and was fiercely fought 
 by our Puritan fathers as a "circle for the devil to 
 dance in." The fair hand that Priscilla gave to
 
 John Alden, she would not have had encircled by 
 a ring for worlds, and yet her people could thank 
 God, as some poor soul accused of witchcraft went 
 up in flames and smoke at the stake. 
 
 Thousands are yet careful to get out of bed with 
 the right foot first, and an ill-humored man will 
 have the remark flung at him that "he must have 
 got out of bed, wrong foot foremost." 
 
 The term "Hoodoo" was unknown in the 
 Northern States twenty years ago, but has now 
 passed into general use. We speak of an ill- 
 starred concern or person as hoodooed; the belief 
 that this is so, is well-nigh universal and comes 
 very near to a belief in witchcraft, for which we so 
 condemn our pious Puritan fathers. Josh Billings 
 says that "when a man starts to go down hill, it 
 seems as if everything is greased for the occasion." 
 The sporting fraternity is notoriously addicted to 
 this superstition. The steamship "Rio Janiero" 
 that sank just outside the Golden Gate at San 
 Francisco February 22nd last, with such a fearful 
 loss of life, including Consul Wildeman and his 
 family, had long been recognized as a hoodooed 
 ship, having met with a number of mishaps, and 
 was avoided by those seeking employment at San 
 Francisco. This largely accounts for the Chinese 
 crew she carried. As the hoodoo is avoided, the 
 mascot is welcomed. If any vessel in the United 
 States Navy is without some animal holding down 
 this responsible position, it is because it has not 
 been able to procure one. And along this line, 
 comes the practice indulged in by more than we 
 think, of wearing charms and amulets to ward off 
 evil. This practice undoubtedly came down to us 
 from fortune-tellers and gypsies who trafficked in
 
 charms, but amulets early passed into the Christian 
 Church, and were well known among the Egypt 
 ians, Greeks, and Romans. In the early church, 
 the making and selling of amulets was a prosper 
 ous business, and to-day the wearing of these 
 charms is well nigh universal in Central Asia and 
 Western and Southern Europe. Coins marked 
 with a cross seem to be the favorite. Conseulo 
 Vanderbilt, the young Duchess of Marlboro, at 
 tributes no small amount of her married content 
 to a little heart of gold she ordered made and cut 
 half in two. The day before the wedding, one 
 half of the heart was given her betrothed, the 
 other half she hung around her neck by a fine 
 gold chain, and from that day, the young couple 
 have worn their portions of the gold emblem, in 
 the belief that to lose or mislay one of the parts 
 would bring them dire distress. 
 
 The late King Humbert of Italy believed be 
 fore all things else, in the bezoar stone that wards 
 off the evil eyes ; the bezoar stone is a very rare 
 growth obtained from certain mountain animals, 
 and he wore three such stones "that change color 
 with the stars " in his welded, irremovable bracelet. 
 Along this same line is the common habit of carry 
 ing so-called lucky pieces, in the shape of a coin 
 or token; and the horseshoe nailed over the door 
 or on the wall. Nelson went into the battle of 
 Trafalgar with a horseshoe nailed to the bow of 
 the "Victory." The superstition surrounding the 
 horseshoe is as old as the horse itself, and crops 
 out in the literature of all Ages. In Gay's fable 
 of the "Old Woman and Her Cats," the witch 
 laments
 
 ' Straws laid across, my path retard, 
 
 The horseshoes nailed, each threshold guard." 
 
 Butler declares that 
 
 " Evil spirits are chased away, by dint 
 Of sickle, horseshoe, hollow flint." 
 
 We find the horseshoe stamped on monograms, 
 Christmas cards, book covers; we find them in 
 gold, silver, and precious stones in every jewelry 
 store. The wassail or loving cup is another relic 
 of superstition which has come down to us from 
 the Mediaeval Ages, and the common "Here's to 
 you," which I have heard this very day on these 
 enchanted grounds, is nothing more than an in 
 vocation to good luck. 
 
 Within the past two years, a genius in New 
 England prepared and advertised a so-called 
 "Lucky Box," which could easily be carried in 
 the pocket, and the possession of which would 
 bring instant luck. Thousands upon thousands 
 were sold in the Eastern States, and they would 
 still be selling, if the Government had not stamped 
 them as a fraud and prohibited their transmission 
 in the mails. Heartsease, the common name given 
 to the whole violet family, comes from the old 
 superstition that roots and flowers were a prevent 
 ive of anger, and brought peace and comfort to 
 the heart. An ancient myth is perpetuated in half 
 the households in the land, in the holly and ever 
 green decorations so bountifully used at Christmas 
 time. Our Puritan fathers inveighed mightily 
 against this custom, and hurled anathemas dark 
 and dire at it; but to what avail, each recurring 
 Christmastide attests. 
 
 Buckeyes and potatoes are carried to cure or 
 prevent rheumatism. The mad-stone for the cure
 
 of hydrophobia has its hosts of firm believers. 
 President Lincoln carried Robert a journey of 
 over a hundred miles, that this stone might exer 
 cise its virtue on a dog bite, and I might say, in 
 this connection, that this great-hearted, whole- 
 souled, practical man, who kept in such close 
 touch with the heart and love of his people, had 
 a deeply superstitious nature. He was ever see 
 ing good or evil omens, and was a firm believer in 
 the saying that "coming events cast their shadows 
 before them." After his election to the Presidency, 
 and before leaving Springfield, he awoke from an 
 afternoon nap in his bedroom, and saw his face re 
 flected in duplicate in a mirror on the opposite side 
 of the room; one of the faces was quite distinct 
 and natural, the other more indistinct and pale and 
 haggard. It made a profound impression on his 
 mystical nature, which was intensified by the 
 phenomenon being repeated a few days later. He 
 never laid on that lounge without apprehension. 
 He conversed with many about the occurrence, and 
 it was interpreted by his wife as indicating that he 
 would be twice elected President of the United 
 States, and that his second term meant sorrow, and 
 likely death. It is well authenticated that he 
 dreamed of his own funeral ten days before his 
 death, for he spoke of it to several members of 
 his Cabinet. The disaster of Bull Run occurring 
 on Sunday, he used his best efforts to prevent a 
 battle on that day during the entire war. He 
 telegraphed Mrs. Lincoln at Philadelphia, to keep 
 a close watch on Tad, as he had had a bad dream 
 about him. 
 
 Major General Hancock, who could face death 
 on the field of battle without a tremor, believed in
 
 presentiments. Attending a dinner given in his 
 honor by some friends, he remarked to a comrade, 
 as took his seat, that he believed that would be the 
 last time he would see him; a Nation mourned his 
 death a short time after. Marie Antoinnette said: 
 "At my wedding, something whispered to me that 
 I was signing my death warrant; at the last mo 
 ment I would have retreated, if I could have done 
 so." Whittier relates a number of striking in 
 stances of the fulfillment of presentiments that 
 had come under his own observation. 
 
 Another superstition which has come down to 
 us from ages too- remote for dates, is the divining 
 rod; in every community, in almost every land, 
 can be found the seer who, with his forked branch 
 of witch hazel or mountian ash or apple twig, 
 claims to be able to locate running water beneath 
 the earth's surface. Only a few weeks ago, our 
 papers recounted the wonderful achievements of a 
 boy residing in the arid portion of Texas, who 
 located wells with such unerring accuracy, that he 
 was finally taken in charge by a manager and was 
 rapidly earning a fortune by his gift. This divin 
 ing rod will not work for everyone; the skeptic, 
 who can figure out no possible relationship between 
 the twig and the \vater,may spare himself the trouble 
 of trying the experiment, but as stated before, the 
 belief has its roots beyond the reckoning of time. 
 It is used to-day to locate oil wells in Pennsylvania, 
 and gold mines in the Rockies. It is used in 
 France to detect criminals, and was used in the 
 seventeenth and eighteenth centuries to discover 
 hidden treasures. As we go farther back, we find 
 its powers still further enlarged, even to the power 
 of splitting and breaking rocks. Tradition has it,
 
 that Solomon's temple, which the Good Book tells 
 us was built "without sound of hammer or axe or 
 any tool of iron," had its great stones prepared in 
 this way. The Romans used the plant we know 
 as sassafras, for this divination, hence its Latin 
 name Saxifrage or stonebreaker. I infer the work 
 ings of Planchette, which created such a furore 
 twenty years ago, may be placed in the same class 
 as the divining rod. Many of our best educated 
 and most intelligent people became completely 
 mystified by this toy. 
 
 And now we come to a section of the subject of 
 our thought, this afternoon, that tends to make us 
 say with Hamlet: "There are more things in 
 heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of 
 in your philosophy." A class of subjects so well 
 authenticated, with such a weight of well-attested 
 proof, that we at least are forced to say that science 
 has not yet exhausted all attainable knowledge 
 about the constitution of man. There are either 
 invisible spirits about us, or man has mental powers 
 not yet fully recognized. This brings us into 
 spiritualism, hypnotism, mesmerism, mindreading, 
 thought transference, ghosts, wraiths, evil eye, 
 satanism, and the whole brood of dark and mys 
 terious subjects that have challenged the thought 
 and worked on the fears of mankind. As Drake 
 says: "Who will undertake to span the gulf 
 stretching out, a shoreless void between the revela 
 tions of science and the incomprehensible mys 
 teries of life itself? It is upon that debatable 
 ground that superstition finds its strongest foot 
 hold, and like the ivy clinging around old walls, 
 defies every attempt to uproot it." Psychology is 
 yet a shoreless and uncharted sea, but the best
 
 minds in the world are at work to-day in an effort 
 to bound and sound it. I believe we are on the 
 brink of great discoveries in this science, and that 
 there are those in my audience who will live to see 
 and understand phenomena that have terrified the 
 Ages. We do not carry the burdens that our fore 
 fathers did; education, knowledge, and science 
 have dispelled much of the darkness, but there are 
 plenty of clouds yet to be dissipated, and as I de 
 sire to confine this paper to the superstitions of the 
 day, I will not touch on the mass of material, in 
 teresting as it is, that fills the pages of history; we 
 have enough in our own day and generation. 
 
 On December 28th last, a dispatch was sent 
 from London to the Associated Press, and was 
 published in our papers, to the effect that the 
 ghost of Mary Queen of Scotts had been heard 
 in the Tower of London, wailing and mourning, 
 on Christmas night. The Tower Guard who 
 heard it, called an officer; they both heard it, and 
 procuring keys, opened the room in the tower 
 where Mary had been confined, but could see or 
 hear nothing. It is a matter of record that this 
 ghostly wail has been heard just before the death 
 of every English Sovereign from Queen Eliza 
 beth's time down. This dispatch goes on to say 
 that the event was causing great apprehension, and 
 that every effort was being made to keep it from 
 coming to Queen Victoria's notice, as the Queen 
 was very much depressed over the recent death of 
 Lady Churchill, her most intimate friend. Noth 
 ing had gone out to the world at that time that 
 Queen Victoria was not in her usual state of health, 
 beyond the one, that the South African War had 
 borne pretty heavily on her. Many of our dailies
 
 commented on this London dispatch at the time, 
 and again, when within thirty days, the world 
 mourned the demise of this great and good Queen. 
 
 For two hundred years Fyvie Castle, adjoining 
 the Carnegie Estates in Scotland, has been under a 
 curse which falls on the eldest son of the owner of 
 the property. This curse has its origin from the 
 fact that the castle was built with the stones of a 
 wrecked Catholic Abbey. No eldest son has ever 
 fallen heir to the property, and in fact no male heir 
 has survived to enjoy the estate. It was long the 
 property of the Earls of Dumfermline, whose sons 
 all died, then passed to the Gordons, who were 
 similarly stricken. Sir Maurice Duff Gordon, 
 who had only a daughter left, sold it to A. J. 
 Forbes Leith (Carnegie's partner), who married 
 Miss Mary January of St. Louis, a friend of my 
 boyhood days. Mr. and Mrs. Forbes Leith are 
 now mourning the loss of their only son, Lieut 
 enant Perry Forbes Leith of the First Royal 
 Dragoon Guards, one of the victims of the South 
 African War, and the curse still broods over Fyvie 
 Castle. But Mary Stuart's ghost is not the only 
 one manifesting a pernicious activity, nor Fyvie 
 Castle the only curse-ridden domain. Scarcely a 
 city in the United States, without its haunted 
 houses, and you will not read your daily papers 
 one week without coming across the account of a 
 ghostly visitor, certified and sworn to by witnesses 
 of accepted credibility. 
 
 Since starting to prepare this paper, I have clip 
 pings from the Topeka, Kansas, Capital; St. Louis 
 Post-Despatch; Helena, Montana, Record; Ot- 
 tumwa, Iowa, Courier; Chicago Post, and Peoria 
 Star, giving accounts of apparitions, dates of the
 
 occurrences, and the names and addresses of the 
 witnesses. These visitations occurred in Emporia, 
 Kansas; Mascoutah, Illinois; Ottumwa, Iowa; 
 Cincinnati, Ohio; Geneva, New York; Berlin, 
 Pennsylvania, and Querendaro, Mexico. One of 
 these papers states that "Someone in a facetious 
 vein has remarked, that men may lose faith in their 
 fellow men, in their religion, in their doctors, but 
 somewhere in their natures will cling a hidden, 
 sneaking half-belief in the possibility of ghosts." 
 And the newspapers of the day bear witness that 
 ghost stories are in the category of news; they are 
 printed with no apology, and are told in detail, 
 just as any flesh and blood circumstance is related. 
 One of these papers states that within the period 
 of ten days, the ghost stories told by metropolitan 
 papers have averaged more than 1,500 words in 
 length. The vehicles of these stories have ranged 
 from the Pall Mall Gazette in London, down to 
 the Owosso, Michigan, Argus, and not one of 
 these publications has attempted to apologize for 
 giving space to such subjects. In fact, the accounts 
 state that in several instances the majesty of the 
 law had been invoked for the protection of those 
 who had seen the spooks, or felt their influences. 
 Are those accounts all impositions, and the so- 
 stated witnesses, myths or liars? Camille Flam- 
 marion, the French savant, states: "There is no 
 longer any room to doubt the fact that certain 
 houses are haunted. I began the scientific study 
 of these questions on November I5th, 1861, and 
 I have continued it ever since; I have received 
 more than four thousand letters upon these ques 
 tions from learned men of every land, and I am 
 glad to be able to say that some of the most in-
 
 teresting letters come from America." Flamma- 
 rion is an avowed spiritualist. Only recently, the 
 Rev. M. J. Savage, the popular pastor of the 
 largest Unitarian Church in Boston, announced 
 his conversion to spiritualism. Our own Robert 
 J. Ingersol spent several years in this belief, and 
 while nearly all of the leading professional mediums 
 have been detected in fraud, the power manifested 
 by even amateur mediums has been beyond expla 
 nation by any known laws of Nature, or discov 
 eries of science. So-called messages from the dead 
 have stated facts which could not possibly have 
 been known to the medium, or to anyone living, 
 beyond the person who had called in the medium's 
 services. A writer in a Manitoba paper says: 
 "The facts of hypnotism are familiar to all now- 
 a-days; Mesmerism was explained a hundred 
 years ago as animal magnetism, but this theory 
 falls to the ground, when it becomes known that 
 the mesmeric or hypnotic sleep, with all its pecu 
 liarities of hallucination and of submission to the 
 will, can be created in a variety of mechanical 
 ways. It has also been proved beyond question, 
 that the mind of the hypnotic patient can be in 
 fluenced to affect the body, and at least in nervous 
 or hysterical diseases, to exercise a healing influ 
 ence. It may be right here that light is breaking 
 in on many of the witchcraft stories, and of the 
 marvellous healings and hallucinations of the 
 sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but it does 
 not explain the spirit rappings and other spiritual 
 istic manifestations that swept over the civilized 
 world during the third quarter of the last century. 
 These phenomena caused the organization in 1880 
 of the well-known "Society of Psychical Research."
 
 Amongst the founders of this Society were such 
 scholars as Sir William Crooke; Prof. Balfour 
 Stewart, Prof. Oliver Lodge, the late distinguished 
 electrician; Prof. Hertz; Lord Tennyson; Mr. 
 A. J. Balfour, the present leader of the House of 
 Commons; Mr. Gladstone, and many other Eng 
 lish and Continental savants. The object of this 
 Society was to collect and investigate first hand 
 evidence for the alleged phenomena called ghosts, 
 wraiths, haunted houses, clairvoyants, premoni 
 tions, spiritualistic disturbances, etc. This Society 
 felt that the time had come for a systematic, 
 thorough, and conservative study and investiga 
 tion of this whole subject, and the result of their 
 labors has been published in two large volumes 
 called "Phantasms of the Living." Over seven 
 teen thousand cases were critically examined, and 
 all available evidences of ghosts of the dead, or 
 wraiths of the living, were collected and subjected 
 to the most persistent and searching investigation. 
 Moreover, many experiments were made, and it 
 was established that thought transference, not by 
 any recognized channels of the sense, is a possi 
 bility, even when the experimenters are not in the 
 same room; that the mind or brain of a person in 
 some crisis, particularly in the approach of death, 
 could affect by visible, audible, or other manifest 
 ations of various kinds, the mind or brain of an 
 other person at a distance. But then, most of us, 
 during our lives, have been impressed with the 
 presence of some absent person who, it turned 
 out, had been in neither danger nor even trouble. 
 But the Society's Committee satisfied themselves 
 "that the death hallucination or appearance oc 
 curred 440 per cent, in excess of any other, and
 
 they pronounced that between deaths and appari 
 tions of the dying, a conviction exists, which is 
 not due to chance alone." 
 
 Andrew Lang, who has spent many years in 
 psychical research, leans strongly to the belief that 
 any knowledge contributed by a seeming phantasm 
 of the dead, is the result of telepathy from a liv 
 ing brain. Thought transference is proved by the 
 deeds of mindreaders like Johnson and Bishop, 
 who locate hidden articles known only to the party 
 secreting them. "It would seem that these inves 
 tigations advancing from experimental thought 
 transference to telepathy, more or less explain 
 wraiths or shades of living persons, and have sug 
 gested a theory of ghosts." I believe, my friends, 
 that the dawn of the day is already here, the break 
 ing light of which, will dissipate the dark clouds 
 of superstition, which have hung like a pall over 
 the Ages. There is probably no one in this audi 
 ence that has actually suffered from superstition, 
 but there are thousands in this community, and in 
 every community, that do. Addison writes two 
 hundred years ago in the Spectator: "I fell into a 
 profound contemplation on the evils that attend 
 these superstitious folies of mankind, how they 
 subject us to imaginary afflictions and additional 
 sorrows; as if the natural calamities of life were 
 not sufficient for it; we turn the most indifferent 
 circumstances into misfortunes." There was a time 
 when religion and superstition were synonymous 
 terms. Paul says, "Ye men of Athens, I perceive 
 that in all things ye are too superstitious," mean 
 ing, as I take it, that their religion had run riot 
 with them. Superstition has been a blight and a 
 curse, and to a large extent has controlled the
 
 happiness and peace of humanity. The super 
 stitious person is no comfort to himself or anyone 
 else. He is no apostle of cheer and light, but 
 lives in the gloom and sees little else. Supersti 
 tion blocks the way of progress, and holds in hope 
 less slavery over one-half the population of the 
 world to-day. It has killed and tortured, and the 
 wails of its victims call to God for vengeance. 
 Dr. Sprenger, in his "Life of Mohammed," com 
 putes the entire number of persons burned as 
 witches during the Christian Era, at nine millions. 
 Civilization and progress are indeed marching on, 
 but superstition follows like a shadow. Science 
 is its uncompromising foe the St. George which 
 will slay the dragon, if it ever is slain. The time 
 has indeed gone by when demons were heard howl 
 ing in the gale, or lightning looked upon as a shaft 
 from an angry God, but the time has not yet come 
 when humanity breathes an atmosphere free from 
 the miasma of superstition. It is a shadow grow 
 ing fainter, it is true, that follows the onward 
 march of civilization and progress. We have 
 lived to see alchemy grow into chemistry, astrology 
 merged into astronomy; may we not confidently 
 look forward to the coming of the truth that shall 
 set us free?
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 
 
 JUN 9 
 
 MAR 11 196*. 
 
 Form L-9-15ni-7,'32
 
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 TV of CALIFORNIA 
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