B 3 125 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Class 
 

Ibenrp 3D* 
 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN. i6mo, $1.10 net. 
 Postage, 10 cents. In A tnerican Men of 
 Letters Series. 
 
 ESSAYS ON GREAT WRITERS. Crown 
 8vo, gilt top, $1.50 net. Postage, 13 cents. 
 
 SAMUEL DE CHAMPLAIN. Small i6mo, 
 65 cents net. Postage, 6 cents. In River 
 side Biographical Series. 
 
American jWen of 3lettcr 
 
 FEANCIS PARKMAN 
 
& 
 
 
American ini of Jlcttcre 
 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY DWIGHT SEDGWICK 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 ibe prc.stf, 
 1904 
 
COPYRIGHT 1904 BY HENRY DWIGHT SKDGWICK 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published May, iqcy. 
 
TO 
 
 S. M. S. 
 
 Qual vuol gentil donna parere, 
 Vada con lei. 
 
 213367 
 
*. 
 
 PKEFACE 
 
 THE life of a scholar is almost of necessity un 
 eventful, and his accomplished work speaks for 
 itself; therefore the biographer must deal in 
 the main with the scholar s labors of acquisition 
 and preparation. Journals kept on two summer 
 vacations, and on a trip to Europe, and several 
 erratic and scrappy notebooks, show Parkman s 
 methods of examining historic places and of col 
 lecting historical materials. These, together with 
 the " Oregon Trail," his own brief narrative of 
 his life, and an irregular correspondence, consti 
 tute the autobiographical records of his life. 
 
 My thanks are due to Miss Parkman, the his 
 torian s sister, for putting those records at my 
 disposal ; to Mr. Charles Haight Farnham, the 
 author of the " Life of Francis Parkman," for 
 his generous permission to make what use I 
 might wish of his biography and but for his 
 labors my own would have been fourfold greater; 
 to Messrs. Little, Brown & Co., for their per- 
 
viii PREFACE 
 
 mission to quote from that " Life " and from 
 Parkman s published works; to the late Abb6 
 H. R. Casgrain, for leave to use his unpublished 
 " Correspondence for twenty-eight years with 
 Mr. Parkman ; " to The Westborough Histor 
 ical Society, for leave to make extracts from 
 the " Diary of Rev. Ebenezer Parkman," and to 
 those ladies and gentlemen who have kindly 
 allowed me to print letters written to Parkman. 
 I am also indebted to the monographs of Mr. 
 Edward Wheelwright, the Rev. O. B. Frothing- 
 ham, Mr. John Fiske, and Mr. Barrett Wendell. 
 
 H. D. SEDGWICK. 
 
 NEW YOBK, April, 1904. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEB PAGB 
 
 I. ACHIEVEMENT 1 
 
 II. ANCESTRY 12 
 
 III. BOYHOOD 20 
 
 IV. COLLEGE 27 
 
 V. EXPLORATIONS 32 
 
 VI. THE MARGALLOWAY 45 
 
 VII. TRAVELS 56 
 
 VIII. EUROPE 69 
 
 IX. IN SICILY l 80 
 
 X. NAPLES AND ROME 90 
 
 XI. FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH . . .105 
 XII. A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT . . 116 
 
 XIII. PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC . . -133 
 
 XIV. OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL ... 148 
 XV. THE OGILLALLAH 160 
 
 XVI. A ROUGH JOURNEY . , . . . .168 
 XVII. LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE 
 iXVTII. UNDER DR. ELLIOTT S CARE 
 
 XTX. ILL HEALTH, 1848-1850 205 
 
 XX. LIFE AND LITERATURE, 1850-1856 . 217 
 
 XXI. 1858-1865 229 
 
 XXII. HISTORY AND FAME 246 
 
X CONTENTS 
 
 XXIII. CANADA AND CANADIAN FKIENDS . . . 263 
 
 XXIV. LATER LIFE 282 
 
 XXV. CHARACTER AND OPINIONS . . . 304 
 
 XXVI. A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTER . . .316 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL LETTER OF 1886 . . . 327 
 POEM BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES .... 339 
 
 INDEX 341 
 
FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ACHIEVEMENT 
 
 THERE is a fine passage in Bunyan which de 
 scribes the fighting courage of the Puritan 
 type : - 
 
 Then said Great-heart to Mr. Valiant-for- 
 Truth, " Thou hast worthily behaved thyself ; let 
 me see thy sword." So he showed it to him. 
 
 When he had taken it in his hand, and 
 looked thereon a while, he said, " Ha ! it is a 
 right Jerusalem blade." 
 
 Valiant. It is so. Let a man have one of 
 these blades, with a hand to wield it and skill to 
 use it, and he may venture upon an angel with 
 it. He need not fear its holding, if he can but 
 tell how to lay on. Its edge will never blunt. 
 
 Great-heart. But you fought a great while. 
 I wonder you was not weary. 
 
 Valiant. I fought till my sword did cleave 
 to my hand ; and then they were joined together 
 as if a sword grew out of my arm, and when the 
 blood ran through my fingers, then I fought with 
 most courage. 
 
2 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Great-heart. Thou hast done well. . . . 
 
 Mr. Great-heart was delighted in him (for he 
 loved one greatly that he found to be a man of 
 his hands). 
 
 Parkman was such another Valiant-for-Truth, 
 and with the right Jerusalem blade of character 
 fought his victorious way. Silent in pain, patient 
 in accomplishment, modest in victory, gentle in 
 bearing, and yet determined to grimness, he 
 proved himself lawful heir of the best Puritan 
 traits. The name Puritan he disliked, but how 
 ever much he might wish he could not escape 
 his moral ancestry. He inherited not the acci 
 dental beliefs of the Puritans, but their attitude 
 toward life, their disposition and inherent bent. 
 " Not happiness but achievement " was his watch 
 word. Cut off by race and temperament from 
 those light, sunny, skeptical, feminine moods 
 that belong to other bloods, his nature was con 
 centrated in the pith of his race. With head 
 erect, jaw fixed, shoulders square, he was the 
 image of New England s best. He had New 
 England s difficulty of self-expression, he was 
 not without traces of her inflexibility of mind, 
 and he was endowed, more than the measure of 
 his race, with a proud, shy tenderness. 
 
 Nature would have made a soldier of him, but 
 in Fortune s hugger-mugger allotment of parts, 
 it fell to him to grasp the pen instead of the 
 
ACHIEVEMENT 3 
 
 sword ; his name is not written upon fort and 
 battlefield, but it is inseparably united with the 
 story of the first great epoch in the history of 
 North America. 
 
 In the field of history Parkman s name stands 
 as high, perhaps higher, than that of any other 
 American. John Fiske, a student of the histo 
 rians of Europe and America, says : " Into the 
 making of a historian there should enter some 
 thing of the philosopher, something of the natu 
 ralist, something of the poet. In Parkman this 
 rare union of qualities was realized in a greater 
 degree than in any other American historian. 
 Indeed, I doubt if the nineteenth century. can 
 show in any part of the world another historian 
 quite his equal in respect to such a union. . . . 
 It is only the historian who is also philosopher 
 and artist that can thus deal in block with the 
 great and complex life of a whole society. The 
 requisite combination is realized only in certain 
 rare and high types of mind, and there has been 
 no more brilliant illustration of it than Park 
 man s volumes afford." And he adds, speaking 
 of Parkman s whole history : " Strong in its 
 individuality, like to nothing else, it clearly 
 belongs, I think, among the world s few master 
 pieces of the highest rank, along with the works 
 of Herodotus, Thucydides, and Gibbon." 
 
 A writer in the " Spectator," reviewing an Eng- 
 
4 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 lish edition of Parkman s works, says: "Fran 
 cis Parkman long since won an honorable place 
 among the classic historians of the world, and it 
 is with the greatest cordiality that we welcome 
 the present reprint of his works. Now, at last, 
 we have a library edition which we may put by 
 the side of Gibbon and Michelet, of Livy and 
 Taine. For Francis Parkman need not fear the 
 most august society ; he has the true genius of 
 history in him, the genius which knows how 
 to wed accuracy with romance." Goldwin Smith 
 compares him with Tacitus. Professor Albert 
 Bushnell Hart says : " Francis Parkman is the 
 greatest of all the writers who have ever made 
 America their theme or have written as American 
 scholars, and his greatness depends upon three 
 qualities rarely brought together in one man ; 
 he was a matchless investigator, a man of the 
 most unflinching tenacity, and somehow he knew 
 how to write so that men loved to read him." 
 
 These are enthusiastic praises, and Mr. Fiske, 
 who had a warm heart and a fine capacity for 
 friendship, might be thought to have spoken 
 from a May morning mood, the English reviewer 
 might be deemed over-grateful to Parkman after 
 reviewing other historians, Goldwin Smith en 
 thusiastic from love of Canada, Professor Hart 
 from love of Harvard ; but such conjectures fail, 
 for these men make but the mouthpiece of the 
 
ACHIEVEMENT 5 
 
 common voice. The boy who in the course of 
 nature reads Parkman after Cooper and the Wa- 
 verley novels finishes "Pontiac" or "Montcalm 
 and Wolfe" with a "By Jove, that s bully!" 
 The temperate person of uncertain age says, 
 " What an admirable piece of work I how true, 
 how just! would that our fiction had half the 
 charm of such history ! " The student rejoices in 
 the accuracy, the impartiality, the wise correct 
 ness of this history. 
 
 It is for scholars, however, to decide whether 
 Parkman is as great as Thucydides and Gibbon ; 
 the very suggestion is more than enough honor 
 for any other historian ; it is for readers to de 
 termine if his books are as agreeable as Michelet 
 or Livy ; the biographer can but show whether 
 the historian has been loyal to his task, 
 whether he has studied, explored, reconnoitred 
 in all those places where he might ferret out 
 knowledge of his subject; for in such loyalty 
 lies not only the historian s honor, but also what 
 benefit men may derive from history. 
 
 In considering the merits of a historian, heed 
 must be paid to the subject of the history, the 
 theme must be looked at ; a little man minces 
 up to a little subject, a strong man strides up 
 to a great subject. No story of Martha s Vine 
 yard, of Dorking, or Tarascon could deserve the 
 title of a great history. Parkman chose worthily, 
 
6 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 sagaciously seeing clearly where other men had 
 only peered. His subject is universally acknow 
 ledged to be a great subject. It is the history of 
 Canada, it is the history of the United States as 
 well. The events which he recounts are the great 
 prologue to the drama of the American Revo 
 lution ; they are the slow factors which begot 
 sentiments of mutual dependence among bicker 
 ing colonies, and finally, forcing them to confed 
 erate, enabled them to break the ties that held 
 them to Great Britain and to found a new nation. 
 Incidentally, as a story of two nations of differ 
 ent stocks, Parkman s history involves the con 
 trast between two political systems, one where 
 a single man holds the power of the state, the 
 other where the general body of citizens possess 
 it ; likewise it involves the contrast between two 
 great religious systems, Roman Catholicism and 
 Teutonic Protestantism. The English-French con 
 flict was the struggle between two sets of ideas 
 one derived from Rome, the other from Ger 
 many for domination on the continent of North 
 America. In Europe those discordant ideas had 
 set up their respective boundaries ; in the New 
 World they fought not for boundaries, but for 
 all or nothing. The importance of this struggle 
 Parkman was perhaps the first fully to realize. 
 So great a theme imposed a grave duty. 
 
 Parkman s self -training and self-education, in 
 
ACHIEVEMENT 7 
 
 order to fulfill this duty, make the most interest 
 ing part of his life. To be sure, as a historian 
 of past time, he had in some respects unrivaled 
 opportunities. When Froude described Eliza 
 bethan buccaneers and Freeman the Normans of 
 the Conquest, they were constrained to use that 
 constructive sense which out of manuscripts, 
 stones, and bones must create living men ; but 
 Parkman was able to live in the past, as it were, 
 to use eyes and ears instead of his imagination. 
 Indians, French Canadians, and American fron 
 tiersmen are his dramatis personce. Fortunately 
 for him, Indians are singularly persistent in an 
 cestral ways, singularly incapable of adaptation 
 to altered modes of life. What the Iroquois and 
 the Algonkins of the seventeenth and eighteenth 
 centuries were, such were the Snakes and the 
 Dakotas of 1846. Likewise the French Cana 
 dian, in less degree, is rigid and obstinate ; the 
 habitant follows his father s footsteps with the 
 fidelity of instinct, what he learned to do as a 
 boy he does as a man, and unless he emigrate, 
 he remains the same from generation to genera 
 tion. Were it not for assaults from the outer 
 world, his gun, his plough, his boat would re 
 main as they were in Frontenac s time ; so would 
 his gayety and his politeness. In 1842 the fron 
 tiersman, also, on the borders of Vermont and 
 Maine, was not greatly changed from his pre- 
 
8 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 decessors of a century before. Those were still 
 the days before the great Irish immigration ; 
 the frontiersmen whom Parkman met in his 
 undergraduate days were Yankees, handling 
 gun and axe very much as their forefathers 
 had done, theological, independent, lanky, ready, 
 rough, unmannerly. So, too, in the days of Park- 
 man s roamings, the woods on the borders of 
 Lake George and of Lake Champlain, the for 
 ests of pine, spruce, oak, and maple, between 
 the White Mountains and the St. Lawrence, 
 had not changed since the French and Indian 
 wars. Here fortune favored him. Paris of the 
 second empire was not like the Paris of Henri 
 IV, London of Queen Victoria was not the 
 London of Charles II ; but in Parkman s boy 
 hood great tracts of the American forest were 
 changed only in so far as old trees had fallen to 
 decay and young shoots had grown up to take 
 their places. 
 
 All these dramatis persons the Indian, the 
 Canadian, the frontiersman, the forest could 
 be studied in the life, and in these respects Park 
 man had great advantages over other historians. 
 These advantages he used to the full, and this 
 little book will, in great measure, consist merely 
 of Parkman s own accounts of these studies 
 afield. But the peculiar praise due to Park 
 man is that he determined, while still a lad, not 
 
ACHIEVEMENT 9 
 
 merely to write a history of the French and 
 English war, but to be thorough in his prepara 
 tion. Thoroughness ordinarily means alcoves, 
 green shades, spectacles ; with Parkman it meant 
 not merely such " emasculate scholarship," but 
 also hardening the muscles, aiming the rifle, 
 riding bareback, in order to qualify the student 
 to undertake his outdoor studies. 
 
 Fully aware of the greatness of his under 
 taking, ready and eager to submit to whatever 
 schooling should best educate him, Parkman 
 judged that history should be written with a 
 view to being read. However accurate, however 
 profound it be, if it remain on the shelf, whether 
 of the bookshop or public library, it is a failure. 
 
 Parkman, too, was deeply impressed with the 
 beauty, the color, the romance of our North 
 American history ; he believed that beauty, color, 
 romance are not mere trappings and holiday 
 decorations of history, but integral parts, and 
 that to omit them is to be false to fact. To some 
 men this world, both present and past, looks dry, 
 dull, autumnal ; to Parkman it blossomed with 
 the bloom of spring, and he knew that, in order 
 to gather and preserve that beauty in little black 
 printed letters, art was necessary, and that art 
 means training. Therefore he set himself to 
 work to become a master of art in prose, just as 
 he worked to become a master of art with his 
 
10 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 rifle. His diaries are sketches and studies in 
 narrative, his reading aimed at the same end ; 
 until after long years by this patient labor he 
 was able to produce those " glorious " and " shin 
 ing " pages which, not for Mr. John Fiske alone, 
 fill "the most brilliant and fascinating books 
 that have been written since the days of Herodo 
 tus." 
 
 By these means, by the simple method of faith 
 ful fulfillment of his duty, Parkman accom 
 plished his great task. " The path of duty was 
 the path of glory," and to those who are pri 
 marily concerned with history and literature, the 
 process of his preparation will be the most inter 
 esting period of his life ; but to those who prefer 
 manhood to history, and fortitude to fame, who 
 are zealous for American character, to them the 
 most brilliant parts of Parkman s story are the 
 periods of enforced idleness. In boyhood he had 
 some physical weakness, and throughout his life 
 from undergraduate days till his death, there 
 is one long record of physical ills, pausing but 
 continuing again inexorable, of lameness that 
 forbade walking, of almost complete blindness 
 that forbade seeing, of insomnia that banished 
 sleep, of pain that stopped the impatient brain. 
 
 Intense of purpose, impetuous in pursuit, in 
 tolerant of idleness, effeminacy, and indifference, 
 emphatic in belief, dependent on himself alone, 
 
ACHIEVEMENT 11 
 
 pleasant to his acquaintance, beloved by his 
 friends, he fought his way through fifty years of 
 achievement, a worthy comrade to those great 
 figures in his histories whom he has lifted to 
 fame and honor. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 ANCESTRY 
 
 INDOMITABLE resolution was the chief trait in 
 Francis Parkman. It may be somewhat fanciful 
 to trace a single trait up the male line through 
 eight generations, but in Parkman s case there 
 is satisfaction in finding that this ascent takes us 
 to Devonshire, the breeding place of indomitable 
 spirit. Parkman s last English ancestor was Wil 
 liam Parkman of Sidmouth, Devon, of whom we 
 know little, yet at least that he was born and 
 bred in Elizabethan England, in the same shire 
 that begot Raleigh, Drake, Gilbert, Hawkins, 
 and other freebooting buccaneers, and that he 
 was entitled to a birthright of will and courage. 
 William s son Elias emigrated to Massachusetts 
 Bay prior to 1633; there he married, and be 
 got a line of descendants, over whom worthy 
 people with Old Testament names we may 
 lightly skip to the fourth generation from the 
 Devonshire ancestor. In that generation the 
 twelfth child, Ebenezer, is well known by reason 
 of a journal which he kept for many years. He 
 graduated at Harvard College in 1721, at the 
 
ANCESTRY 13 
 
 age of eighteen, and three years later was elected 
 town minister of Westborough, Massachusetts. 
 He continued his ministry in this little town for 
 fifty-eight years, until his death. His published 
 journal begins abruptly on February 13, 1737, 
 about two years after his first wife s death. The 
 minister s second attempt at wooing is recorded 
 thus : 
 
 Feb. 17. Capt Foot & Sister Elizabeth & M 
 Mary Tilestone took a ride with me in a double 
 slay at evening to Capt. Robert Sharp s at Brook- 
 line, & Br r Elias came to us upon my horse, after 
 supper there. At 10 o clock they returned in y e 
 slay but I tarried. N. B. The discovery of my 
 Inclinations to Capt Sharp & to Mm. By y eir 
 urgent Persuasions I tarried and lodged there. 
 N. B. M r _ 8 Susannah Sharp. [Mistress Susan 
 nah was twenty-one years old.] . . . 
 
 March 3 d . Towards night I rode over to Rox- 
 bury. N. B. I proceeded to Capt Sharp s. By 
 Capt Sharp s strong Solicitation I tarried all 
 night. N. B. Mrs Susan not very willing to 
 think of going so far in y e Country as West- 
 borough, &G &G &G. . . . 
 
 March 4. I returned P. M. from Town & went 
 again to Capt Sharp s. N. B. Capt Sharp & 
 Mm. gone to the Funeral of a Relation at Rox- 
 bury. I tarried whilst the Capt and his spouse 
 came home. Arguments which be fruitless with 
 Mrs Susan. I returned to Father Champney s 
 between 8 and 9 in y e Evening. 
 
 [This rebuff was received philosophically.] 
 
14 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 March. 18. Eve at D r . Gott s. M r - Gott had 
 been very ill, but is recovering. Mrs Hannah 
 Breek with her, but I spent my time with y e 
 men. [Mistress Hannah was twenty-one years 
 old and was a younger sister of Mrs. Gott.] . . . 
 
 March. 19. A. M. To Dr. Gott s, but a short 
 space with Mrs Hannah. At my Request, she 
 had (she assured me) burnt my Letters, Poems, 
 etc ... 
 
 March 25. I rode to Marl b [Marlborough] . 
 Spent ye afternoon at D r Gott s was at ye 
 Coll. s, [certain friends] but returned to Dr s. 
 M Hovey there with a Bass Viol. N. B. M? 
 H h B k at ye Dr s still. Our conversa 
 tion of a piece with what it used to be. I mark 
 her admirable Conduct, her Prudence and wis 
 dom, her good manners and her distinguishing 
 Respectfulness to me w c [which] accompany her 
 Denyals. After it grew late in y e Even g, I 
 rode home to Westb., through the Dark and the 
 Dirt but cheerfully and comfortably (compara 
 tively). . . . 
 
 April. 1. At Eve, I was at Dr. Gotts, Mrs 
 
 H h was thought to be gone up to Mr 
 
 Week s or Capt Williams, with design to lodge 
 there, but she returned to ye Doctor s. And she 
 gave me her Company till it was very late. Her 
 Conversation was very Friendly, and with divers 
 expressions of Singular and Peculiar Regard. 
 
 Hfemorand, Oscul : But she cannot yield to 
 being a step mother. I lodged there, and with 
 g rt Satisfaction & Composure. 
 
 The two were married in September and lived 
 very contentedly, yet an entry on the anniversary 
 
ANCESTRY 15 
 
 of his first wife s death, forty-three years after 
 wards, betrays the fact that she was his real 
 love. 
 
 The records of this diary, brief and matter-of- 
 fact as they are, bring a vivid picture of the sim 
 ple, frugal country life of the time. The minis 
 ter s salary was eked out, or perhaps wholly paid, 
 by the labor and the gifts of his congregation. 
 For instance, in October, the month after his 
 marriage, occur the entries : 
 
 6. Young men came to gather my corn. Set 
 y m to work. . . . 
 
 About 18 or 20 hands husked out all my 
 Corn. N. B. in my absence Winter Apples 
 gathered in. ... 
 
 7. M? John Pratt brought home my cyder which 
 he had made. . . . 
 
 12. M* Lock came & carried in Corn. . . . 
 
 13. At evening Br r Hicks helped in more 
 Corn. . . . 
 
 14. Jon n Kogers got in Pumpkins, & ye re 
 mainder of y e Corn. . . . 
 
 15. Noah How helped in with Turnips & some 
 of y e Potatoes. . . . 
 
 In this Westborough minister we have a typi 
 cal instance of the moral and intellectual life of 
 New England in that awkward age of transition 
 preceding the Revolutionary War, during which 
 Massachusetts and its fellow settlements were 
 passing from boyhood to manhood. Here were 
 
16 FRANCIS TARKMAN 
 
 still the narrow horizon, the scant intellectual 
 resources, and the tough conservatism of Puritan 
 days, but also that rigid sentiment of duty and 
 that desire to do well and to make the most of 
 granted opportunities, which have made New 
 England what she has been. Francis Parkman 
 and his great-grandfather, with the differences 
 appropriate to their generations, held in com 
 mon this belief, that life is man s opportunity to 
 try his mettle, to measure himself against adverse 
 forces, and to determine whether he or they be 
 the stronger and more resolute. The minister s 
 intellectual life was limited, but not willfully lim 
 ited. He endeavored to acquaint himself with 
 a wider range of thought than ordinarily found 
 its way into Westborough. On the 13th of July, 
 1779, is this entry : - 
 
 M r Adams has brought home to me at length 
 Sir W m Temple. He has led me also into an Ex 
 change of a number of Books viz. For Voetius 3 
 vols, I have T) T . Stanhope s Thomas a Kempis D r 
 Calamy, of Vows : Horneck s crucified Jesus, & 
 T) r . Goodman s Old Religion. For Mons r Boi- 
 leau s 2 d vol and Mat Prior s Works 2 vols, I 
 have D r Hammond s Annotations in large Folio. 
 For the Lay Monastery, I have Herman Pru 
 dence, & Three Select Pieces of M r Thos. Shep 
 herd. For Comin s Real Christian, unbound, I 
 gave him at his proposal a Pound of Sugar. He 
 presented me a Pamphlet, D* Gibson on y e Sin- 
 fulness of Neglecting and profaning the Lord s 
 
ANCESTRY 17 
 
 Day. N. B. I returned him Drexilius on Eter 
 nity. 
 
 The Rev. Ebenezer Parkman died in his eighti 
 eth year. His successor in our story is Samuel j 
 Parkman, his son, a prosperous merchant and 
 prominent citizen of Boston. He began life a poor 
 boy his father s purse was too light to pay col 
 lege fees ; " he did his own lugging," as he said 
 in his opulent age, and when he came to die left 
 a large property, a portion of which enabled our 
 historian to devote his life to a non-money-getting 
 pursuit. 
 
 Several of SamueFs brothers displayed their 
 New England spirit: William, at the age of 
 seventeen, served in a Massachusetts regiment 
 during the French war, keeping a diary, a 
 family trait ; Breck, a minute-man, marched 
 from Westborough to Lexington on the 19th of 
 April, 1775 ; a third brother also served in the 
 Continental Army. 
 
 Samuel s son Francis, father of the historian, 
 was born in 1788, and graduated at Harvard 
 College in 1807. Destined for the pulpit, he stud 
 ied theology under William Ellery Channing, 
 and, in obedience to the moral law which then 
 prevailed in Boston, became a Unitarian. He 
 took to his grandfather s calling, and in 1813 
 was ordained pastor of the New North Church, 
 where he remained throughout his active life, and 
 
18 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 until his son Francis had grown to manhood. 
 He was a kind, benevolent man, esteemed an elo 
 quent preacher with " a special gift in prayer," 
 and took a prominent place among his fellow 
 clergy. For thirty years he was one of the 
 overseers of Harvard College, and presented a 
 sum of money towards the endowment of the 
 Parkman Professorship of Theology. His con 
 versation was well spiced with wit and humor ; 
 anecdotes of his high spirits in talk are still 
 remembered. He possessed a tenacious conserva 
 tism, and yet in spite of this their common trait, 
 he was very unlike his more serious son, and 
 did not sympathize with his literary ambition. 
 Notwithstanding their differences and fundamen 
 tal lack of sympathy, he was a good father, and 
 did his duty as he saw it towards his son. To 
 him a noble eulogy has been paid, " he was par 
 ticularly kind to the unattractive." His house 
 was open and hospitable, and many guests of 
 note in their day were entertained there. Happy 
 memories long lingered on of " that blessed 5 
 Bowdoin Square house and its radiant inmates 
 . . . that spacious, hospitable mansion graced 
 by a household into which it was an unspeakable 
 privilege for a child to have been born." 
 
 Francis Parkman resembled his mother more 
 than his father. She was a tender, loving, duti 
 ful, unselfish woman, a great favorite in the large 
 
ANCESTRY 19 
 
 family circle, whose interest in life did not often 
 travel beyond the threshold of her home ; she, 
 too, was of Puritan stock, having descended 
 from the Cottons, and was endowed with charac 
 ter, reserve, simplicity, and a certain shrewd 
 humor. Frank was like her in many ways, and 
 the older he grew the more the expression of his 
 face became like hers. 
 
 Their children were Francis, Caroline, Mary, 
 Eliza, and John Eliot ; Mr. Parkman had also 
 an older child, Sarah, by an earlier marriage. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 BOYHOOD 
 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN, the historian, was born 
 September 16, 1823, in a house on a little street 
 which runs across the northern slope of Beacon 
 Hill, then known as Somerset Place, now Allston 
 Street. The Rev. Mr. Parkman lived there until 
 Frank was six or seven years old, when he moved 
 to a larger house, No. 1 Green Street. Town life 
 was not suited to the boy ; his health was deli 
 cate, and his woodland nature, unsatisfied with 
 the resources of his father s yard, rebelled against 
 the cramping streets and alleys of the city. He 
 went to Medford to live with his mother s father, 
 Mr. Nathaniel Hall, who, having retired from 
 business, kept a farm about a mile from the vil 
 lage. Frank, as day-scholar, attended a boarding- 
 school for boys and girls kept by Mr. John 
 Angier, a graduate of Harvard College. Others 
 liked the school but Frank did not, and since with 
 boys as well as with men learning waits upon 
 liking, he learned little ; but he was constant in 
 his attendance at another school, adapted to his 
 disposition and well equipped to teach him the 
 
BOYHOOD 21 
 
 beginnings of that knowledge which was to make 
 him famous, the school of the woods. At the 
 distance of a few rods from Mr. Hall s farm lay 
 the Middlesex Fells, a capital wilderness. This 
 tract of six or seven square miles, of rocky, 
 barren soil, retained no marks of certain ancient 
 and vain attempts at cultivation except some old 
 apple-trees and tumble-down stone walls. It had 
 ponds, one, half a mile across ; a hill hundreds 
 of feet high ; heaths, glens, dales, crags ; thickets 
 full of trees too big to clasp, jungles of under 
 brush ; rotten stumps to be smashed by a battle- 
 axe ; thick moss to drive a spear into ; mud to 
 smear new clothes from head to foot ; glorious 
 varieties of dirt, and all the riches of a wilder 
 ness. In this great school and playground the 
 boy spent all the time he could save from Mr. 
 Angier, gathering birds eggs, setting traps for 
 squirrels and woodchucks, catching snakes, or 
 creeping on his belly with bow and arrow to 
 get a shot at a robin, which, in spite of the 
 utmost ingenuity of approach, by some chance, 
 miraculous in the hunter s eyes, almost always 
 succeeded in flying away unharmed. These days 
 of rambling through this trackless forest were 
 among the happiest of his life ; he always liked 
 to look back upon them. No doubt they owe a 
 part of their joyous colors to the black back 
 ground of Mr. Angier s school. In spite of a 
 
22 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 pure and honest purpose of play, the roamings 
 in Middlesex Fells provided Frank with some 
 knowledge ; here he began to make a collection 
 of minerals, which gradually grew until in course 
 of time it became worthy to be presented to the 
 Harvard Natural History Society ; here he 
 hacked, picked, and plucked trees and flowers 
 till he found to his surprise that he had learned 
 a little botany ; here he acquired a love of plants 
 which in later days, when ill health chained him 
 to a garden chair, opened to him the vegetable 
 kingdom ; here he picked up, by tail and hind 
 legs, newts, frogs, polly wogs ; and made close 
 acquaintance with all kinds of little living crea 
 tures. 
 
 Now things there are that, upon him who sees, 
 A strong vocation lay ; and strains there are 
 That whoso hears shall hear for evermore. 
 
 So, in these early days, one may discover the 
 bent of Parkman s mind towards the forest ; here, 
 to quote his words, " he became enamoured of the 
 woods," and plainly showed that inclination to 
 wards outdoor schooling and self-instruction in 
 nature to which he gave loose rein in college. 
 
 After four years at Medford Frank went back 
 to Boston to live with his parents. In spite of 
 active life in the country, his body was not ro 
 bust, and perhaps physical inability to join in 
 athletic games was the cause that turned the 
 
BOYHOOD 23 
 
 boy s attention to the indoor diversion of chem 
 istry. There was a shed at the rear of the house 
 which his father converted into a laboratory, and 
 here Frank shut himself up too steadily for the 
 good of his health, and devoted himself to chem 
 ical experiments. In his fragmentary autobio 
 graphy he says that he accomplished nothing 
 beyond poisoning himself with noxious gases and 
 scorching his skin with explosions ; but probably 
 he did well enough, his years considered, for his 
 masterful disposition always determined to have 
 the upper hand in a grapple with any study to 
 which he turned. He impressed his comrades 
 with respect for his skill, and succeeded in mak 
 ing an electrical machine with which he admin 
 istered shocks to sundry rash boys and girls. He 
 also entertained himself and his friends with 
 lectures, duly announced by printed bills. 
 
 In the autobiography an extreme seriousness, 
 begotten in great part by long illness, seems to 
 have cast a shadow backward over his youth, or 
 at least to have left the man somewhat oblivious, 
 or careless, of the lightheartedness of his boy 
 hood, which, in fact, had its fair share of gayety. 
 The records of his childhood indicate jollity and 
 happiness ; and he would have been most ready 
 to acknowledge this and render thanks, but in 
 his little memoir his mind was fixed upon the 
 lessons which others might learn from his life, 
 
24 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 and therefore he passed by those details which 
 in that view were irrelevant. For instance, at 
 the age of thirteen, Frank and his companions 
 turned the loft of a barn behind the house into 
 a theatre. They were the scene-painters, cos- 
 turners, and in part, perhaps, playwrights, as 
 well as the company of players. Sometimes, in 
 moments of greater ambition, they borrowed 
 costumes from a theatre. Here is a copy of a 
 play-bill, printed by one of the company : 
 
 STAR THEATRE. 
 
 On Wednesday, Feb. 22, will be presented for the 
 first time in this Theatre, (with new scenery, &c.,) the 
 celebrated play of 
 
 MY FELLOW CLERK! 
 
 Mr. Hooker F. MINOT 
 
 Tactic -_--__ WM. MARSTON 
 Victim - - - - - - - Q. A. SHAW 
 
 Fag ------- F. PARKMAN 
 
 Mr. Knitbrow - - - - - C. DEXTER 
 
 Bailiff P. DEXTER 
 
 AFTER WHICH 
 
 A COMIC SONG!! 
 BY MR. MARSTON. 
 
 To conclude with some interesting experiments in 
 Chemistry by Mr. Parkman, being his first appearance 
 as a Chemist. 
 
 Doors open at 1-4 before 3. Curtain rises at 
 1-4 after 3. 
 
BOYHOOD 26 
 
 The company gave performances on Wednes 
 day and Saturday afternoons, and acted before 
 their public for a year or two. Frank commonly 
 played women s parts, and trailed calico skirts 
 across the boards with great effect. 
 
 About the year 1837 the Rev. Francis Park- 
 man left Green Street, and moved his family 
 into the "hospitable house," No. 5 Bowdoin^ 
 Square, which his father, Samuel Parkman the 
 merchant, had built. This was a large, hand 
 some house, in the colonial style, adorned with 
 pilasters, which rose in dignity from the first 
 story to the roof, with a round porch held up 
 by Doric pillars ; there was a grass plot in front, 
 and a general appearance of prosperity. In the 
 rear was a large paved court, and beyond that 
 a garden sloping away in terraces, where pear- 
 trees did their best to reconcile boyhood to the 
 abstinences of town life. The house and its 
 yard were characteristic of Boston, displaying 
 the urban pleasures of retired leisure, full of 
 unostentatious ease ; it marked the change which 
 had come over the commonwealth since the 
 days when her clerical aristocracy dwelt in little 
 wooden houses like that of the Rev. Ebenezer 
 Parkman at Westborough. 
 
 Frank went to school under Mr. Gideon 
 Thayer, and seems to have studied with dili 
 gence Latin, Greek, English, and the rudiments 
 
26 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 of science. He himself wrote long afterward 
 concerning his experience at this school : 
 
 When fourteen or fifteen years old I had the 
 good luck to be under the direction of Mr. Wil 
 liam Russell, a teacher of excellent literary tastes 
 and acquirements. It was his constant care to 
 teach the boys of his class to write good and 
 easy English. One of his methods was to give 
 us lists of words to which we were required to 
 furnish as many synonyms as possible, distin 
 guishing their various shades of meaning. He 
 also encouraged us to write translations, in prose 
 and verse, from Virgil and Homer, insisting on 
 idiomatic English, and criticising in his gentle 
 way anything flowery and bombastic. At this 
 time I read a good deal of poetry, and much 
 of it remains verbatim in my memory. As it in 
 cluded Milton and other classics, I am confident 
 that it has been of service to me in the matter of 
 style. 
 
 He had a boyish fancy for poetry, and put 
 into verse the scenes of the Tournament at 
 Ashby-de-la-Zouch in "Ivanhoe," which he and 
 other boys declaimed with the dauntless declama 
 tion of boyhood. Perhaps the curious may here 
 discover a touch of that fondness for rhetoric 
 the heart of the boy lasting on into manhood 
 that willingness to express with purple and gold 
 the exaltation of a high mood which stayed with 
 him always. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 COLLEGE 
 
 
 
 FRANK entered the class of 1844 at the age of 
 seventeen. Harvard College in those days was 
 as different from the University of to-day as the 
 rivulet from the river. There were sixty or sev 
 enty students in the freshman class ; most of 
 them about sixteen years old. Frank must have 
 been one of the older boys. The instruction was 
 scarcely more advanced than in a good school 
 to-day. President Quincy was not the executive 
 head of a great corporation ; he was the shepherd 
 of his flock, the father of his children. The 
 yard served as a garden for Holworthy, Massa 
 chusetts, Hollis, S tough ton, University, the Law 
 School, and the Chapel. Football was played 
 for fun or some such old-fashioned reason on 
 the Delta, by all the boys who cared to take off 
 their coats and kick. There were no boat-races 
 except such as random students rowed, in an 
 tique craft, against each other ; so that a lad, 
 like Frank, bent upon gaining muscular strength, 
 was obliged to divide his times for exercise be- 
 
28 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 tween walking, riding, and dumb-bells. In social 
 matters numbers were too few to permit the 
 sections and subsections which now divide un 
 dergraduates into all the genera and species 
 between the grinds, with nose to book, and the 
 groups of young Pendennises lilies of the field 
 who adorn Kandolph and Claverly. But the 
 college, both as a place of study and as an under 
 graduate world, by its very incompleteness, proba 
 bly served Frank s purposes as well as the present 
 university would have done. In like manner as 
 when a boy at Medford he had learned more 
 from his own lessons in the Middlesex Fells than 
 in Mr. Angier s class-room, so in Cambridge he 
 continued to be his own teacher, and pursued a 
 system that, if it had been followed in moder 
 ation, would have well fitted him to do his life s 
 work. In his freshman year that life s work 
 was haunting the background of his mind, not 
 as yet in the definite form which it took a little 
 later, but rather as a strong attraction which 
 drew him towards the forest, and persuaded him 
 that the way to woo her with success was to ac 
 quire strength of limb and understanding of 
 woodcraft. 
 
 There was a holiday side to his undergraduate 
 life ; but usually Frank was going about his own 
 business in his impetuous Devon fashion ; he 
 tried to cram endurance by long walks taken at 
 
COLLEGE 29 
 
 a pace far too rapid to make his companionship 
 comfortable, and spent long hours into the night 
 reading English classics and all sorts of books 
 concerning American Indians. He avoided all 
 interests and occupations that did not feed the 
 sacred flame of his forest love. 
 
 Prior to this time Frank had nursed a whim 
 for poetry, and had entertained a notion that he 
 might become a poet or a devotee of literature, 
 half poet, half man-of-letters, for he was fond of 
 poetry and had a knack for rhyming. Traces of 
 this taste lasted up to the year after graduation, 
 when he published in " The Knickerbocker " a 
 poem of several hundred verses called " The New 
 Hampshire Ranger." But the whim for poetry, 
 like the caprice for chemistry, was quickly van 
 quished by the real interest of his life ; and 
 before the end of his freshman year all thought 
 of poetry as a serious pursuit had passed out of 
 his head. 
 
 The real business of the year began with the 
 summer vacation, when he took his gun and 
 fishing-rod, and, in the company of his class 
 mate, Daniel Denison Slade, a tall and athletic 
 young man, set forth on what might be called a 
 field course in American history. In his autobi 
 ography Parkman says, with happy recollection : 
 " For the student there is, in its season, no bet 
 ter place than the saddle, and no better com- 
 
30 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 pan ion than the rifle or the oar." He kept a full 
 diary, from which lack of space forbids quota 
 tion. The two went on foot, with an occasional 
 " lift," to the White Mountains and adjacent re 
 gions, and Parkman enjoyed himself immensely. 
 This year was the determining period of his life, 
 for in it he resolved to devote himself to the task 
 of writing the story of French colonization and 
 empire in North America, which he at last com 
 pletely accomplished after, as has been aptly said, 
 " a half century of conflict." 
 
 We need not suppose that Frank sat in Mas 
 sachusetts Hall, like Gibbon on the steps of the 
 Capitol, and at a definite hour made up his mind 
 to write a history ; but in his sophomore year 
 "the plan was in its most essential features 
 formed," and the designer immediately set to 
 work to carry out his plan : 
 
 Before the end of the sophomore year my 
 various schemes had crystallized into a plan of 
 writing a story of what was then known as 
 the " Old French War," - - that is, the war that 
 ended in the conquest of Canada, for here, as 
 it seemed to me, the forest drama was more stir 
 ring and the forest stage more thronged with 
 appropriate actors than in any other passage of 
 our history. It was not till some years later that 
 I enlarged the plan to include the whole course 
 of the American conflict between France and 
 England, or, in other words, the history of the 
 
COLLEGE 31 
 
 American forest ; for this was the light in which I 
 regarded it. My theme fascinated me, and I was 
 haunted with wilderness images day and night. 
 
 There are few records, if there are any, of so 
 large a purpose, conceived so young, and with 
 such constancy executed ; and when we consider 
 the pain, the attacks of almost complete blind 
 ness, the physical infirmities that barred his 
 way, we may excuse those who in an outburst 
 of American enthusiasm challenge the world to 
 show such another hero in the world of letters 
 since the death of Cervantes. 
 
 Frank took his share in the ordinary college 
 life of young gentlemen ; he was a member of 
 the " Institute of 1770," of the " Hasty Pud 
 ding," of a little and very intimate group called 
 the Chit-Chat Club, whenever the mysterious 
 letters C. C. were allowed to assume all their 
 significance. He was a fair student, too, taking 
 certain minor academical honors. At his com 
 mons he got the ironical nickname, " The Lo 
 quacious ; " he was never that, though all life 
 long he enjoyed talking with his friends. He was 
 good company, vigorous even fiery in argument, 
 entertaining, an excellent story-teller, of lively 
 imagination and well provisioned memory, and 
 on the whole was much more sought than seek 
 ing. Boy and man, he was a modest, unassum 
 ing, resolute, high-minded gentleman. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 EXPLORATIONS 
 
 THE college term ended in July, and Frank lost 
 no time in setting out upon his summer excursion 
 in company with his friend, Henry Orne White : 
 
 July 15th, 42. Albany. Left Boston this 
 morning at half-past six, for this place, where I 
 am now happily arrived, it being the longest 
 day s journey I ever made. For all that, I would 
 rather have come thirty miles by stage than the 
 whole distance by railroad, for of all methods of 
 progressing, that by steam is incomparably the 
 most disgusting. . . . 
 
 July 16th. Caldwell. This morning we left 
 Albany which I devoutly hope I may never 
 see again in the cars, for Saratoga. . . . After 
 passing the inclined plane and riding a couple 
 of hours, we reached the valley of the Mohawk 
 and Schenectady. I was prepared for something 
 filthy in the last mentioned venerable town, but 
 for nothing quite so disgusting as the reality. 
 Canal docks, full of stinking water, superannu 
 ated rotten canal-boats, and dirty children and 
 pigs paddling about formed the foreground of 
 the delicious picture, while in the rear was a 
 mass of tumbling houses and sheds, bursting 
 
EXPLORATIONS 33 
 
 open in all directions, green with antiquity, 
 dampness, and lack of paint. Each house had 
 its peculiar dunghill, with the group of reposing 
 hogs. In short, London itself could exhibit no 
 thing much nastier. . . . Finally reached Sara 
 toga, having traveled latterly at the astonishing 
 rate of about seven miles an hour. " Caldwell 
 stage ready." We got our baggage on board, and 
 I found time to enter one or two of the huge 
 hotels. After perambulating the entries filled 
 with sleek waiters and sneaking fops, dashing 
 through the columned porticoes and inclosures, 
 drinking some of the water and spitting it out 
 again in high disgust, I sprang onto the stage, 
 cursing Saratoga and all New York. . . . 
 
 Dined at the tavern, and rode on. Country 
 dreary as before ; the driver one of the best of 
 his genus I ever met. He regaled me as we rode 
 on with stories of his adventures with deer, 
 skunks, and passengers. A mountain heaved up 
 against the sky some distance before us, with 
 a number of small hills stretching away on each 
 hand, all wood-crowned to the top. . . . But as 
 we drew near, the mountain in front assumed a 
 wilder and a loftier aspect. Crags started from 
 its woody sides and leaned over a deep valley 
 below. " What mountain is that ? " " That ere 
 is French Mounting," - the scene of one of the 
 most desperate and memorable battles in the old 
 French War. As we passed down the valley, 
 the mountain rose above the forest half a mile 
 on our right, while a hill on the left, close to the 
 road, formed the other side. The trees flanked 
 the road on both sides. In a little opening in 
 
34 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the woods, a cavity in the ground with a pile of 
 stones at each end marked the spot where was 
 buried that accomplished warrior and gentleman, 
 Colonel Williams, whose bones, however, have 
 since been removed. Farther on is the rock on 
 the right where he was shot, having mounted it 
 on the look-out an event which decided the 
 day the Indians and English broke and fled at 
 once. Still farther on is the scene of the third 
 tragedy of that day, when the victorious French, 
 having been in their turn, by a piece of good 
 luck, beaten by the valorous Johnson at his in- 
 trenchment by the lake, were met at this place 
 on their retreat by McGinnis, and almost cut to 
 pieces. Bloody Pond, a little slimy dark sheet 
 of stagnant water, covered with weeds and pond- 
 lilies and shadowed by the gloomy forest around 
 it, is the place where hundreds of dead bodies 
 were flung after the battle, and where the bones 
 still lie. A few miles farther, and Lake George 
 lay before us, the mountains and water confused 
 and indistinct in the mist. We rode into Cald- 
 well, took supper a boat and then a bed. 
 
 July 17th. Caldwell. The tavern is full of 
 fashionable New Yorkers all of a piece. 
 Henry and myself both look like the Old Nick, 
 and are evidently looked upon in a manner cor 
 responding. I went this morning to see William 
 Henry. The old fort is much larger than I had 
 thought ; the earthen mounds cover many acres. 
 It stood on the southwest extremity of the lake, 
 close by the water. The enterprising genius of 
 the inhabitants has made a road directly through 
 the ruins, and turned bastion, moat, and glacis 
 
EXPLORATIONS 36 
 
 into a flourishing cornfield, so that the spot so 
 celebrated in our colonial history is now scarcely 
 to be distinguished. Large trees are growing 
 on the untouched parts, especially on the em 
 bankment along the lake shore. In the rear, a 
 hundred or two yards distant, is a gloomy wood 
 of pines, where the lines of Montcalm can 
 easily be traced. A little behind these lines is 
 the burying place of the French who fell during 
 that memorable siege. The marks of a thousand 
 graves can be seen among the trees, which of 
 course have sprung up since. . . . One of Mont- 
 calm s lines ran northwest of the tavern toward 
 the mountains. Two or three years ago in dig 
 ging for some purpose, a great quantity of deer, 
 bear, and moose bones were found here, with 
 arrows and hatchets, which the tavern keeper 
 thinks mark the place of some Indian feast. 
 The spikes and timbers of sunken vessels may 
 be seen in strong sunlight, when the water is 
 still, at the bottom of the lake, along the southern 
 beach. Abercrombie sunk his boats here. There 
 are remains of batteries on French Mt., and the 
 mountain north of it, I suppose to command 
 the road from Ft. Edward. This evening visited 
 the French graves. I write this at camp, July 
 18th. Just turned over my ink bottle and spilt 
 all the ink. 
 
 July 18th. Camp at Diamond Island. Set out 
 this morning in an excellent boat, hired at Cald- 
 well. . . . We landed occasionally, and fished 
 as we went along. About ten o clock stretched 
 across Middle Bay and got bread, pork, and 
 potatoes at a farmhouse, with which and our fish 
 
36 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 we regaled ourselves at a place half way down 
 the Bay. Here 1 wrote my journal for yesterday ; 
 we slept an hour or two on the ground, bathed, 
 and read Goldsmith, which Henry brought in his 
 knapsack. At three we proceeded to explore the 
 bay to its bottom, returned, made for Diamond 
 Island, which is now uninhabited, prepared our 
 camp and went to sleep. 
 
 July 19th. I woke this morning about as weak 
 and spiritless as well could be. All enterprise and 
 activity was fairly gone ; how I cannot tell, but 
 I cursed the weather as the most probable cause. 
 Such has been the case with me, to a greater 
 or less degree, for the last three or four weeks. 
 Rowed to-day along the eastern shore. . . . But 
 everything was obscured with mist. When the 
 wind became less violent we rowed to an island 
 in the middle, where we are now encamped. 
 
 Wednesday, July 20th. Entered the narrows 
 this morning, and rowed among all the islands 
 and along all the shores. . . . We passed under 
 Black Mt., whose precipices and shaggy woods 
 wore a very savage and impressive aspect in that 
 peculiar weather, and kept down the lake seven 
 miles to Sabbath Day Pt. High and steep moun 
 tains flanked the lake the whole way. In front, 
 at some distance they seemed to slope gradually 
 away, and a low green point, with an ancient 
 dingy house upon it, closed the perspective. This 
 was Sabbath Day Pt., the famous landing place 
 of many a huge army. . . . We ran our boat on 
 the beach of Sabbath Day Pt. and asked lodg 
 ing at the house. An old woman, after a multi 
 tude of guesses and calculations, guessed as how 
 
EXPLORATIONS 37 
 
 she could accommodate us with a supper and a 
 bed, though she could n t say nohow how we 
 should like it, seeing as how she warn t used to 
 visitors. The house was an old, rickety, dingy 
 shingle palace, with a potato garden in front, 
 hogs perambulating the outhouses, and a group 
 of old men and women engaged in earnest con 
 versation in the tumble-down portico. The chief 
 figure was an old gray-haired man, tall and spare 
 as a skeleton, who was giving some advice to a 
 chubby old lady about her corns. 
 
 " Well now," said the old lady, " I declare 
 they hurt me mighty bad." 
 
 " I 11 give you something to cure them right 
 off." 
 
 " What is it ? I hope it ain t snails. I always 
 hated snails since I was a baby, but I ve heerd 
 say they are better for corns nor anything else 
 at all," etc., etc. 
 
 The old man was a revolutionary pensioner, 
 Captain Patchin by name, and stout-hearted, 
 hale, and clever by nature. . . . 
 
 Thursday, 21st. Fished for bass. . . . We 
 caught fish enough, landed, and with Myrtle 
 Bailey, one of the young Brobdignagians, a sim 
 ple, good-natured, strong-handed, grinning son 
 of the plough, set out on a rattlesnake hunt on 
 the mountain back of the Point. . . . We soon 
 reached a still higher point, which commanded 
 the noblest view of the lake I had yet seen. 
 There would be no finer place for gentlemen s 
 seats than this ; but now, for the most part, it is 
 occupied by a race of boors about as uncouth, 
 mean, and stupid as the hogs they seem chiefly to 
 
38 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 delight in. The captain s household is an excep 
 tion. . . . Afternoon: Fished again. Evening: 
 Fished again, and caught a very large bass all 
 in company of Myrtle, whose luck not satisfying 
 him, he cursed the " darned cussed fish " in most 
 fervent style. 
 
 Friday, 22nd. Left old Patchin s this morn 
 ing. . . . We broke an oar when within about 
 half a mile, and paddled to shore with great dif 
 ficulty through a considerable surf which was 
 dashing against the beach like the waves of the 
 ocean. We found the post-office a neat little 
 tavern kept by one Garfield, entitled the Judge. 
 He referred us to a carpenter, who promised to 
 make an oar forthwith, and worked six hours 
 upon it, an interval which I spent chiefly in 
 wandering through the country. . . . Returned 
 to Garfield s, and found there Mr. Gibbs with 
 his wife the " vocalist." Presently the man ap 
 peared with the oar finished. White undertook 
 to pay him with a Naumkeag Bank bill the 
 only bills he had. " Don t know nothing about 
 that money: wait till Garfield comes and he ll 
 tell whether it s genuine or not." " There s the 
 paper," said I ; " look and see." He looked all 
 was right. " Well, are you satisfied ? " " How 
 do I know but what that ere bill is counterfeit. 
 It has a sort of counterfeit look about it to my 
 eyes. Deacon, what do you say to it?" The 
 deacon put on his spectacles, held the bill to the 
 light, turned it this way and that, tasted of it, 
 and finally pronounced that according to his cal 
 culation it was good. But the carpenter was not 
 contented. " Bijah, you re a judge of bills ; 
 
EXPLORATIONS 39 
 
 what do you think ? " Bijah, after a long exam 
 ination, gave as his opinion that it was counter 
 feit. All parties were beginning to wax wroth, 
 when the judge entered and decided that the bill 
 was good. 
 
 We pushed from the beach and steered down 
 the lake, passed some islands, and beheld in 
 front of us two grim mountains, standing guard 
 over a narrow strait of dark water between. . . . 
 One of these mountains was the noted Rogers 
 Slide, the other, almost as famous, Anthony s 
 Nose, Jr. Both had witnessed, in their day, the 
 passage of twenty vast armies in the strait be 
 tween ; and there was not an echo on either but 
 had answered to the crack of rifles and screams 
 of dying men. We skirted the base of the Nose 
 
 for which sentimental designation I could find 
 no manner of reason till we arrived opposite 
 the perpendicular front of his savage neighbor. 
 About a mile of water was between. We ran the 
 boat ashore on a shelving rock, and looked for a 
 camping place among the precipices. We found, 
 to our surprise, at the side of a steep rock, amid 
 a growth of cedars and hemlocks, a little inclos- 
 ure of logs, like a diminutive log cabin without 
 a roof. We made beds in it of hemlock boughs 
 
 there was just space enough brought up 
 our baggage and guns, ate what supper we had, 
 and essayed to go asleep. But we might as 
 well have slept under a shower-bath of melted 
 iron. In that deep sheltered spot, bugs, mos 
 quitoes, and " no-see-ems " swarmed innumera 
 ble. . . . This morning was the most toilsome 
 we have passed. The wind was dead against us ; 
 
40 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the waves ran with a violence I had never seen 
 before except on the ocean. It required the 
 full force of both arms to hold the boat on her 
 course. If we slackened our efforts for a single 
 moment, she would spin round and drive back 
 wards. We had about twelve miles to row under 
 these agreeable auspices. 
 
 "Well," said White, "you call this fun, do 
 you ? To be eaten by bugs all night and work 
 against head winds all day is n t according to my 
 taste, whatever you may think of it." 
 
 "Are you going to back out ? " said I. 
 
 " Back out, yes ; when I get into a bad scrape, 
 I back out of it as quick as I can," and so he 
 went on with marvelous volubility to recount his 
 grievances. Lake George he called a " scrubby 
 looking place," said there was no fishing in it 
 he hated camping, and would have no more of 
 it, he would n t live so for another week to save 
 his life, etc., etc. Verily, what is one man s meat 
 is another man s poison. What troubles me 
 more than his treachery to our plans is his want 
 of cash, which will make it absolutely necessary 
 to abandon our plan of descending through 
 Maine. His scruples I trust to overcome in time. 
 
 We reached Patchin s at last, and were wel 
 comed by the noble old veteran as cordially as if 
 we were his children. We dined, and sat in his 
 portico, listening to his stories. He is eighty- 
 six. . . . 
 
 We consigned our boat to the captain, to be 
 carried back to Caldwell, and got on a stage we 
 found at the wharf, which carried us to the village 
 of Ty. [Ticonderoga]. It is a despicable manu- 
 
EXPLORATIONS 41 
 
 facturing place, straggling and irregular, mills, 
 houses,and heaps of lumber, situated in abroad 
 valley with the outlet of Lake George running 
 through the middle, a succession of fierce rapids, 
 with each its saw-mill. I bespoke me here a pair 
 of breeches of a paddy tailor who asked me if I 
 did not work on board the steamboat, a question 
 which aggravated me not a little. I asked a 
 fellow the way to the fort. " Well," said he, 
 " I ve heerd of such a place, seems to me, but I 
 never seen it, and could n t tell ye where it be." 
 " You must be an idiot," thought I ; but I found 
 his case by no means singular. At last I got the 
 direction, and walked about two miles before I 
 saw the remains of a high earthen parapet with 
 a ditch running through a piece of woods for a 
 great distance. This, I suppose, was the place 
 where the French beat off Abercrombie s army. 
 Farther on, in a great plain scantily covered 
 with wood, were breastworks and ditches in 
 abundance running in all directions, which I 
 took for the work of Amherst s besieging army. 
 Still farther were two or three square redoubts. 
 At length, mounting a little hill, a cluster of 
 gray ruined walls, like an old chateau, with 
 mounds of earth and heaps of stone about them, 
 appeared crowning an eminence in front. When 
 I reached them, I was astonished at the extent 
 of the ruins. Thousands of men might have en 
 camped in the area. All around were ditches, of 
 such depth that it would be death to jump down, 
 with walls of masonry sixty feet high. Ty stands 
 on a promontory, with Champlain on one side 
 and the outlet of Lake George on the other ; his 
 
42 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 cannon commanded the passage completely. At 
 the very extremity is the oldest part of the for 
 tress, a huge mass of masonry, with walls sinking 
 sheer down to the two lakes. All kinds of weeds 
 and vines are clambering over them. The sense 
 less blockheads in the neighborhood have stolen 
 tons upon tons of the stone to build their walls 
 and houses of, may they meet their reward. 
 
 Wednesday, 27th. In Yankee land again, 
 thank heaven. Left Ty this noon after going 
 over the ruins again in one of the great Cham- 
 plain steamboats, and reached Burlington at 
 night. Visited the college. It was term time 
 and the students were lounging about the ugly 
 buildings or making abortive attempts at revelry 
 in their rooms. The air was full of their diaboli 
 cal attempts at song. We decided that they were 
 all green, and went back, drawing comparisons 
 by the way between the University of Vermont 
 and old Harvard. 
 
 Thursday, 28th. Left Burlington this morn 
 ing, knapsack on back, for Canada. . . . We 
 followed the road through a deep wood, and 
 when we emerged from it the village of Cam 
 bridge lay before us, twenty-five miles from 
 Burlington. We stopped here for the night. 
 
 Friday, 29th. From Cambridge we walked on 
 to Johnson. ... At Johnson we took the stage 
 for Stanstead, in Canada. The " stage " was a 
 broken down carryall, into which six passen 
 gers with luggage were stowed, and the thing 
 set in motion under the auspicious influences 
 of two sick horses over a road of diabolical 
 roughness. 
 
EXPLORATIONS 43 
 
 Saturday, July 30th. Stanstead, Canada. Re 
 sumed our journey this morning in the same 
 " stage." . . . The place is large, with several 
 handsome churches. There was nothing in par 
 ticular to distinguish it from a flourishing Yan 
 kee town till we pulled up at the tavern, where 
 were two or three British soldiers, in their un 
 dress, standing on the porch. There were thir 
 teen of them, with a cornet, quartered at the 
 house, as there now are in all the border villages. 
 They were good-looking fellows, civil enough ; 
 natives of the provinces. They were gathered 
 round a fire in the barroom, smoking and tell 
 ing stories, or else indulging in a little black 
 guardism and knocking one another about the 
 room. They invited us to drink with them, and 
 the liquor being mead the house being tem 
 perance we consented. They have just clubbed 
 to buy a barrel of cider. 
 
 Sunday, July 31st. Last night we were kept 
 awake by the din of bugles and drums with which 
 the soldiers were regaling themselves in the entry, 
 singing and dancing meanwhile. This morning 
 rainy and dismal. Soldiers and all gathered 
 round the stove in the barroom. Their conver 
 sation was about as decent and their jokes as 
 good as those of a convocation of Harvard stu 
 dents. . . . 
 
 We set out on foot for Canaan, which pro 
 mised land some told us was twenty miles distant, 
 while others reckoned it thirty. The road for a 
 few miles was good, but we were soon compelled 
 to leave it and take a path through the woods. 
 A beautiful river smooth and rapid ran 
 
44 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 across the road under a bridge of logs, between 
 forest-covered banks. Not far from Stanstead 
 we had crossed a furious stream, answering to 
 the sentimental designation of the Nigger River. 
 We had walked but a few miles when the clouds 
 settled on the hills and it began to rain. We 
 went to a log cabin for shelter. The " old man " 
 was frank and hospitable like all his genus I 
 ever met, and the " old woman " a damsel of 
 twenty-two, who sat combing her hair in the cor 
 ner extremely sprightly and talkative. She 
 seemed somewhat moved at heart by the doc 
 trines of Miller, whose apostles are at work all 
 along the Vermont frontier. We abused that 
 holy man to our content, and, the rain ceasing, 
 left the cabin. Soon after leaving this place we 
 entered the aforementioned path through the 
 woods. Now and then there would be a clearing 
 with its charred stumps, its boundary of frown 
 ing wood, and its log cabin, but for the most 
 part the forest was in its original state. The 
 average depth of the mud in the path was one 
 foot. . . . The day was showery, with occasional 
 glimpses of the sun ; so that we were alternately 
 wet and dry. . . . Thence passing various dwell 
 ings, and holding various colloquies with the in 
 mates, we reached Canaan, and a good tavern. 
 The landlord has quartered [us] in his hall 
 large as a barn. Canaan is a microscopic village, 
 the houses scattered through a valley among 
 low mountains, all covered with forest. We saw 
 here the Connecticut for the first time rapid 
 and full of rocks and foam. We follow its 
 banks to-morrow. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE MARGALLOWAY 
 
 TUESDAY (2d). Weather still cold and bluster 
 ing. Thick clouds all over the sky. Set out after 
 breakfast for the Connecticut Lake, twenty 
 miles distant. . . . White seems to have lost his 
 apathy and is now quite ready to proceed. Re 
 ports of the Margalloway trout have inflamed 
 him. The road was still hilly, narrow, and great 
 part of the way flanked by woods. The valley 
 of the river looked, as it always does, rich and 
 fertile, but the hills and mountains around pre 
 sented one broad unbroken expanse of forest, 
 made the more sombre by the deep shadows of 
 the clouds. In the afternoon we reached a hill 
 top and a vast panorama of mountains and for 
 ests lay before us. A glistening spot of water, 
 some miles to the north, girt with mountains 
 which sloped down to it from all sides with a 
 smooth and gradual descent, was Lake Connecti 
 cut. As far as we could see, one mountain of 
 peculiar form rose above the rest which we af 
 terward learned was the Camel s Hump. Passing 
 a river with rapids and a saw-mill, at the end 
 of the day we reached the lake, where are two 
 houses, Barns and Abbot s. There are steep 
 rapids at the outlet, with a mill, of course. We 
 
46 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 went to Abbot s house, and asked for lodging 
 and a supper. . . . Abbot says that one of his 
 relations, Kenfield by name, fought at William 
 Henry, and, at the massacre, seeing an Indian 
 about to strip a fallen officer, caught him, raised 
 him in his arms, and dashed him to the ground 
 with such violence as to make him senseless. 
 Our host greatly exults in the bodily strength 
 for which his family have been eminent he 
 himself noway dishonors his race in that respect. 
 Wednesday (3d). . . . We lived in backwoods 
 style to-day sugarless tea for dinner water 
 drunk from a mug common to all the company, 
 etc. We liked it I did, at least. Abbot sat 
 cobbling his shoe against his projected expedition 
 towards evening, but as I came up he turned 
 round and remarked that he was not a disciple 
 of St. Crispin but only an occasional follower. 
 As I was marveling at this unexpected display 
 of erudition, his wife thrust her head from the 
 door, and exclaimed, " Here, supper s ready. 
 Where s that other man gone to ? " We ac 
 cepted the elegant invitation and walked in, 
 where Abbot astonished us still more by com 
 paring the democrat levelers to Procrustes, who 
 wished to reduce all men to the same dimensions 
 by his iron bedstead. All this was while he was 
 squatting on his home-made chair, one leg cocked 
 into the air, shirt-sleeves rolled up to his elbows, 
 bushy hair straggling over his eyes, and eating 
 meanwhile as if his life depended on his efforts. 
 I have since found that he has re.ad a vast amount 
 of history, ancient and modern, and various other 
 things all fact, however, for fiction, he says, he 
 
THE MARGALLOWAY 47 
 
 cannot bear. When twenty-five he is now 
 thirty-six he defended himself against a good 
 lawyer in a court, and won his case, his opponent 
 confessing himself outmatched by Abbot s gen 
 eral knowledge and quick memory. 
 
 Thursday (4th). Started this morning to 
 strike the Little Margalloway. We proceeded 
 first towards the north, with a path for the first 
 few miles. It soon failed us, and we had to force 
 our way through tangled woods. . . . White had 
 hurt his foot the day before and constantly lagged 
 behind, so that we had to wait for him, every 
 minute the prey of torturing flies. At length 
 the ascent of the first mountain made the way 
 still more laborious. When at length we reached 
 the top we could see nothing on account of the 
 thick growth of trees. We passed through a 
 singular piece of boggy ground, of an oblong 
 shape, inclosed in a fringe of cedars rising one 
 above the other, all hung with tassels of white 
 moss. There was another place, partially open, 
 near the summit. As we passed it, a large buck 
 sprang from the ground, and leaped with long 
 bounds down the mountain, before my rifle was 
 at my shoulder. We heard him crashing the 
 boughs far below. In this spot were several 
 springs of cold water, in broad cup-shaped hol 
 lows in the ground, which had probably attracted 
 the deer. We w,ent down the mountain and 
 found a little stream flowing through the valley 
 at the bottom. Both Abbot and myself were for 
 proceeding, but White said he could not go on 
 on account of his foot ; so we found a convenient 
 spot and encamped. It was by the stream, flow- 
 
48 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 ing half concealed beneath brushwood and fallen 
 trees, in a thick growth of firs, spruces, and 
 birches. We made a fire, and proceeded to cook 
 our supper. We had brought with us seven 
 pounds of bread, six and a half of rice, and a 
 quantity of butter. We had beside about an 
 ounce of tea, and salt, of course. 
 
 We made our fire in the middle of the grove, 
 cut spruce boughs for a bed, lay down on our 
 blankets, and with our knives speedily made way 
 with a mess of rice placed on a broad piece of 
 birch bark amongst us. Then we heaped new 
 wood on the fire, and lay down again, cooled by 
 a gentle rain which just now began to fall. The 
 fire blazed up a column of bright flame, and 
 flung its light deep into the recesses of the woods. 
 In the morning we breakfasted on rice, bread, 
 and tea without sugar and cream, and then 
 Friday prepared to resume our course. . . . 
 After journeying many hours in this painful 
 style, we heard the plunging of waters in a 
 valley below us, and joyfully turned towards 
 the sound. We had struck a branch of the Little 
 Margalloway. White s lameness seemed mys 
 teriously to leave him ; he seized his fishing 
 tackle and rushed up and down the rocks, pull 
 ing a trout from every deep hole and the foot of 
 every waterfall. I soon followed his example. 
 Abbot built a fire by the bank and cooked our 
 fish. We made a plentiful dinner, and then 
 began to follow downward the course of the 
 stream. . . . 
 
 Saturday, Aug. 5th. The morning opened with 
 a grand council. How were we to get down the 
 
THE MARGALLOWAY 49 
 
 river? Abbot could make a raft, thought he 
 could make a spruce canoe, and was certain that 
 he could make a log one. I told him to make 
 a log one. We roused White from the spruce 
 boughs where he persisted in snoring, in spite 
 of our momentous discussion, and then prepared 
 and ate our breakfast. White went to fishing. 
 Abbot shouldered his axe and he and I went off 
 together for a suitable pine-tree to make our 
 canoe of. He found one to his satisfaction on 
 the other side of the stream, some distance down. 
 I built him a fire to " smudge " the flies, waded 
 back across the stream, and as I ascended the 
 farther bank heard the thundering crash of the 
 falling pine behind me, bellowing over the wil 
 derness, and rolling in echoes far up the moun 
 tains. . . . As I went back to camp, I found 
 that Abbot was not at work on his canoe. While 
 I was marveling at this I stumbled upon a half 
 finished spruce canoe, which Abbot had set about 
 making, having found the pine-tree, which he 
 had cut down for his log boat, rotten. I was not 
 much pleased at this change of plan ; neverthe 
 less, as the thing was begun I lent him assistance 
 as I could, so that by nightfall we had finished 
 something which had the semblance of a canoe, 
 but, owing chiefly to haste and want of tools, 
 had such a precarious and doubtful aspect that 
 White christened it the Forlorn Hope. We put 
 it into the water. It leaked. We took it out and 
 stuffed the seams with pounded spruce bark, 
 chewed spruce gum, and bits of cloth. It still 
 leaked, but we hoped it would do, with diligent 
 baling ; so, fastening it to the bank, we cooked 
 
60 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 our supper, rolled ourselves in our blankets, and 
 went to sleep before the fire. 
 
 Sunday, Aug. 6th. We were obliged perforce 
 to adopt the sailor s maxim, "No Sunday off 
 soundings," for our provisions were in a fair 
 way of failing, and starvation in the wilderness 
 is not a pleasant prospect to look forward to. 
 . . . After breakfast we packed our luggage, 
 and proceeded to make the dubious experiment 
 of the canoe. All were embarked ; White in the 
 middle to bale, Abbot at the stern, I in the prow. 
 " Push off ! " the canoe glided with a quiet and 
 gentle motion down the swift stream, between 
 the tall walls of forest on each side, but soon the 
 ripple and tumbling of a rapid appeared in front 
 and the hour of trial came. She quivered and 
 shook as she entered the disturbed waters ; at 
 last there was a little grating sound. She had 
 struck upon the stones at the bottom, but the 
 peril was past ; the water grew smooth and deep 
 again, and again we floated quietly and prosper 
 ously down in the shadows of the woods. At 
 last another rapid came. She entered it, grated 
 heavily over the stones, and struck hard against 
 a large one before her. The water spouted in 
 like a stream from a pump. It would not do. 
 The experiment was an utter failure. We left 
 Abbot with the canoe to conduct that and the 
 baggage as he could down to the basin, and 
 waded to shore ourselves to walk there through 
 the woods. We had not gone quarter of a 
 mile when " Hello, here," came from the river. 
 "What s the matter now?" shouted we in re 
 turn. " The canoe s burst all to pieces ! " Sure 
 
THE MARGALLOWAY 51 
 
 enough, we found it so. Abbot stood in the mid 
 dle of a rapid, up to the knees, holding our bag 
 gage aloft to keep it dry, while the miserable 
 remnant of the demolished vessel was leisurely 
 taking its way down the current. We pushed 
 through the woods towards the basin, deliberat 
 ing what to do next. Abbot was sure he could 
 make a raft which would carry us down to the 
 settlements, and yet draw so little water as to 
 pass the " rips " in safety. The navigation would 
 indeed be slow with such a machine, but it could 
 be made in an hour or two, and this would more 
 than counterbalance the want of speed. The river 
 was high ; the plan seemed eligible, and we pro 
 ceeded to execute it. Meanwhile it began to 
 rain furiously. We walked into the water to our 
 waists and held the timbers in place while Abbot 
 withed them together. Jerome s camp was de 
 molished to furnish materials, his setting-poles 
 and birch-bark vessels appropriated to our use. 
 After about two hours of aquatic exertion, dur 
 ing which we were wet equally by the rain above 
 and the river beneath, the raft was finished. 
 Owing to the badness of the timber it drew 
 twice as much water as we expected. We pushed 
 from shore in a deluge of rain. Like its luckless 
 predecessor, the raft passed the first rapid in 
 safety, only venting a groan or two as its logs 
 encountered the stones beneath. These rapids 
 in the main river were of course much deeper 
 than those of the Little Margalloway, above the 
 basin, where the canoe had met its fate. When 
 it came on the second rapid, the machine seemed 
 to shiver in direful expectancy of its approach- 
 
52 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 ing destruction. Presently it grunted loud and 
 dolefully. We set our poles and pushed it into 
 the deepest part. For a while it bumped and 
 blundered downward ; at length there was a 
 heavy shock, a crash, a boiling and rushing of 
 many waters. The river spouted up between the 
 logs. We were fixed irrecoverably aground. The 
 water coursed savagely by us, and broke over 
 the end of the raft, but it could not be moved. 
 The result of this second experiment was more 
 dismal than of the first. We were in the middle 
 of the river ; the trees on both shores loomed 
 gloomily through rain and mist, and a volume 
 of boiling and roaring waves rolled between. 
 However, there being no remedy, we walked in, 
 and, by dint of considerable struggling, waded 
 safe to the western bank, where I directed Abbot 
 to try no more experiments but to work on a 
 log canoe till he had finished it. He accordingly 
 felled another tree, while we were, with great 
 difficulty on account of the rain, building a fire. 
 Abbot worked with great perseverance and skill. 
 Before night, his canoe was nearly hewed out. 
 We plied him with tea to keep his spirits up, 
 relieved him of the cooking and all his other 
 duties, so that his task was accomplished in what 
 seemed an incredibly short time. That afternoon 
 I went back to the basin to get fish for the pub 
 lic benefit. At night the rain, which had ceased 
 for a while, began to pour afresh. We put up 
 White s blanket, which was wet, for a tent, and 
 spreading mine on the ground beneath, made a 
 great fire before it, ate our supper, and lay down. 
 As soon as we were quiet, the continual drop- 
 
THE MARGALLOWAY 53 
 
 ping and splashing of rain through the forest 
 had a sound singularly melancholy and impres 
 sive. White dropped asleep, after his established 
 custom on all occasions, but Abbot and myself, 
 both of us wet to the skin, chose to lie and talk 
 before the fire till past midnight. Our guide is 
 a remarkably intelligent fellow, has astonishing 
 information for one of his condition, is resolute 
 and as independent as the wind. Unluckily, he 
 is rather too conscious of his superiority in these 
 respects, and likes too well to talk of his own 
 achievements. He is coarse and matter-of-fact 
 to a hopeless extremity, self-willed, and self- 
 confident as the devil ; if any one would get 
 respect or attention from him, he must meet 
 him on his own ground in this matter. He is 
 very talkative. I learned more, from his con 
 versation, about the manners and customs of the 
 semi-barbarians he lives among, than I could 
 have done from a month s living among them. 
 That night in the rain, leagues from the dwell 
 ings of men, was a very pleasant one. We slept 
 a few hours towards day, and rose before it was 
 fairly light, he to finish the canoe, we to pre 
 pare breakfast. We launched the boat soon 
 after, embarked, and paddled down stream. . . . 
 At length we saw, on the left bank, a camp 
 built of logs for the use of " loggers." We went 
 ashore. The place was dry, the roof being slant 
 and thatched waterproof, with a hole at one side 
 to let out the smoke of the fire. . . . Fortunately, 
 I had secured my matches in a tin case, and this 
 in my waterproof knapsack, so that we were 
 able to build a fire with the aid of some dry 
 
64 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 birch bark we found in the hut. . . . Hanging 
 our superfluous clothing to dry, we laid down in 
 the rest and slept comfortably all night. 
 
 Tuesday, Aug. 8th. [After a hard paddle and 
 a long tramp they reached Brag s.] 
 
 Wednesday, Aug. 9th. Left Brag s this morn 
 ing to walk to Colebrook. I had to carry about 
 thirty pounds weight, including my blanket, which 
 having covered White s shoulders through all the 
 storms of yesterday, had become saturated with 
 moisture, and was about as heavy when rolled 
 up as a log of hard wood. Abbot carried his for 
 him. The day was overcast and showery. When 
 we had got about six miles, we overtook an old 
 fellow in a wagon, who was jolting along over 
 stones, logs, gullies, and all other impediments, 
 towards Colebrook. White got in with him and 
 rode the rest of the way, Abbot and I going on 
 together, first committing the baggage to his 
 care, except my knapsack, which I chose to keep 
 with me. . . . 
 
 Thursday, Aug. 10th. Stayed at Colebrook to 
 day, for want of means to get off. In the villain 
 ous little hole of a tavern there, there is never 
 anything stirring to break the dismal monotony. 
 Every day is a Sunday. . . . 
 
 Friday, Aug. llth. The stage came by this 
 morning from Canaan. It is called a stage, but 
 is in reality a milk-cart. We got in. At noon we 
 reached Lancaster, where White stopped, being 
 reduced to his last quarter of a dollar, to see his 
 uncle and borrow the needful of him. I kept on 
 to Littleton, where I now am. 
 
 Saturday, Aug. 12th. Started for home by way 
 
THE MARGALLOWAY 55 
 
 of Ply mouth. . . . With an accommodating driver 
 and a pleasant party of ladies and gentlemen 
 one of the former exceedingly handsome, roman 
 tic, and spirited we rode on towards Plymouth, 
 and got there late at night. There was a gen 
 eral on board, a man of exalted character and 
 vast political influence which he exercised on the 
 righteous side of radical democracy, fiercely main 
 taining that ninepence was better than a million 
 dollars, insomuch that the possessor of the first 
 is invariably a good man and contented with his 
 lot, while the owner of the last is always a grasp 
 ing, avaricious child of the devil. When the gen 
 eral alighted at his own tavern he saluted the 
 first loafer who met him at the door as "Major," 
 the next but one was " Colonel," while our driver 
 answered to the title of " Captain." 
 
 Not long after his return home the autumn 
 term of his junior year began. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 TRAVELS 
 
 IN the winter of his junior year Frank made a 
 visit to the village of Keene, New Hampshire, 
 where his classmates lived George S. Hale, 
 destined to an honorable position at the Boston 
 bar, and Horatio J. Perry, subsequently first 
 secretary to our legation at Madrid. Here he 
 followed deer-tracks, which lent a great interest 
 to the snow-covered ground even without sight 
 or smell of buck or doe, and here he forgot the 
 ill success of the chase in the company of some 
 attractive girls, of whom his friends often make 
 mysterious mention in their invitations to him, 
 " There are some here who would not be dis 
 pleased at your coming." 
 
 It is not to be wondered that girls liked him. 
 He was a tall lad, near six feet, of strong build, 
 straight legs, and soldierly carriage. His face 
 was brave, open, and sunny, full of trustfulness 
 and manhood, his brow broad and intelligent, 
 his thick brown hair, parted at the side, curled 
 a little where it was brushed back over the ears ; 
 his nose was masculine but delicate, his mouth 
 
TRAVELS 57 
 
 good, and his chin the emblem of fortitude. 
 The garb of the period became him, the 
 swallow-tail coat with big round buttons, rolling 
 away to show the white waistcoat and shirt- 
 front, a bandanna or plaid cravat swathed round 
 the neck, reminiscent of the stock, and knotted 
 sparkishly under the chin. Boyish convictions, 
 flashes of vehemence, good humor, and good 
 manners, made his conversation acceptable, even 
 to persons who were indifferent to the "flourish 
 set on youth." 
 
 The most important and the most unfortunate 
 event of his junior year, however, was not the 
 society of young women but the building of the 
 first gymnasium at Harvard. Frank set to work 
 with his usual " pernicious intensity," in order 
 to cram into six months the swelling muscles 
 that should have been acquired in as many years, 
 and strained himself; and, in consequence of 
 this strain, or perhaps from general ill-health, 
 that summer he forebore a journey into the 
 woods and contented himself with a tour by 
 Lake George, Montreal, Quebec, and the White 
 Mountains in search of historical information. 
 His little pocket diary shows his methods : - 
 
 GILES F. YATES, ESQ., SCHNECTADY. 
 
 "The best of Am. Antiquarians" -that is, 
 with an extensive knowledge of the colonial hist, 
 of N. Y. 
 
58 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Rev. Mr. Williams, Schenectady. 
 
 Kerney Clergyman, Clermont, Columbia 
 County, N. Y. A grand-nephew of Sir W. 
 Johnson. 
 
 The Germans of the Mohawk know much of 
 Sir William and family. 
 
 The gent, who told me the preceding told me 
 also what follows. He was a man of most ex 
 tensive and minute information on similar topics. 
 His ancestor s house, together with one other, 
 were all that escaped the Schnectady burning 
 [Count Frontenac, etc., pp. 212, etc.] for this 
 reason. His ancestor, an old Dutchman, saved 
 a Jesuit priest whom the Mohawks were about 
 to burn at their " burning place " near Schenec 
 tady. The priest was secretly packed in a hogs 
 head, boated down to Albany, and thence sent 
 home to Canada. The old man accounted to the 
 Mohawks for his escape by the priest s omni 
 potent art magic. This priest accompanied the 
 war party and protected the house. 
 
 The grandfather-iii-law of this gent, was saved 
 when at the stake by Grant. He made the ma 
 sonic sign, Grant was a Mason and so interfered. 
 
 Lake George. On a little hill by a pine-tree, 
 near Ft. George, I saw a flat rough stone with 
 an inscription as follows : u 1776. Here lies 
 Stephen Hedges," and more unreadable. Close 
 by, on a fresh ploughed [field] a boy with me 
 found a buckshot and a coin about the size of a 
 50 ct. piece. I myself picked up a musket ball 
 and a copper coin. 
 
TRAVELS 59 
 
 Montreal Friday. Visited the nunnery of 
 the Sceurs Grises, Hospital for invalids, School 
 for children. Patients hideous to look upon 
 nuns worse. Building of the same rough gray 
 stone generally used here. . . . Two regiments 
 are in town 71st Highlanders and the 89. A 
 part of the 43rd are on the island a short way 
 off. ... 
 
 44 Hope Gate." Quebec is defended some 
 thing in this manner : [Here follows a diagram 
 lettered] G gate, B blockhouse, stone below, 
 with loops for musketry wood above, and 
 portholes for two cannon commanding the street 
 S, which is a precipiece on one side, a a a loops 
 all along the wall, c two more guns on the wall, 
 also commanding the street. . . . 
 
 44 Emily Montague," a novel to be read forth 
 with. Butler Jesuits. 
 
 [The traveler then went to Crawford s, and 
 to Franconia Notch.] 
 
 M. S. Wars of Canada C. F. Hoffman knows. 
 
 Hoffman s " Wild Scenes in Forest and Prai 
 rie," " Winter in the West," etc. 
 
 From Senter Harbor to Fryeburg, spent Sun 
 day and visited the Pond. Paugus s gun, so 
 called, is shown at the Academy. [Half Century 
 of Conflict, vol. i. p. 258.]. . . Stayed a day 
 or two and rode on to Ethan s to spend the 
 night. Mrs. C. soon produced her history of her 
 
60 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 husband s adventures, etc. a manuscript which 
 she means to publish. . . . 
 
 " Captivity of Mrs. Johnson," Windsor, Vt., 
 
 1807. 
 
 A book worth getting, " Frontier Life in 44," 
 etc. . . . 
 
 Robert Southey had in his possession the 
 whole of Wolfe s correspondence. 
 
 Went over to see the Indians. . . . Saw 
 Francois and others, some squaws extremely 
 good-looking with their clubbed hair [?] and 
 red leggings. . . . The Indians use the genuine 
 wampum. . . . There are a number of loggers 
 in their red shirts seated in the bar ; some of 
 them have been, to see " the Lord s Supper." 
 One expressed his disapprobation of the charac 
 ter of the exhibition as follows : " G d d 11 it, 
 I should like to take that fellow by the nape of 
 the neck, and pitch him into the road. He s no 
 right to serve that ere up for a show in that 
 way." 
 
 Bought some wampum of F. s squaw which he 
 says he bought from the Caughnawagas near 
 Montreal 25 years ago. It is, however, some 
 times made by the whites in Canada. 
 
 Frank picked up some bloody yarns from the 
 Indians, and discontinued his diary. The last 
 entry is, " Saturday night, had no supper." 
 
 That summer there was another visit to Keene, 
 and the plan at least of a visit to his classmate 
 Snow at Fitchburg ; the visit had to be deferred 
 on account of the illness of Snow s father. 
 
TRAVELS 61 
 
 SNOW TO FRANK. 
 
 FITCHBURG, Tuesday [1843]. 
 
 MY DEAR FRANK, ... A hard thing it is 
 for me, my friend, to have your visit delayed 
 even for a week. I had famous anticipations of 
 the glorious times I should have with you. And 
 mother had no less agreeably anticipated your 
 visit, and had baked twenty most unexception 
 able mince pies, each one of which I should ven 
 ture to pit against that famous one of your sis 
 ter s, nice as it was. However, they will keep till 
 you come back. Now I stipulate most firmly 
 that you make me the visit when you have finished 
 your sojourn in the enchanted land [Keene], and 
 if you don t, I shall have terrible suspicions that 
 "your gorge has risen" at the delay. I also 
 stipulate you use your influence to get Hale 
 to accompany you, and I will entertain both as 
 far as my capabilities will admit. 
 
 Yrs in great haste, 
 
 CHAS. A. B. SNOW. 
 
 Thus passed winter and summer in that happy 
 time when a buckshot on a historic field, yes 
 terday s rabbit-tracks in the soft fallen snow, 
 twenty unexceptionable mince pies, and the ran 
 dom glance from a pair of eyes, indifferent black, 
 will convert much poorer material than a New 
 England village into an enchanted land. The 
 holidays passed, as holidays will, hopping, skip 
 ping, jumping ; but when college opened its lec 
 ture rooms, Frank found himself not well enough 
 
62 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 to take up college life, and it was decided to 
 send him to Europe. He started on a dull No 
 vember day ; he was not well, the ship was a 
 little craft, his fond mother and his little sisters 
 were very unhappy to part with him, so there 
 was very little cheer that day, but Frank was 
 not daunted, and went off, no doubt, with boyish 
 smiles on his face and boyish tears in his heart. 
 He kept a long diary, for he would not inter 
 mit his training in rhetoric, from which I take 
 the following pages : 
 
 BARQUE NAUTILUS, November 16th, 43. 
 (Devil of a sea cabin dark as Hades.) 
 
 Got under weigh from Central Wharf about 
 10 A. M. of Sunday, Dec. 12th [November 12] 
 fine weather, and a noble west wind. . . . 
 Before long we were pitched up and down on an 
 execrable swell the fruit of yesterday s east 
 wind. The barque tossed about like a cork, 
 snorted, spouted the spray all over her deck, 
 and went rushing along like mad in a great 
 caldron of foam she raised about her. At the 
 same time it grew cloudy, and the wind became 
 stronger. The sea rose and fell in great masses, 
 green as grass, the wind driving the spray in 
 clouds from their white tops. As I came from 
 the cabin, I beheld to my great admiration a 
 huge wall of water piled up in front, into which 
 the vessel was apparently driving her bows ; a 
 moment more, and the case was reversed her 
 bowsprit and half her length rose straight from 
 
TRAVELS 63 
 
 the waters and stood relieved against the sky. 
 In consequence of which state of things I, like a 
 true greenhorn, grew seasick by the time we 
 were fairly out of sight of land. Accordingly I 
 got into my berth as soon as it was dark, and 
 stayed there twelve hours. 
 
 When I came on deck in the morning, the 
 weather had changed nowise for the better. I 
 wrapped myself in my cloak, and sprawling on 
 the poop-deck read the " Bible in Spain." A 
 schooner, with only topsails set, went scouring 
 past us, before the wind, homeward bound 
 also, in the afternoon, a brig, tossing so that her 
 keel was almost visible. A troop of porpoises 
 went tumbling about us, and I ransacked the 
 vessel in vain for a musket to get a shot at them. 
 
 The next morning opened under direful aus 
 pices. I came on deck, disconsolate with sea 
 sickness, when I was straightway saluted by 
 about two hogsheads of water which came dash 
 ing over the gunnel, accommodating me with a 
 most unwelcome morning shower-bath. ... I 
 spent most of the morning in my berth, reason 
 ably miserable with seasickness cogitating, 
 meanwhile, on things human and divine, past, 
 present, and to come. When dinner-time came, 
 I heard the captain s invitation to dinner, and 
 staggered to the cabin door, determined to accept 
 it, in spite of fate, when lo ! the ship gave a 
 lurch, the plates and the rack which should have 
 secured them slid together from the table,. in a 
 general ruin, to the floor. . . . We have a sin 
 gular company on board the three officers, "the 
 passenger," the steward, and six men, viz. : a 
 
64 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Yankee, a Portuguese, a Dane, an Englishman, a 
 Prussian, and an old gray-haired Dutchman, the 
 best sailor in the ship. Of the officers, the cap 
 tain is a sensible gentlemanly man ; the mate has 
 rather more individuality, being, as to his outer 
 man, excessively tall, narrow-shouldered, spindle- 
 shanked, and lantern-jawed, with a complexion 
 like dirty parchment. Mr. Jonathan Snow is 
 from Cape Cod, a man of the sea from his youth 
 up. When I first came on board he was evidently 
 inclined to regard me with some dislike, as being 
 rich(l) He constantly sighs forth a wish that he 
 had five thousand dollars " then ketch me going 
 to sea again, that s all." He is rather given to 
 polemic controversies, of which I have held sev 
 eral with him, on the tenets of sophists, Unita 
 rians, Universalists, Christians, etc., etc. Of 
 course, he imagines that men of his rank in life 
 labor under all sorts of oppressions and injustice 
 at the hands of the rich. Harvard College he 
 regards with peculiar jealousy, as a nurse of aris 
 tocracy. " Ah ! riches carry the day there, I 
 guess. It s a hard thing to see merit crushed 
 down, just for want of a thousand dollars." 
 
 Mr. Hansen, second mate, is the stoutest man 
 on board, and has seen most service, but being, 
 as Mr. Snow remarks, a man of no education, he 
 has not risen very high in the service. He ac 
 companied Wyeth s trapping party to the Rocky 
 Mts., where he was more than once nearly starved 
 and within a hair s breadth of being shot. He 
 speaks with great contempt of Indians, but not 
 with quite so much virulence as I have known 
 from some others of his stamp. He plumes him- 
 
TRAVELS 65 
 
 self on having killed two or three. " Oh, damn 
 it, I d shoot an Indian quicker than I d shoot a 
 dog." He is now seated at supper, amusing me 
 and himself with some such discourse as fol 
 lows : 
 
 " I ve lost all my appetite, and got a horse s. 
 Here, steward, you nigger, where be yer fetch 
 along that beef-steak. What do you call this 
 here ? Well, never mind what it be ; it goes down 
 damned well, anyhow." Here he sat stuffing a 
 minute or two in silence, with his grizzly whis 
 kers close to the table, rolling his eyes, and puffing 
 out his ruddy cheeks. At last pausing, and lay 
 ing down his knife a moment ! 
 
 " I ve knowed the time when I could have ate 
 a Blackfoot Indian, bones and all, and could n t 
 get a mouthful, noway you could fix it." Then 
 resuming his labors "I tell you what, this 
 here agrees with me. It s better than doctor stuff. 
 Some folks are always running after the doctors, 
 and getting sick. Eat! that s the way I do. 
 Well, doctoring is a good thing, just like religion 
 to them that likes it ; but damn the doctors 
 for all me ; I shan t die," etc., etc. 
 
 By treating Mr. Hansen with brandy and 
 water, I have got on very good terms with him, 
 and made him very communicative on the sub 
 ject of his Oregon experiences. Would that we 
 had a consumptive minister, with his notions of 
 peace, philanthropy, Christian forgiveness, and 
 so forth, on board with us ! It would be sport of 
 the first water to set Mr. Hansen talking at him, 
 and see with what grace the holy man would lis 
 ten to his backwoods ideas of retributive justice 
 
66 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 and a proper organization of society. " Shoot 
 him over, and that damn quick, too," is Mr. 
 Hansen s penalty for all serious offenses. . . . 
 As soon as it was daybreak I went on deck. 
 Two or three sails were set, the vessel scouring 
 along, leaning over so that her lee gunnel scooped 
 up the water ; the water in a foam, and clouds 
 of spray flying over us, frequently as high as the 
 main yard. The spray was driven with such force 
 that it pricked the cheek like needles. I stayed 
 on deck two or three hours ; when, being thor 
 oughly salted, I went down, changed my clothes, 
 and read Don Quixote till Mr. Snow appeared at 
 the door with, " You re the man that wants to 
 see a gale of wind, are ye ? Now s your chance ; 
 only just come up on deck." Accordingly I went. 
 The wind was yelling and howling in the rig 
 ging in a fashion that reminded me of a storm 
 in a Canada forest. The ship was hove to. One 
 small rag of a topsail set to keep her steady 
 all the rest was bare poles and black wet cord 
 age. I got hold of a rope by the mizzen mast, 
 and looked about on a scene that it would be 
 perfect folly to attempt to describe though 
 nothing more, I suppose, than an ordinary gale 
 of wind. . . . 
 
 Friday. As yesterday was Thanksgiving, I 
 may as well record how we fared. Our breakfast 
 was utterly demolished by the same catastrophe 
 that overtook a former repast, that, namely, of 
 being dashed in ruins upon the floor by an ill- 
 timed lurch of the ship. We dined on a lump 
 of ham, Cuffee being unable to purvey a more 
 sumptuous banquet, because the seas put out the 
 
TRAVELS 67 
 
 fire in his galley as fast as he kindled it. As for 
 our supper, it was of bread, pork, and onions. 
 Not that this is a fair sample of our bills of fare, 
 which are usually quite as luxurious as any rea 
 sonable man need desire. . . . 
 
 Wednesday, Dec. 6th. We have been tor 
 mented for ten days past with a series of accursed 
 head winds. Here we are, within thirty-six hours 
 sail of Gibraltar, standing alternately north 
 and south, with no prospect of seeing land for 
 many days. The captain is half mad, and walks 
 about swearing to himself in an undertone. Mr. 
 Snow s philosophy has given way and I never 
 had any. Han sen alone is perfectly indifferent. 
 He sits on deck whistling and talking over his 
 work, without troubling himself about our where 
 abouts, or caring whether we are in the North 
 Sea or at Cape Horn. 
 
 Thursday, Dec. 7th. 
 
 " Day after day, day after day, 
 We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; 
 As idle as a painted ship 
 Upon a painted ocean." 
 
 This has been our enviable position to-day. A 
 dead calm a stupid flapping of sails and creak 
 ing of masts. 
 
 Saturday. Again a calm ! The captain s signs 
 and portents have come to nought. A turtle 
 came up at the ship s side to sleep on the quiet 
 surface, but prudently sunk back to the depths 
 just as Mr. Hansen was lowering me by a rope 
 to take him prisoner. A few bonitos splashed 
 about the bow, some " rudder fish " played along 
 side ; and a pair of " garfish " glided about in 
 
68 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 defiance of all attempts to capture them. Before 
 noon a breeze a favorable one sprang up ! 
 It bore us on a hundred miles farther, but now 
 has subsided into the old trebly accursed calm. 
 
 Tuesday. A light wind to-day but dead ahead. 
 More porpoises and more fruitless attempts at 
 harpooning, on the part of Mr. Snow. I am 
 rapidly growing insane. My chief resource is the 
 conversation of Mr. Hansen, who has humor, vol 
 ubility, much good feeling, and too much coarse 
 rough manhood in his nature to be often offen 
 sive in his speech. Moreover, one man may say 
 a thing with a very good grace that would be 
 insufferable from the mouth of another. Witti 
 cisms and stories which, uttered by Snow, would 
 make me turn my back on the fellow with con 
 tempt and disgust, sound well enough in the 
 frank and bold accents of Hansen. 
 
 Evening. We have beat up against the wind 
 into full view of the Spanish coast. Right and 
 left, from Trafalgar far beyond Cadiz, the line 
 of rugged and steep bluffs reaches, with here and 
 there a tower just visible with the glass. But 
 about noon our evil genius becalmed us again ! 
 
 Thirty days from Boston. Old Worthington 
 promised that I should see Gibraltar in eighteen, 
 but he is a deacon. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 EUKOPE 
 
 WEDNESDAY evening. We have not yet reached 
 Tarifa. Dozens of vessels come past us from 
 Gibraltar, some of them of a most outlandish 
 aspect to my eye. 
 
 Thursday. More delay and vexation. The 
 captain has not slept for two nights, and is half 
 worn out by fatigue and anxiety. For myself, I 
 was so exasperated by our continued ill fortune 
 that I could not stay below. We passed Tarifa 
 light about midnight then were driven back 
 four miles by a rain squall. But by nine in the 
 morning we had fairly entered Gibraltar Bay ! 
 
 [Gibraltar.] Saturday. Yesterday I came 
 ashore in the barque s boat, landed, got passport 
 signed and established myself at the "King s 
 Arms." 
 
 I dined at the consul s and spent the day in 
 exploring this singular city the world in epit 
 ome. More of it in future. This morning I set 
 out, in company with a midshipman, the son of 
 Captain Newton of the Missouri, to ride round 
 the Bay to the Spanish town of Algeciras. 
 
 Sunday. . . . Sunday is the day to see the 
 motley population of Gibraltar at one glance. 
 Just without the walls is a parade large enough 
 
70 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 to hold the six regiments stationed here. This 
 evening, according to custom, everybody was 
 thronging up there. I established myself at the 
 foot of a bronze statue of the defender of Gi 
 braltar I forget his name, General Eliot 
 but there he stands towering above the trees and 
 aloes at the summit of a hill above the parade, 
 wilh the emblematic key in his hand, and with 
 a huge cannon and a mortar on each side of 
 him. Here I had a specimen of every nation on 
 earth, it seemed, around me. A dozen Moors 
 with white turbans and slippered feet lolled one 
 side ; Jews by couples in their gaberdines ; the 
 Spanish gentleman in his black cloak and som 
 brero the Spanish laborer with his red cap 
 hanging on one side of his head the Spanish 
 blackguard in bespangled tights and embroi 
 dered jacket. On benches among the trees of 
 ficers and soldiers carried on successful love 
 suits ; on the parade below English captains were 
 showing forth good horsemanship to the best 
 advantage. The red coats of soldiers appeared 
 everywhere among the trees and in the crowd 
 below. There were women in cloaks of red and 
 black, ladies with the mantilla and followed by 
 the duenna, no needless precaution, and ten 
 thousand more, soldier and civilian, bond and 
 free, man and woman and child. Not the least 
 singular of the group were the little black slaves 
 belonging to the Moors, who were arrayed in a 
 very splendid and outlandish attire, following 
 after their masters like dogs. Bands were 
 stationed on the parade and around a summer- 
 house among the trees. The evening gun dis- 
 
EUROPE 71 
 
 solved the pageant God save the Queen rose 
 on the air ; then the crowd poured through the 
 gates into the town. 
 
 I went to a diminutive theatre in the evening, 
 to see a play performed by the privates of an 
 artillery company. . . . 
 
 A " rock scorpion " carried me off to the fri 
 gates in the harbor, English and American. The 
 reptile in question was a mixture of Genoese and 
 French blood spoke both languages fluently, 
 besides English and half a score of others. . . . 
 
 Sunday, Dec. . Got tired of Gibraltar 
 heard of a government steamer about to sail for 
 Malta embarked on her, abandoning my pre 
 vious design of penetrating Spain immediately. 
 ... I was prepared for no very agreeable pas 
 sage, knowing the hauteur approaching to inso 
 lence of a certain class of English naval officers, 
 and was surprised as well as gratified by the 
 polite attentions of Lt. Spark, the commander 
 of the boat, with whom I spent about half the 
 night in conversation. Unfortunately I am the 
 only passenger. Lt. Spark seems resolved that 
 my voyage shall be agreeable notwithstanding 
 certainly, he spares no pains for my accommo 
 dation, opening his library to me, producing an 
 endless variety of wines, doing all he can, in 
 short, to promote my enjoyment. 
 
 We have passed Cape de Got and the Sierra 
 Nevada, which looks down on the city of Gra 
 nada. The coast of Barbary is now in full sight. 
 To-day the old man mustered his sailors and 
 marines in the cabin a large and elegant one 
 and read the service of the Church, not for- 
 
72 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 getting a special prayer for the British Navy, 
 arid the success of the British arms. He knew 
 Sir John Moore, Sir P. Parker, and other he 
 roes of those days, has shaken hands with 
 Blucher, has fought the French by sea and land. 
 Beside his manifold experiences in active life, 
 he has been a great reader, not only of English 
 works but of all the eminent American authors. 
 . . . Here in this old world I seem, thank 
 Heaven, to be carried about half a century back 
 wards in time. As far as religion is concerned, 
 there are the ceremonies of the Catholic church 
 and the English litany, with rough soldiers and 
 sailors making the responses. A becoming hor 
 ror of dissenters, especially Unitarians, prevails 
 everywhere. No one cants here of the temper 
 ance reform, or of systems of diet eat, drink, 
 and be merry is the motto everywhere, and a 
 stronger and hardier race of men than those 
 round me now never laughed at the doctors. 
 Above all, there is no canting of peace. A whole 
 some system of coercion is manifest in all direc 
 tions thirty-two pounders looking over the 
 bows, piles of balls on deck, muskets and cut 
 lasses hung up below, the red jackets of marines, 
 and the honest prayer that success should crown 
 all these warlike preparations, yesterday re 
 sponded to by fifty voices. There was none of 
 the new-fangled suspicion that such belligerent 
 petition might be averse to the spirit of a reli 
 gion that inculcates peace as its foundation. 
 And I firmly believe that there was as much 
 hearty faith and worship in many of those men 
 as in any feeble consumptive wretch at home, 
 
EUROPE 73 
 
 who, when smitten on one cheek, literally turns 
 the other likewise, instead of manfully kicking 
 the offender into the gutter. 
 
 Thursday. After a passage of about five days 
 we reached Malta. 
 
 Friday. Late last evening I made an attempt 
 to see the Church of St. John. It was closed. 
 My servant pommeled the oaken door in vain. 
 He then proceeded to sundry coffee-houses in 
 the neighborhood, hoping to find the man who 
 had the doors in charge. Three or four Maltese, 
 all jabbering their bastard Arabic, soon aided 
 in the search. At length the great bell began 
 to roar from the church tower, an unequivocal 
 evidence that somebody was there. " Gulielmo, 
 Gulielmo ! " roared my troop of assistants. After 
 a lapse of five minutes Gulielmo descended and 
 issued from a portal among the columns at one 
 side, summoning me in. ... [Here he describes 
 the church.] Leaving reluctantly the church 
 where so many brave men had kneeled to God 
 for his blessing on their matchless enterprises, 
 I got into a boat, and was put on board the Nea 
 politan steamer Francesco Primo, bound for 
 Messina, where I lay an hour or two on deck, 
 listening to the distant music of the English 
 drums and trumpets. 
 
 As I lounged about the deck in the morning, 
 utterly unable to hold any intercourse with any 
 one on board except by signs, a sleek-looking fel 
 low came up and accosted me in English. We soon 
 got deep into conversation. My new acquaint 
 ance proved to be Giuseppe Jackson, a Sicilian 
 with an English grandfather, who had been a 
 
74 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 cook at the Albion, and at Murdoch s tavern, 
 had frequently been to Fresh Pond, knew some 
 of the Cambridge students, and was now on his 
 way to Mr. Marston s in Palermo. I was right 
 glad to see him, cook though he was. He made 
 me a very good interpreter. In the course of our 
 conversation he made some remark about " the 
 Pope, that fool." 
 
 " What," said I, " do you speak so of the Pope. 
 Are you not a Roman Catholic ? " 
 
 " Ah ! I was till I live in America. I was all 
 in the dark you understand what I say till 
 I come there. Then my eyes open ; I say, dat 
 for the Pope, and his old red cap. Ah ! once I 
 was afraid to think of him." 
 
 " You are no longer a Catholic ; what religion 
 do you believe in now ? " 
 
 " Oh, no religion in particular." 
 
 I congratulated him on so happy a conversion 
 from the error of his ways. 
 
 At breakfast a Mediterranean breakfast of 
 eggs, fruit, and nuts an old man, of severe 
 countenance and tremendous mustache, sat op 
 posite me. We made various attempts at conver 
 sation ; as neither understood the other, we had 
 to be satisfied with reiterated bowings, and mu 
 tual attentions of various kinds, in which the 
 old man showed himself exceedingly apt and 
 polite. I afterwards found that he was no less a 
 personage than il Principe Statelli, a general of 
 the Sicilian army but Sicilian " Principes " 
 are apt to be humbugs. 
 
 Mount ^Etna is smoking vigorously in front 
 of us. We are skirting the shore of Sicily. 
 
EUROPE 75 
 
 We stopped at Syracuse. ... In going ashore, 
 a little square-built English-looking man, making 
 a low congee, presented me with a bundle of 
 papers, which proved to be certificates of his 
 qualifications as a guide to the curiosities of the 
 place. Accordingly Jack Robinson for such 
 was his name and I got into a kind of ferry 
 boat and landed on the other side of the bay. 
 [His guide took him to the Ear of Dionysius 
 and other places of interest.] 
 
 Jack insisting on showing me his certificates 
 of service in the American Navy, and I, being 
 desirous of seeing how the Syracusans lived, 
 went home with him, and enjoyed the exhibition 
 of his numerous progeny, who were all piled 
 together in bed. This done we took boat and 
 went off to the steamer. Jack was so well satis 
 fied with the dollar and a half I gave him for his 
 day s services that he must needs salute me after 
 the Sicilian style with a kiss on the cheek, which 
 I submitted to. He then departed, kissing his 
 hand as his head disappeared over the ship s 
 side. The stubborn English temper was well 
 nigh melted away with his long sojourn among 
 the Gentiles. He had been pressed in early 
 youth into the navy had served both England 
 and America (though the latter, I believe, in the 
 capacity of a washerman). As far as I could 
 see, Jack was an honest man, an exceedingly 
 rara avis in these quarters. 
 
 Arriving at Messina in the morning, my ac 
 quaintance the cook an experienced traveler 
 was of the greatest service to me. Indeed, 
 without his assistance niy inexperience and igno- 
 
76 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 ranee of the language would have put me to seri 
 ous embarrassment. He showed me how to treat 
 a Sicilian landlord, and to bribe a custom-house 
 officer. I am indebted to him for very excellent 
 accommodations at a very reasonable price. 
 
 Messina, Sunday. I took my station outside 
 one of the gates in the rear of the city, to look 
 at the scum of humanity that came pouring out. 
 All was filth, and age, and ruin, the walls, 
 the tall gateway with its images and inscriptions, 
 the hovels at the top of the wall and in the an 
 cient suburb, all seemed crumbling to decay. The 
 orange and lemon groves in the ditch of the for 
 tification were dingy and dirty, but away in the 
 distance appeared the summits of the mountains, 
 almost as wild and beautiful as our mountains of 
 New England. I thought of them, and, in the 
 revival of old feelings, half wished myself at 
 home. I soon forgot, however, all but what was 
 before my eyes, in watching the motley array 
 that passed by me. Men and women literally 
 hung with rags, half hid in dirt, hideous with 
 every imaginable species of deformity, and bear 
 ing on their persons a population as numerous 
 as that of Messina itself, these formed the bulk 
 of the throng. Priests with their black broad- 
 brimmed hats and their long robes, fat and 
 good-looking men, were the next numerous 
 class. They draw life and sustenance from these 
 dregs of humanity, just as tall pigweed flour 
 ishes on a dunghill. Then there were mustachioed 
 soldiers, very different from the stately and se 
 date soldier of England. There were men bear 
 ing holy pictures and images ; ladies in swarms, 
 
EUROPE 77 
 
 whose profession was stamped on their faces ; 
 musicians, with a troop of vagabonds in their 
 rear. All around the gateway were the tables 
 of butchers, fruiterers, confectioners, money 
 changers, boot-blackers, and a throng of dirty 
 men, women, and children. Shouts, yells, and 
 a universal hubbub. 
 
 Tuesday, Jan. 2nd. This morning I set out on 
 an expedition to see a little of the country, in 
 company with a Spanish gentleman, Don Mateo 
 Lopez, who speaks good English. We hired a 
 carriage together, and got outside the gates by 
 eleven, after some trouble in procuring pass 
 ports. At night we reached a little fishing town 
 called Giardini, not far from ^Etna. The weather 
 was beautiful, the atmosphere clear and soft. 
 As for the scenery on the road, it was noble be 
 yond expression. For myself, I never imagined 
 that so much pleasure could be conveyed through 
 the eye. The road was a succession of beautiful 
 scenes, of mountains and valleys on one side 
 and the sea on the other ; but as to the people, 
 they are a gang of ragamuffins. . . . These dis 
 gusting holes of villages only added zest to the 
 pleasure of the scenery, a pleasure not inferior 
 and not unlike that of looking upon the face of 
 a beautiful woman. In many respects our own 
 scenery is far beyond it ; but I cannot say that 
 I have ever looked with more delight on any of 
 our New England mountains and streams than 
 upon these of Sicily. The novelty of the sight, 
 and the ruined fortresses on the highest crags, 
 add much to the effect. . . . 
 
 I went to the museum of Prince Boscari, a 
 
78 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 valuable collection of antiquities, etc. In the 
 midst of a hall, surrounded by precious frag 
 ments of statues and broken pottery, lay the 
 skeleton of a Chippeway birch canoe. I wel 
 comed it as a countryman and an old friend. 
 
 I bought some specimens of lava and amber of 
 a couple of rascals who asked twice their value, 
 and abated it at once when I refused to buy. 
 
 I went to see an opera of Bellini a native, 
 I have heard, of Catania. . . . Lopez had a 
 friend waiting for him here a light-hearted 
 and lively young Spaniard whose youthful ec 
 centricities sat as easily and gracefully upon 
 him as awkwardly upon old Mateo. When we 
 set out on our return, il mio amico, as Lopez 
 called him, was rattling away incessantly, and 
 imitating every dog, hog, or jackass we met. 
 
 We had a sort of caleche. Besides the driver, 
 a small boy ran along by our side, or clung be 
 hind, ready to do what offices might be required 
 of him. A still smaller one was stowed away in 
 a net, slung between the wheels where he kept 
 a constant eye on the baggage. The larger one 
 employed himself in tying knots in the horses 
 tails as he ran along or he would dart along 
 the road before us, clamber on a wall, and sit 
 till we came by, when he would spring down 
 with a shout and run on again. . . . 
 
 The women of this country are not handsome. 
 You see groups of them about the stone door 
 ways spinning twine, with their hair drawn back 
 in the fashion represented in the portraits of our 
 grandmothers. 
 
 We stopped at night at Giardini. The " pa- 
 
EUROPE 
 
 79 
 
 drone " showed us with great complacency the 
 register of his house, which, he said, contained 
 the recommendations of the guests who had 
 honored him with their company. One man s 
 " recommendation " warned all travelers that 
 the padrone s beds were full of fleas; another s 
 that nothing in the house was fit to eat, etc. The 
 importunate padrone could not read English 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 IN SICILY 
 
 THE Church of the Benedictines is the noblest 
 edifice I have seen. This and others not unlike 
 it have impressed me with new ideas of the 
 Catholic religion. Not exactly, for I reverenced 
 it before as the religion of generations of brave 
 and great men, but now I honor it for itself. 
 They are mistaken who sneer at its ceremonies 
 as a mere mechanical force ; they have a power 
 ful and salutary effect on the mind. Those who 
 have witnessed the services. in this Benedictine 
 church, and deny what I say, must either be 
 singularly stupid and insensible by nature, or 
 rendered so by prejudice. 
 
 Saturday. I recall what I said of the beauty 
 of the Sicilian women so far, at least, as con 
 cerns those of high rank. This is a holyday. 
 They are all abroad, in carriages and on foot. 
 One passed me in the church of the Capuchin 
 convent, with the black eye, the warm rich cheek, 
 and the bright glance that belong to southern 
 climates. They are beautiful beyond all else. 
 
 Sunday. Took leave of the hospitable family 
 of Consul Payson with much regret, and went 
 off to the steamer Palermo, bound for Palermo. 
 I found her completely surrounded by boats, 
 
IN SICILY 81 
 
 wedged close together ; friends were kissing their 
 adieus, and boatmen cursing. The delicacy of 
 sentiment expressed in the Italian national oath 
 is admirable they rival the Spaniards in that 
 matter, " Arcades ambo ; id est, blackguards 
 both." At length visitors were warned off, the 
 boats dispersed, scattering from a common centre, 
 in all directions ; a man screamed the names of 
 the passengers, by way of roll-call; and among 
 the rest the illustrious one of Signore Park-a- 
 man ; and we got under weigh. It was late at 
 night. We passed the long array of bright 
 lights from the fine buildings along the quay 
 of Messina, could just discern the mountains 
 behind the town, indistinct in the darkness, like 
 thunder-clouds, left a long train of phosphoric 
 light behind us, as we steered down between 
 Scylla and Charybdis, and in half an hour were 
 fairly out on the Sicilian Sea. The ghost of de 
 parted perils still lingers about the scene of 
 Ulysses submarine adventures ; an apology for 
 a whirlpool on one side still bearing the name 
 of Scylla and an insignificant shoal on the 
 other. I thought as we passed, and the moon 
 made a long stream of light on the water, that it 
 would be an adventure worth encountering, to 
 be cast away in that place, but my unwonted 
 classical humoi? was of very short duration ; for, 
 going below, I found a cabin full of seasick 
 wretches, which attractive spectacle banished all 
 recollection of Virgil and Homer. I was doomed 
 to lie all night a witness to their evolutions ; a 
 situation not many degrees more desirable than 
 being yourself a sufferer. . . . 
 
82 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Wednesday. I have just arranged an expedi 
 tion to Girgenti, at the southern point of the 
 island. Traveling in Sicily is no joke, especially 
 at this season. I engaged a man named Luigi to 
 furnish three mules, supplies of provisions, cook 
 ing apparatus, an attendant, and thus to pilot 
 me round the island, paying himself all tavern 
 reckonings and buona manos. For this I am to 
 give him four dollars a day. I thus avoid all 
 hazard of being imposed upon, or robbed, for 
 I shall have scarce any money with me. Luigi 
 is perfectly familiar with the island ; has, more 
 over, the reputation of an honest man, notwith 
 standing which I follow Mr. Marston s advice in 
 making him sign a written agreement. I have 
 laid it down as an inviolable rule to look on 
 everybody here as a rascal of the first water, till 
 he has shown himself by undeniable evidence to 
 be an honest man. 
 
 Giuseppe has been with me as a servant of 
 late. The chief fault with him was his continu 
 ally stopping to kiss some of his acquaintances 
 in the street. He seems to know everybody, un 
 derstands perfectly how to cheat everybody, has 
 astonishing promptness and readiness for all 
 kinds of service. " It is trange, Mister Park-a- 
 man," he modestly remarked the other day, "that 
 I cannot go nowhere, but what all the people 
 seem to like-a me, and be good friends with me." 
 He is vain as a turkey-cock dresses infinitely 
 better than I ever did. He is a great coward, 
 trembling continually with fear of robbers in all 
 our rides. The Sicilian robbers, by the way, are 
 a great humbug. When I engaged Giuseppe I 
 
IN SICILY 83 
 
 offered him half a dollar a day for wages. " No, 
 Mist r Park-a-man, I no take-a wages at all. 
 When you go away, you make-a me a present, 
 just as much as you like ; then I feel more bet 
 ter." So I told him I would make-a him a pre 
 sent of half a dollar a day ; which I did, a mode 
 of remuneration more suited to Giuseppe s self- 
 importance. 
 
 Thursday, Jan. 18th. All this morning Luigi 
 Eannesi was in a fever-heat of preparation. I 
 told him to be ready at two ; he came to me at 
 twelve announcing that all was ready ; that he 
 had engaged mules at Marineo, and that the 
 carriage was at the door to take us there. I was 
 not prepared for such promptitude. After some 
 delay, I got ready too, and we set out. Luigi, a 
 diminutive Sicilian with a thin brown face and 
 an air of alertness about every inch of him, began 
 to jabber Italian with such volubility that I could 
 not understand a word. He must needs exhibit 
 every article of the provisions he had got ready 
 for the journey, extolling the qualities of each, 
 and they deserved all his praises, and always 
 ended by pounding himself on the breast, rolling 
 up his eyes, and exclaiming, " Do you think 
 Luigi loves money ? No ! Luigi loves honor ! 
 and then launching forth into interminable eulo 
 gies of the country we were going to see, and the 
 adventures we should meet there. We stopped 
 at night at Marineo, where Luigi provided a 
 most sumptuous dinner ; talked and gesticulated, 
 half frenzied because he found I could not under 
 stand half he said ; then seized my hand, which 
 he dutifully kissed, and left me to my niedita- 
 
84 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 tions. He reappeared, however, bringing a tie- 
 canter of wine, and a large book of antiquities 
 which he had brought for me to read. All this 
 was at his own expense. The terms of his bar 
 gain bound him to nothing else than to keep me 
 alive on the road. 
 
 (Castel Termini.) Luigi is a great antiqua 
 rian. Pie rakes up ancient money at every vil 
 lage as he goes along. His antiquarian skill is 
 a passport to introduce him anywhere ; to the 
 nobles and princes, who are not always, however, 
 such dignified personages as would appear from 
 their titles. I went with him to-night to the 
 house of a judge, who produced a bottle of 
 rosolio and showed me a grotto in his garden 
 which he had stuck all over with specimens of 
 the Sicily minerals. I then went with him to a 
 " conversazione," where some dozen people were 
 playing cards. They looked at the " signore 
 Americano," as the judge introduced me to them, 
 with great curiosity, and at last left their game 
 and clustered round me, very curious to know 
 something of the place I came from. I talked to 
 them for some time in a most original style of 
 Italian ; but getting tired of being lionized in 
 such a manner, I bade them good-night and went 
 back to the albergo. 
 
 I went to visit the famous sulphur works not 
 far from these places. In the shaft I entered 
 the rock was solid sulphur scarce any mixture 
 of foreign ingredients. As we rode away, a noble 
 prospect of Volcanic mountains lay off on our 
 right. Soon after the mule-track became a good 
 road. A carriage from Caltanisetta passed us, 
 
IN SICILY 85 
 
 belonging to some English travelers who had 
 made a wide detour for the sake of a road. We 
 saw at last the battlements and church spires of 
 Girgenti, crowning a high hill before us, and had 
 occasional glimpses of the sea through the valleys. 
 Approaching the hill, we found a deep and shad 
 owed valley intervening. Luigi left the road and 
 descended into it by a wretched mule-track. 
 Flocks of goats passed on the road above us, 
 mules and asses loaded with their panniers came 
 down from the city. One of his fits of enthusi 
 asm had taken possession of Luigi. He began 
 to lash his mule and drive him along over sand 
 and rocks at such a rate that I thought him mad, 
 till he told me that it was necessary to get to 
 Girgenti before the Englishmen. " Corragio ! 
 my brave mule ! Corragio, signore," he shouted, 
 " we shall be the victors ! " At that he drove 
 full speed up the steep hill toward the gate. 
 Nothing would stop him. He leaped over ditches, 
 scrambled through mud and stones, shouting 
 " Corragio " at the top of his lungs. At last 
 an insuperable gully brought him up short. He 
 clapped his hand to his forehead, exclaiming, 
 " Santissima Maria ! " in a tone of wrath and 
 despair, then recovered his spirits and dashed off 
 in another direction. We succeeded. When we 
 got to the top the carriage was quarter of a mile 
 off, and Luigi shouted " Vittoria ! " as he rode 
 into the gate, as much elated as if he had accom 
 plished some great achievement. It was a festa 
 day. All the people in the crowded streets and 
 in the little square wore white caps. They were 
 a hardy and athletic race their faces, their 
 
86 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 short strong necks, their broad and prominent 
 chests, were all burnt to a dark ruddy brown. 
 
 (Girgenti.) Luigi brings me pockets full of 
 ancient money and seems greatly astonished at 
 my indifference. As for himself he is rabid. He 
 dodges into every house and shop, inquiring for 
 " antica moneta," stops contadini at work with 
 the same question ; he has scraped together an 
 enormous bagful for which he pays scarce any 
 thing, perfectly familiar as he is with its true 
 value, and with the "costumi del paese," as he 
 says, the customs of the country. His enthusi 
 asm embraces every object, far and wide. He 
 raves of love on the road tells how he eloped 
 with his wife sings love songs, then falls into 
 the martial vein, shouts " Corragio," defies the 
 wind, rain, and torrents. He enters into all my 
 plans with the most fervid zeal, leaving me 
 nothing to do. Every night he comes upstairs 
 bringing all kinds of dresses and utensils of the 
 people for me to look at. Sometimes he comes 
 in with a handful of old coins, telling me with a 
 chuckle that he had bought them for " pochis- 
 simo," kissing them repeatedly in the exultation 
 of a good bargain. I have lived most sumptu 
 ously ever since I have been with him. He puts 
 the whole inn into a ferment, rakes the town to 
 find the best of everything, and waits on table 
 with an eulogium of every dish. " Ah ! signore," 
 he repeats, " do you think Luigi loves money ? 
 No, Luigi loves honor." He has something to 
 give to every beggar he meets. In short, the 
 fellow is a jewel, and shall be my particular 
 friend henceforward. 
 
IN SICILY 87 
 
 At the English consul s I met a blind trav 
 eler, a Mr. Holeman, who has been over Siberia, 
 New Holland, and other remote regions, for the 
 most part alone, and written seven volumes of 
 his travels. Traveling, he told me, was a passion 
 with him. He could not sit at home. I walked 
 home with him through the streets, admiring his 
 indomitable energy. I saw him the next morn 
 ing sitting on his mule, with the guide he had 
 hired, his strong frame, his manly English 
 face, his gray beard and mustaches, and his 
 sightless eyeballs gave him a noble appearance 
 in the crowd of wondering Sicilians about him. 
 
 From Girgenti our course lay westward to a 
 village called Mont Allegro. . . . 
 
 Luigi came up in the evening to hold " un 
 discorso " with me, according to his custom. He 
 was in his usual state of excitement. He takes 
 a glass of wine in his hand, " Viva F onore, sig- 
 norino mio ! " rolling up his eyes and flourishing 
 his hands, " viva Bacco ; viva Dio ; viva il con- 
 solo Americano ! " and so on, the finale being a 
 seizure and kissing of my hand ; after which he 
 inquires if I shall want him, looks about to see 
 that all is right, kisses my hand again, and goes 
 off. 
 
 One of Luigi s dignified acquaintances in this 
 place was the Marchese Giacomo, a nobleman of 
 great wealth and a determined virtuoso. Luigi 
 called on him with an offering of coins, and re 
 turned with an invitation to his " signore " to 
 visit the Marchese and see his pictures. He had 
 a most admirable picture-gallery among the 
 rest was an original of Guido. He kindly in- 
 
88 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 vited me to dine with him, but Luigi s care had 
 supplied me a plentiful meal already. So much 
 for one specimen of a Sicilian nobleman. I saw 
 one or two more of nearly the same stamp at a 
 conversazione. The next morning I found Luigi 
 at the albergo, sitting over a bottle of wine with 
 a large, fat, sleepy -looking man, in rather a 
 dingy coat, whom on my entering he slapped on 
 the shoulder, " Ecco, signore, mio amico il ba- 
 rone ; un brav uomo," etc., running on with a long 
 string of praises of his friend the baron, at which 
 this extraordinary specimen of a noble kept 
 shaking his large head in modest denial. . . . 
 
 The way was enlivened by the edifying sin 
 gularities of the muleteer Michele, who walked 
 along talking without intermission for an hour 
 together, though no one listened or replied. He 
 interrupted his discourse only to belabor his 
 mule and curse him in Sicilian. When we came 
 to a steep place, he would take a firm hold of 
 the beast s tail with one hand, while he bela 
 bored him with a rope s end that he held in the 
 other, and thus they would scramble up to 
 gether. Where the mud was more than a foot 
 deep Michele would place both hands on the 
 mule s rump and vault, with a sort of grunt, 
 upon his back ; wriggle himself about for a while 
 to find a comfortable seat, and then burst forth 
 with some holy canticle in praise of a saint. 
 
 Just after leaving the ruins of Selinuntum 
 we were struggling along in the mud of a lane 
 between rows of cork-trees and aloes, when Mi 
 chele suddenly set up a yowling like a tom-cat, 
 stopped in the midst of a note to expostulate 
 
IN SICILY 89 
 
 with his mule, and then proceeded in a more 
 dismal tone than before. Luigi clapped his hands 
 and shouted, " Bravo ! compare Michele, belli- 
 sima ! " at which the gratified Michele redoubled 
 his exertions, and squalled at the top of his 
 throat, putting his hand to the side of his mouth 
 to increase the volume of sound. A young con- 
 tadino who was wading along on an ass at a little 
 distance behind was seized with a fit of emula 
 tion, and set up a counter howl to one of the airs 
 peculiar to the contadini. I cried bravo to this 
 new vocalist, while Luigi cried bella and bellis- 
 siina to the exertions of Michele. Michele jogged 
 along on his mule, the tassel of his woolen cap 
 flapping ; while Luigi twisted himself in his sad 
 dle to see how I relished the entertainment, re 
 marking with a grin, " Canta Michele," Michele 
 is singing. 
 
 Marsala, as everybody knows, is famous for 
 its wine. For travelers there is little to see. . . . 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 NAPLES AND ROME 
 
 I HAVE seen my last of Sicily. I bade adieu to 
 Luigi, who insisted on my receiving a number 
 of valuable ancient coins, and would have given 
 me an hundred if I had let him have his own 
 way took leave of the Marstons and Gardi- 
 ners had my baggage carried on board the 
 Palermo by three facchini, and followed it my 
 self. 
 
 The next morning the famous Bay of Naples 
 looked wretched and dismal enough under the 
 influences of an easterly storm, through which 
 Vesuvius w r as just visible. I went to the Hotel 
 de Rome, an excellent house, with a restaurant 
 beneath where you get and pay for precisely 
 what you want, an arrangement far better than 
 a table d hote. 
 
 I spent the first day at the Royal Museum, 
 where I could not determine which I liked best, 
 the Hercules Farnese or the Venus of Praxi 
 teles. 
 
 I met, at the house of Mr. Rogers, Mr. Theo 
 dore Parker and Mr. Farnam from Philadelphia. 
 I had already met Mr. Parker at the Hotel de 
 Rome. Yesterday we went up Vesuvius together. 
 
 . . . We got some of the famous Lacrimce 
 
NAPLES AND ROME 91 
 
 Christi wine at a house half way down. We 
 reached Naples at three, where the outskirts of 
 the town were deserted, with the exception of a 
 few miserable old men and women sitting in the 
 doorways. It was Sunday, the great day of the 
 carnival. King Ferdinand, however, sets his face 
 against the carnival, which for several years has 
 been a mere nothing at Naples. This year, in 
 consideration of the distress of tradesmen, he 
 has consented, much against his inclination, to 
 make a fool of himself. This was the day ap 
 pointed for a grand masked procession, in which 
 the king and his ministers were to pelt his sub 
 jects with sugar-plums, and be pelted in return. 
 There was a great crowd as we entered the 
 square upon the Toledo the main street of 
 Naples. While we were slowly driving through 
 it, the head of the procession appeared. First 
 came a dragon about fifty feet long, with his 
 back just visible above the throng of heads, as 
 if he was swimming in the water. He was drawn 
 by a long train of horses. Five or six masked 
 noblemen were on his back pelting the crowd 
 and the people in the galleries of the houses on 
 each side. Then came a sort of car, full of bears, 
 cats, and monkeys, all flinging sugar-plums. The 
 horses of this vehicle were appropriately ridden 
 by jackasses. Then came a long train of car 
 riages, which we joined. The crowd was enor 
 mous. The Toledo was one wide river of heads, 
 the procession slowly moving down on one side 
 and returning. on the other. Along the middle, 
 a line of dragoons sat motionless, with drawn 
 swords, on their horses. Mrs. P. was hit on 
 
92 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the nose by a formidable sugar-plum flung by a 
 vigorous hand from one of the balconies. She 
 was in great trouble, but there was no such thing 
 as retreat. We got our full share. Mr. Farnam s 
 dignity was disturbed. Mr. Parker had a glass 
 of his spectacles broken. I alone escaped unin 
 jured. At length the royal carriage appeared. 
 Ferdinand a gigantic man, taller and heavier 
 than any of his subjects was flinging sugar 
 plums with hearty good-will, like all the rest. 
 As they passed our carriage the royal family 
 greeted us with a broadside, which completed 
 Mrs. Parker s discomposure. They threw genu 
 ine sugar-plums the others were quite uneat 
 able. The king wore a black silk dress which 
 covered him from head to foot. His face was 
 protected by a wire mask. He carried a brass 
 machine in his hand to fling sugar-plums with. 
 His uncle, his mother, his wife, and all his chief 
 noblemen soon appeared, all protected by masks. 
 The procession passed several times up and 
 down the Toledo, with occasional stoppages. One 
 of these happened when the king s carriage was 
 not far before us, while directly over against it, on 
 the other side of the street, was a triumphal car 
 full of noblemen. Instantly there began a battle. 
 Ferdinand and the princes sent volley after vol 
 ley against their opponents, who returned it with 
 interest. The crowd set up a roar, and made a 
 rush for the spoils. There was a genuine battle 
 for the sugar-plums that fell between the two 
 carriages, pushing, scrambling, shouting, yelling, 
 confusion worse confounded, till the dignified 
 combatants thought proper to separate. . . . 
 
NAPLES AND ROME 93 
 
 The remoter and more obscure parts of this 
 great city are quite as interesting. Here you 
 may see an endless variety of costumes, of the 
 women, almost all beautiful and neat. There is 
 something particularly attractive about these 
 women, who are seldom, however, handsome, 
 properly speaking, but there is the devil in their 
 bright faces and full rounded forms. Each town 
 in the environs has its peculiar costume. 
 
 On Saturday I left Naples for Kome in the 
 diligence, with Mr. and Mrs. Parker. . . . 
 
 At length we got a glimpse of St. Peter s. 
 On every side of us were remains of temples, 
 aqueducts, and tombs ; Mr. Parker became in 
 spired, and spouted Cicero and Virgil. Three 
 young Romans followed us for a mile, running 
 along in their rags, with their dingy peaked hats 
 in their hands, constantly exclaiming in a wail 
 ing tone, "Eccelenz^ eccelenz ! povero miserabile, 
 molto difame ! " Your excellency, your excel 
 lency, I am a poor miserable devil, very hungry. 
 
 Monday. To-day is one of the great days. Mr. 
 P. with his lady and myself went in a carriage 
 to see the " show." The streets were crowded 
 with maskers of all descriptions, in carriages and 
 on foot. A blast of trumpets from the end of 
 the Corso was the signal for all the carriages to 
 draw up to one side and the crowd to divide, to 
 make way for a column of the Pope s soldiers. 
 First came the sappers, with beards and mus 
 taches that fell over their chests, shaggy bearskin 
 caps and leather aprons. Each carried a broad- 
 axe over his shoulder, and his musket slung at 
 his back. They were savage and martial-looking 
 
94 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 fellows. A long train of soldiers followed, with 
 a body of cavalry bringing up the rear. So 
 much for the Pope s summary measures for 
 preserving order. After this the carnival began 
 in earnest. 
 
 It was not the solemn sugar-plum foolery of 
 Naples, but foolery entered into with right hearti 
 ness and good- will. There were devils of every 
 description, from the imp of two feet high to a 
 six foot monster with horns and hoofs and tail, 
 and a female friend on each arm. There were 
 harlequins with wooden swords, or with bladders 
 tied to poles, which they beat over the heads of 
 all they met ; Pulcinellas, and an endless variety 
 of nondescripts. Some of the carriages were 
 triumphal cars gayly ornamented, full of mask 
 ers, men and girls, in spangled dresses. Instead 
 of sugar-plums, they flung flowers at one an 
 other. Some of the women wore wire masks or 
 little vizards, which left the lower part of the 
 face bare ; many, however, had no covering at 
 all to their faces. Few had any regular beauty 
 of features, but there was an expression of heart 
 and spirit, and a loftiness, beside, which did not 
 shame their birth. They flung their flowers at 
 you with the freest and most graceful action 
 imaginable. To battle with flowers against a 
 laughing and conscious face showering your 
 ammunition thick as the carriage slowly passes 
 the balcony then straining your eyes to catch 
 the last glance of the black-eyed witch and the 
 last wave of her hand as the crowd closes around 
 her, all this is no contemptible amusement. 
 
 The inferior class of women walked in the 
 
NAPLES AND ROME 95 
 
 street, very prettily dressed in a laced jacket and 
 a white frock that came an inch below the knee. 
 Some were disguised as boys, some wore fierce 
 mustaches, which set off. well enough their spirited 
 faces. Hundreds of men were shouting round the 
 carriages with flowers for sale. Thus it went on 
 for hours, till the report of a cannon gave the sig 
 nal for clearing the Corso for the horse-race. . . . 
 
 So much for my classic "first impressions" of 
 Rome ! Yesterday was the 22d of February 
 the birthday of Washington. The Americans 
 here must needs get up a dinner, with speeches, 
 toasts, etc. It was like a visit home. There they 
 sat, slight, rather pale and thin men, not like 
 beef-fed and ruddy Englishmen ; very quiet and 
 apparently timid ; speaking low to the waiters 
 instead of roaring in the imperative tone of John 
 Bull. There was not a shadow of that boisterous 
 and haughty confidence of manner that you see 
 among Englishmen in fact most of them seemed 
 a little green. A General Dix presided and made 
 a speech about the repudiation ; the consul, Mr. 
 Green, made another excellent speech, so did Dr. 
 Howe. Mr. Conrade of Virginia gave us a most 
 characteristic specimen of American eloquence, 
 and toasted " Washington and Cincinnatus ! 
 Patrick Henry and Cicero ! " 
 
 There are numbers of American artists here, 
 some of them fine fellows. In fact, it is some con 
 solation, after looking at the thin faces, narrow 
 shoulders, and awkward attitudes of the " Yan 
 kees," to remember that in genius, enterprise, and 
 courage nay, in bodily strength - they are a 
 full match for the sneering Englishmen. Would 
 
96 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 that they bore themselves more boldly and confi 
 dently. But a time will come when they may 
 meet Europeans on an equal footing. 
 
 Feb. 27th. A weary week of lionizing. I would 
 not give a damn for all the churches and ruins in 
 Rome at least, such are my sentiments at pre 
 sent. There is unbounded sublimity in the Coli 
 seum by moonlight, that cannot be denied, 
 St. Peter s, too, is a miracle in its way ; but I 
 would give them all for one ride on horseback 
 among the Apennines. 1 
 
 A Virginian named St. Ives, lately converted 
 to Catholicism, has been trying to convert me, 
 along with some of the Jesuits here. He has 
 abandoned the attempt in disgust, telling me that 
 I have not logic enough in me to be convinced of 
 anything, to which I replied by cursing logic 
 and logicians. 
 
 I have now been three or four weeks in Rome, 
 have been presented to his Holiness the Pope, 
 have visited churches, convents, cemeteries, cata 
 combs, common sewers, including the Cloaca 
 Maxima, and ten thousand works of art. This 
 will I say of Rome, that a place on every ac 
 count more interesting, and which has a more 
 vivifying and quickening influence on the facul 
 ties, could not be found on the face of the earth, 
 or, at least, I should not wish to go to it if it 
 could. 1 . . . 
 
 Rome, Friday. Yesterday I went to the Ca 
 puchins for permission to stay there, which was 
 refused peremptorily ; but the Passionists told 
 me to come again at night, and they would tell 
 1 Life of Francis Parkman, p. 192. 
 
NAPLES AND ROME 97 
 
 me if I could be admitted. I came as directed, 
 and was shown a room in the middle of the build 
 ing, which contains hundreds of chambers con 
 nected by long and complicated passages, hung 
 with pictures of saints and crucifixes. The monk 
 told me that when the bell rang I must leave 
 my hat, come out, and join the others, and then, 
 displaying some lives of the saints and other holy 
 works on the table, he left me to my meditations. 
 The room has a hideous bleeding image of Christ, 
 a vessel of holy water, and a number of holy 
 pictures a bed, a chair and a table. Also, hung 
 against the wall was a " Notice to persons with 
 drawn from the world for spiritual exercises, to 
 the end that they may derive all possible profit 
 from their holy seclusion." The " Notice " pro 
 hibited going out of the chamber without neces 
 sity ; prohibited also speaking at any time, or 
 making any noise whatever, writing also, and 
 looking out of the window. It enjoined the 
 saying of three Ave Marias, at least, at night, 
 also to make your own bed, etc. 
 
 The devil ! thought I, here is an adventure. 
 The secret of my getting in so easily was ex 
 plained. There were about thirty Italians re 
 tired from the world, preparing for the General 
 Confession, and even while I was coming to this 
 conclusion the bell clanged along the passage, 
 and I went out to join the rest. After climbing 
 several dark stairs, and descending others, pull 
 ing off their skull-caps to the great images of 
 Christ on the landing places, they got into a 
 little chapel, and after kneeling to the altar, 
 seated themselves. The shutters were closed, 
 
98 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 and the curtains drawn immediately after ; there 
 was a prayer with the responses, and then a ser 
 mon of an hour and a half long, in which the 
 monk kept felicitating himself and his hearers 
 that they were of the genuine church little 
 thinking that there was a black sheep among his 
 flock. The sermon over, we filed off to our 
 rooms. In five minutes the bell rang again for 
 supper, then we marched off to a conversazione 
 in another part of the building, where the in 
 junction of silence was taken off. I told the di 
 recting priest that I was a Protestant. He 
 seemed a little startled at first, then insinuated 
 a hope that I might be reclaimed from my 
 damnable heresy, and said that an American 
 had been there before, who had been converted 
 meaning my acquaintance St. Ives. He then 
 opened a little battery of arguments upon me, 
 after which he left me saying that a lay brother 
 would make the rounds to wake us before sunrise. 
 The lay brother came in fact, but not before 
 I had been waked by a howling procession of 
 the Passionists themselves, who passed along 
 about midnight. There was a mass, another 
 prayer, and another endless sermon, soon after 
 which we were summoned to coffee. I observed 
 several of the Italians looking hard at me as I 
 drank a glass of water instead of coffee, on ac 
 count of my cursed neuralgia. Doubtless they 
 were thinking within themselves, How that pious 
 man is mortifying the flesh ! 
 
 There was an hour s repose allowed, after 
 which came another sermon in the chapel. This 
 over, a bell rang for dinner, which was at eleven 
 
NAPLES AND ROME 99 
 
 in the morning. The hall was on the lower floor 
 very long, high, and dark with panels of 
 oak, and ugly pictures on the walls narrow 
 oaken tables set all round the sides of the place. 
 The monks were all there, in their black robes, 
 with the emblem of their order on the breast. 
 They had their scowling faces, as well they 
 might, for their discipline is tremendously strict. 
 Before each was placed an earthen bottle of 
 wine and a piece of bread, on the bare board. 
 Each drew a cup, a knife, fork, and wooden 
 spoon from a drawer under the table ; the at 
 tendant lay brothers placed a bowl of singular- 
 looking soup before each, and they eat in lugu 
 brious silence. The superior of the order sat at 
 the upper end of the hall a large and power 
 ful man, who looked sterner, if possible, than his 
 inferiors. We, who sat at another table, were 
 differently served with rice, eggs, fish, and 
 fruit. No one spoke, but from a pulpit above 
 a monk read at the top of his lungs from a book 
 of religious precepts in that peculiar drawling 
 tone which the Catholics employ in their exer 
 cises. There was, apparently, little fructifica 
 tion in the minds of his hearers. The monks eat 
 and scowled ; the laymen eat and smiled at 
 each other, exchanging looks of meaning, though 
 not a word passed between them. There were 
 among them men of every age and of various 
 conditions, from the field laborer to the gentle 
 man of good birth. The meal concluded with a 
 prayer and the growling responses of the Pas- 
 sionists, who then filed off through the galleries 
 to their dens, looking like the living originals of 
 
100 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the black pictures that hang along the white 
 washed walls. 
 
 A monk has just been here, trying to convert 
 me, but was not so good a hand at argument, or 
 sophistry, as the Jesuits. I told him that he 
 could do nothing with me, but he persisted, 
 clapping his hand on my knee and exclaiming, 
 44 Ah, fglio, you will be a good Catholic, no 
 doubt." There was a queer sort of joviality about 
 him. He kept offering me his snuff-box, and 
 when he thought he had made a good hit iii 
 argument, he would wink at me, with a most 
 comical expression, as if to say, "you see you 
 can t come round me with your heresy." He 
 gave over at the ringing of a bell which sum 
 moned us to new readings and lecturings in the 
 chapel, after which we were turned out into the 
 garden of the convent, where we lounged along 
 walks shaded with olives and oleanders. Padre 
 Lucca, the directing priest, talked over matters 
 of faith to me. He was an exception to the rest 
 of the establishment plump and well-fed, with 
 a double chin like a bull-frog, and a most con 
 tented and good-humored countenance. 
 
 After supper to-night some of the Italians 
 in the conversazione expressed great sympathy 
 for my miserable state of heresy : one of them, 
 with true charity, according to his light, said 
 that he would pray to the Virgin, who could do 
 all things, to show me the truth. The whole 
 community assembled to vespers. The dark and 
 crowded chapel fairly shook with the din of 
 more than a hundred manly voices chanting the 
 service. 
 
NAPLES AND ROME 101 
 
 There is nothing gloomy and morose in the 
 religion of these Italians here, no camp-meeting 
 long faces. They talk and laugh gayly in the in 
 tervals allowed them for conversation ; but when 
 the occasion calls it forth, they speak of religion 
 with an earnestness, as well as a cheerfulness, 
 that shows that it has a hold on their hearts. 
 
 Saturday. This morning, among the rest, they 
 went through the Exercise of the Via Crucis, 
 which consists in moving in a body around the 
 chapel, where are suspended pictures, fourteen 
 in number, representing different scenes in the 
 passion of Christ. Before each of these they 
 stop, the priest reads the appropriate prayer 
 and expressions of contrition from the book, re 
 peats a Pater Noster, etc., and so they make a 
 circuit of the whole. I saw the same ceremony, 
 on a larger scale, in the Coliseum, without know 
 ing what it was. 
 
 A thin, hollow-eyed father tried to start my 
 heresy this morning, but was horrified at the 
 enormity of my disbelief ; and when I told him 
 that I belonged to a Unitarian family, he rolled 
 up his bloodshot eyes in their black sockets, and 
 stretched his skinny neck out of his cowl, like a 
 turtle basking on a stone in summer. He gave 
 me a little brass medal of the Virgin with a 
 kind of prayer written on it. This medal he 
 begged me to wear round my neck, and to re 
 peat two or three Aves now and then. It was 
 by this means, he said, that Ratisbon the Jew 
 was converted, not long since ; who, though he 
 wore the medal and repeated the Aves merely to 
 get rid of the importunities of a Catholic friend, 
 
102 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 yet nevertheless was favored with a miraculous 
 vision of the Virgin, whereupon he fell on his 
 knees and was joined to the number of the Faith 
 ful. I told the monk that I would wear the medal 
 if he wished me to, but should not repeat the 
 Aves ; so I have it now round my neck, greatly 
 to his satisfaction. [This medal Parkman kept 
 all his life.] Miracles, say all the Catholics here, 
 happen frequently nowadays. The other day a 
 man was raised to life who had just died in con 
 sumption, and now is walking the streets in com 
 plete health ! 
 
 These Italians have come to the seclusion of 
 this convent in order that their minds may not 
 be distracted by contact with the world, and that 
 the religious sentiments may grow up unimpeded 
 and receive all possible nutriment from the con 
 stant exercises in which they are engaged. It is 
 partly, also, with the intention of preparing them 
 for the General Confession. It is only for a few 
 days in the year that any are here. Their " ex 
 ercises " are characteristic of the Church. The 
 forms of prayer are all written down : they read, 
 repeat, and sing. Very little time is allowed them 
 for private examinations and meditations, and 
 even in these they are directed by a printed card 
 hung in each of the rooms, and containing a list 
 of the subjects on which they ought to examine 
 themselves, together with a form of contrition to 
 be repeated by them. The sermons and readings 
 are full of pictures of Christ s sufferings, exhorta 
 tions to virtue, etc., but contain not a syllable of 
 doctrine. One of the first in the printed list of 
 questions which the self-examiner is to ask him- 
 
NAPLES AND ROME 103 
 
 self is, " Have I ever dared to inquire into the 
 mysteries of the Faith?" 
 
 Sunday. This is Palm Sunday, the first day of 
 the famous Settimana Santa, the Holy Week. 
 I determined to get out of the convent and see 
 what was going on. The day and night previous 
 I had worn the medal, but had no vision of the 
 Virgin, at least of Santissima Maria. Padre 
 Lucca was unfeignedly sorry to have me go with 
 unimpaired prospects of damnation. He said he 
 still had hopes of me; and taking the kindest 
 leave of me, gave me a book of Catholic devo 
 tions, which I shall certainly keep in remem 
 brance of a very excellent man. He looked at 
 the book I had been reading the night before, 
 and expressed his approbation, it was a life of 
 Blessed Paul of the Cross, detailing among other 
 matters how the apostle hated women with a holy 
 and religious hatred, justly regarding them as 
 types of the devil, and fountains of unbounded 
 evil to the sons of men ; and how, when women 
 were near, he never raised his eyes from the 
 ground, but continually repeated Pater Nosters 
 that the malign influence might be averted. 
 
 When I got into the fresh air I felt rather 
 glad to be free of the gloomy galleries and cells, 
 which, nevertheless, contain so much to be ad 
 mired. 1 . . . 
 
 I heard it computed that there are forty thou 
 sand strangers in Rome, which must, however, 
 be a great exaggeration. The English are the 
 most numerous, esteemed, and beloved as usual. 
 
 1 Cf. " A Convent at Rome," Harper s New Monthly Maga 
 zine, August, 1890. 
 
104 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 One of them, standing in St. Peter s, before the 
 ceremony yesterday, civilly exclaimed, " How long 
 does this damned Pope expect us to stand here 
 waiting for him ! " A priest who spoke English 
 reminded him that, since he had come to Rome, 
 it was hoped that he would conform to the usages, 
 or at least refrain from insulting the feelings of 
 those around. The Englishman answered by an 
 insolent stare ; then turning his back, he said, 
 44 The English own Rome ! " 
 
 FBANK TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 ROME, April 5, 44. 
 
 DEAR MOTHER, ... We are in the midst 
 of the fooleries of Holy Week. To-night the 
 Pope took a mop, and washed the high altar, in 
 the presence of some ten thousand people. . . . 
 I have been spending a few days in a convent of 
 the monks called Passionists. ... I find that 
 though I am very well indeed in other respects, 
 there has not been any great change in the dif 
 ficulty that brought me out here. ... I have 
 resolved to go to Paris and see Dr. Louis, the 
 head of his profession in the world, and see if he 
 can do anything for me. ... I have been a per 
 fect anchorite here, have given up wine, etc., 
 and live at present on 40 cents a day for pro 
 visions so if I do not thrash the enemy at 
 last, it will not be my fault. . . . Here are four 
 thousand English in Rome and they are tolerably 
 hated by the Italians, while we sixty or seventy 
 Americans seem, I am happy to say, liked and 
 esteemed everywhere. . . . 
 
 Yours, FRANK. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH 
 
 THE next day I left Rome for Florence, in the 
 diligence and left it with much regret, and 
 a hope to return. A young American named 
 Marquand went with me. . . . 
 
 I went to the studio of Powers the sculptor, a 
 noble-looking fellow and a wonderful artist. I 
 have seen Florence that is, I have had a glance 
 at everything there, but one might stay with 
 pleasure for months. Its peculiar architecture 
 and its romantic situation make it striking 
 enough at first sight, but the interest increases, 
 instead of diminishing. It is impossible to have 
 seen enough of its splendid picture galleries, gar 
 dens, and museums. 
 
 On Wednesday I left Florence, unsatisfied, 
 but unable to stay longer. After all, I shall not 
 see Granada at least for some years, thanks 
 to the cursed injury that brought me to Europe ; 
 for as I find no great improvement, I judge it 
 best to see what a French doctor can do for me, 
 instead of running about Spain. 
 
 At ten in the evening we left Parma. At five 
 in the morning we were at Piacenza. Here we 
 stopped an hour or two. Here again the strik 
 ing difference between the towns of northern 
 
106 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 and southern Italy was manifested. The people 
 looked as grave and solemn as the brick fronts 
 of the palaces and churches. . . . 
 
 We crossed the Po, by a wretched bridge of 
 boats, and entered Lombardy and the domains 
 of Austria. The black eagle of Austria was 
 painted above the guard-house, on the farther 
 bank, where a dozen sullen-looking soldiers loi 
 tered about. There was a barrack of them near 
 the custom-house, where we must stop an hour 
 and a half to be searched, and to pay the fellows 
 for doing it. After that we rode all day through 
 a beautiful and fertile country, passing through 
 Lodi, the scene of Bonaparte s victory, till at 
 night we entered Milan, saturated with dust. 
 
 As for the city, it is well enough. The people 
 are different in appearance, in manners, in lan 
 guage, and in habits, from the southern Italians. 
 The women are all out sunning themselves ; 
 whole, flights of them came out of the Cathedral, 
 with little black veils flung over their heads, and 
 mass books in their hands. Their faces and fig 
 ures are round and rich of the fiery black eye 
 of Rome I have seen nothing ; their eyes are 
 blue and soft, and have rather a drowsy meek 
 expression, and they look excessively modest. 
 
 This morning, when the whole city was quiet, 
 the shops shut in honor of Sunday, the people 
 issuing from the Cathedral, gentlemen walking 
 listlessly about, and porters and contadini sitting 
 idle at the edge of the sidewalks. There was a 
 group of gentlemen taking their coffee under 
 awnings in front of each of the caffes on the 
 piazza before the Cathedral. This vagabond way 
 
FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH 107 
 
 of breakfasting and seeing the world at the 
 same time is very agreeable. There is no place 
 where you can be more independent than in one 
 of these cities ; when you are hungry there is 
 always a restaurant and a dinner at a moment s 
 notice, when you are thirsty there is always a 
 caffe at hand. If you are sleepy, your room 
 awaits you, a dozen sneaking waiters are ready 
 at your bidding, and glide about like shadows to 
 do what you may require, in hope of your shil 
 ling when you go away. But give me Ethan 
 Crawford, or even Tom, in place of the whole 
 race of waiters and gardens. I would ask their 
 pardon for putting them in the same sentence, 
 if they were here. 
 
 A funeral procession filed into the Cathedral, 
 each priest, layman, woman, and child with an 
 enormous wax candle in hand. The noble chapel, 
 at the left extremity of the transept, was hung 
 with black for the occasion the coffin was 
 placed in the midst, and the ceremonies were 
 performed. The priests seemed not fairly awake. 
 One fat bull-frog of a fellow would growl out 
 of his throat his portion of the holy psalmody, 
 interrupting himself in some interesting conver 
 sation with his neighbor, and resuming it again 
 as soon as the religious office was performed. 
 Another would gape and yawn in the midst of 
 his musical performances, another would walk 
 about looking at the people, or the coffin, or the 
 kneeling women, singing meanwhile with the 
 most supreme indifference and content on his 
 fat countenance. I could imagine the subject of 
 their conversation, as they walked out in a 
 
108 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 double file, leaving the coffin to the care of the 
 proper officials, after they had grunted a con 
 cluding anthem over it. " Well, we ve fixed this 
 fellow s soul for him. It was a nasty job ; but 
 it s over now. Come ! won t you take something 
 to drink?" [The foregoing quotation and some 
 others that I shall make to indicate the ginger 
 and spice of his character, must be read with 
 the recollection that they are the hasty jottings 
 of a young man who was writing in his private 
 notebook, never expecting them to be seen. If 
 we were to misinterpret these sallies unfairly 
 even for a moment, we should do injustice to the 
 reasonableness of his character. Had he spoken 
 then, his smile would have dispelled any misun 
 derstanding.] 
 
 I used to like priests, and take my hat off and 
 make a low bow, half in sport and half in ear 
 nest, whenever I met them, but I have got to 
 despise the fellows. Yet I have met admirable 
 men among them ; and have always been treated 
 by them all with the utmost civility and atten 
 tion. 
 
 I write on the Lake of Como, with three 
 women, a boy, and four men looking over my 
 shoulder, but they cannot read English. 
 
 I have seen nothing, at home or abroad, more 
 beautiful than this lake. It reminds me of Lake 
 George the same extent, the same figure, the 
 same crystal purity of waters, the same wild 
 and beautiful mountains on either side. But the 
 comparison will not go farther. Here are a hun 
 dred palaces and villages scattered along the 
 water s edge and up the declivities. . . . All 
 
FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH 109 
 
 here is like a finished picture ; even the wildest 
 rocks seem softened in the air of Italy. Give me 
 Lake George, and the smell of the pine and 
 fir! 
 
 (Andeer.) I stopped here, and will stay here 
 several days. Nothing could surpass the utter 
 savageness of the scenery that you find by tracing 
 up some of the little streams that pour down 
 on all sides to join the Rhine not a trace of 
 human hand it is as wild as the back-forests 
 at home. The mountains, too, wear the same 
 aspect. 
 
 . . . Here was a change, with a vengeance, 
 from the Italian beauties of the Lake of Como ! 
 I sat on the rock, fancying myself again in the 
 American woods with an Indian companion, but 
 as I rose to go away the hellish beating of my 
 heart warned me that no more such expeditions 
 were in store for me for the present, at least ; 
 but if I do not sleep by the camp-fire again, it 
 shall be no fault of mine. . . . 
 
 (Zurich.) The Germans lighted their pipes 
 with their flint and steel, and, stretching out 
 their legs and unbuttoning their coats, disposed 
 themselves to take their ease. Here was none of 
 the painful dignity which an Englishman thinks 
 it incumbent upon him to assume throughout 
 his travels no kneepans aching with the strain 
 of tight strapped pantaloons, no neck half severed 
 by the remorseless edge of a starched dickey. . . . 
 
 The journey to Paris occupies two days. Yes 
 terday morning, looking from the window, I saw 
 an ocean of housetops stretching literally to the 
 very horizon. We entered the gate, but rode for 
 
110 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 nearly an hour through the streets before we 
 reached the diligence office. Then I went to the 
 Tuileries, the Palais Royal, the Boulevard des 
 Italiens, and the Place Vendorne. " Let envious 
 Englishmen sneer as they will," I thought, " this 
 is the Athens of Modern Europe. " 
 
 I had called on my uncle [Mr. Samuel Park- 
 man] , and found him not at home. He called on 
 me with the same fortune, but left a note direct 
 ing me to be at a celebrated cafe at a certain 
 time, where he was to be distinguished by a 
 white handkerchief in his hand. I found him 
 there, and went with him to a ball at the Champs 
 Elysees. 
 
 Boulogne, May 16th. I have been a fortnight 
 in Paris, and seen it as well as it can be seen in 
 a fortnight. Under peculiarly favorable circum 
 stances, too ; for it was the great season of balls 
 and gayeties, and I had a guide, moreover, who 
 knows Paris from top to bottom, within and 
 without. . . . 
 
 When I got to London, I thought I had been 
 there before. There, in flesh and blood, was the 
 whole host of characters that figure in Pickwick. 
 Every species of cockney was abroad in the dark 
 and dingy looking streets, all walking with their 
 heads stuck forward, their noses turned up, their 
 chin pointing down, their knee-joints shaking, 
 as they shuffled along with a gait perfectly ludi 
 crous, but indescribable. The hackney coachmen 
 and cabmen, with their peculiar phraseology, the 
 walking advertisements in the shape of a boy 
 completely hidden between two placards, and a 
 hundred others seemed so many incarnations 
 
FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH 111 
 
 of Dickens characters. A strange contrast to 
 Paris ! The cities are no more alike than the 
 " dining room " of London and the elegant res 
 taurant of Paris, the one being a quiet dingy 
 establishment where each guest is put into a box 
 and supplied with porter, beef, potatoes, and 
 plum-pudding. Eed-faced old gentlemen of three 
 hundred weight mix their " brandy go " and read 
 the " Times." In Paris the tables are set in ele 
 gant galleries and saloons, and among the trees 
 and flowers of a garden, and here resort coats cut 
 by the first tailors and bonnets of the latest mode, 
 whose occupants regale their delicate tastes on 
 the lightest and most delicious viands. The wait 
 ers spring from table to table as noiselessly as 
 shadows, prompt at the slightest sign ; a lady, 
 elegantly attired, sits within an arbor to preside 
 over the whole. Dine at these places, then go to 
 a London " dining room " swill porter and de 
 vour roast beef ! 
 
 I went immediately to Catlin s Indian Gallery. 
 It is in the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly. There was 
 a crowd around the door ; servants in livery 
 waiting ; men with handbills of the exhibition 
 for sale ; cabmen, boys, and pickpockets. I was 
 rejoicing in Mr. Catlin s success, when the true 
 point of attraction caught my eye, in the shape 
 of a full-length portrait of Major Tom Thumb, 
 the celebrated American dwarf, who it seems 
 occupies the Indian Gallery for the present. I 
 paid my shilling and went in. The little wretch 
 was singing Yankee Doodle with a voice like a 
 smothered mouse, and prancing about on a table, 
 a la Jeffrey Hudson, with a wooden sword in his 
 
112 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 hand ; a great crowd of cockneys and gentlemen 
 and ladies were contemplating bis evolutions. 
 But for the Indian Gallery, its glory had de 
 parted ; it had evidently ceased to be a lion. 
 The portraits of the chiefs, dusty and faded, hung 
 round the walls, and above were a few hunting 
 shirts and a bundle or two of arrows ; but the 
 rich and invaluable collection I had seen in Bos 
 ton had disappeared, and no one thought of look 
 ing at the poor remains of that great collection 
 that were hung about the walls. Catlin had done 
 right. He would not suffer the fruits of his 
 six years labor and danger to rot in the damp 
 ness to gratify a few miserable cockneys, so has 
 packed up the best part of his trophies. . . . 
 
 St. Paul s, which the English ridiculously com 
 pare to St. Peter s, is without exception the dir 
 tiest and gloomiest church I have been in yet. 
 I went up to the ball at the top of the cupola, 
 whence the prospect is certainly a most wonder 
 ful one. . . . 
 
 Walk out in the evening, and keep a yard or 
 two behind some wretched clerk, who with nose 
 elevated in the air, elbows stuck out at right 
 angles, and the pewter knob of his cane playing 
 upon his under lip, is straddling his bow legs 
 over the sidewalk with a most majestic air. Get 
 behind him, and you see his dignity greatly dis 
 turbed. First he glances over one of his narrow 
 shoulders, then over the other, then he edges off 
 to the other side of the walk, and turns his va 
 cant lobster eyes full upon you, then he passes 
 his hand over his coat-tail, and finally he draws 
 forth from his pocket the object of all this solici- 
 
FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH 113 
 
 tude in the shape of a venerable and ragged cot 
 ton handkerchief, which he holds in his hand to 
 keep it out of harm s way. I have been thus 
 taken for a pickpocket more than a dozen times 
 to-night, not the less so for being respectably 
 dressed, for these gentry are the most dashy men 
 on the Strand. 
 
 There is an interesting mixture of vulgarity 
 and helplessness in the swarm of ugly faces you 
 see in the streets meagre, feeble, ill-propor 
 tioned, or not proportioned at all, the blockheads 
 must needs put on a game air and affect the 
 " man of the world " in their small way. I have 
 not met one handsome woman yet, though I have 
 certainly walked more than fifty miles since I 
 have been here, and have kept my eyes open. 
 To be sure, the weather has been raw and chill 
 enough to keep beauty at home. Elsewhere Eng- 
 glishmen are tall, strong, and manly ; here, the 
 crowd that swarms through the streets are like 
 the outcasts of a hospital. . . . 
 
 I spent seven or eight days in London. On 
 the eighth day I went up the river to Richmond 
 in a steamboat, with a true cockney pleasure 
 party on board, whose evolutions were very en 
 tertaining. . . . 
 
 I got into the cars one night having sent my 
 trunks to Liverpool and found myself in the 
 morning at Darlington, nearly three hundred 
 miles distant. Thence I took stage for Carlisle, 
 famous in Border story. 
 
 I went away at four in the morning for Ab- 
 botsford. We were in the region where one 
 thinks of nothing but of Scott, and of the themes 
 
114 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 which he has rendered so familiar to the whole 
 world. The Cheviot was on our right the 
 Teviot hills before us. The wind came down 
 from them raw and cold, and the whole sky was 
 obscured with stormy clouds. I thought as we 
 left the town of the burden of one of his ballads : 
 " The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall." It was 
 little applicable now. The ancient fortification 
 looked sullen and cheerless as tottering battle 
 ments and black crumbling walls, beneath a sky 
 as dark and cold as themselves, could make it. I 
 was prepared for storms and a gloomy day, but 
 soon the clouds parted and the sun broke out 
 clear over the landscape. The dark heathery 
 sides of Teviot the numberless bright rapid 
 streams that came from the different glens, and 
 the woods of ash, larch, and birch that followed 
 their course, and grew on the steeper declivities 
 of the hills never could have appeared to more 
 advantage. Esk and Liddel, Yarrow, the Teviot, 
 Minto Crag, Ettrick Forest, Branksome Castle, 
 these and more likewise we passed before we 
 reached the Tweed and saw Abbotsford on its 
 banks among the forests planted by Scott him 
 self. I left my luggage at the inn at Galashiels, 
 telling the landlord that I was going away, and 
 might return at night, or might not. I visited 
 Abbotsford, Melrose, and Dryburgh and con 
 sider the day better spent than the whole four 
 months I was in Sicily and Italy. I slept at Mel- 
 rpse, and returned to Galashiels in the morning. 
 I like the Scotch I like the country and 
 everything in it. The Liverpool packet will 
 not wait, or I should stay long here, and take a 
 
FROM FLORENCE TO EDINBURGH 115 
 
 trout from every "burnie " in the Cheviot. The 
 scenery has been grossly belied by Irving and 
 others. It is wild and beautiful. I have seen 
 none more so. There is wood enough along the 
 margins of the streams (which are as transparent 
 as our own); the tops of the hills alone are bare. 
 The country abounds in game, pheasants, moor 
 cock, curlew, and rabbits. . . . 
 
 I walked up Arthur s Seat, passing the spot 
 where Jeanie Deans had her interview with her 
 sister s seducer, and, when I arrived at the top, 
 looking [sic] down on the site of her father s 
 cottage. Under the crags here is the place where 
 Scott and James Ballantyne used to sit when 
 boys and read and make romances together. 
 Edinburgh, half wrapped in smoke, lies many 
 hundred feet below, seen beyond the ragged pro 
 jecting edge of Salisbury Crag, the castle rising 
 obscurely in the extreme distance. . . . 
 
 Frank was obliged to hurry off to Liverpool, 
 where he went aboard the packet Acadia, and 
 after an uneventful voyage, during which he 
 amused himself with a little satire upon some 
 fellow passengers, notably my lord bishop of 
 Newfoundland, returned safely home. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 
 
 FRANK landed about June 20th, took his degree 
 of A. B., and attended a senior class supper, at 
 which we do not know whether he used the 
 temperance ticket for $2.12|, or the wine ticket 
 for $4.62|. Off he went again in the beginning 
 of July with a little green notebook about as 
 large as a porte-monnaie in his pocket, which 
 he brought back filled with notes, descriptions, 
 memoranda, reflections. Conscious of his bach 
 elorhood in arts, of a philosophic superiority to 
 youth and folly, and dignified by a sense of a 
 horizon stretching from Palermo to Edinburgh, 
 he begins in fragmentary, critical mood : 
 
 The traveler in Europe. Art, nature, history 
 combine. In America art has done her best to 
 destroy nature association, nothing. Her for 
 mer state. Her present matter of fact. . . . 
 
 July 4, 44. The celebration at Concord. The 
 admirable good humor of the people in the cars 
 during some very vexatious delays was remark 
 able. Some young men sang songs and amused 
 
A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 117 
 
 themselves with jokes, among whom my former 
 schoolmate was conspicuous. In spite of the cold 
 ness attributed to the Am. character, he seems 
 to play the rowdy with all his heart, and as if 
 he considered it the height of glory. 
 
 The cheerfulness, the spirit of accommodation 
 and politeness was extraordinary. Perfect order, 
 in the most difficult evolutions of the day. An 
 hundred soldiers would not in Europe have as 
 sured such quiet and unanimity. Some young 
 men exhibited a good deal of humor and of 
 knowledge, in their observations, and I remem 
 bered that this is our lowest class. This orderly, 
 enthusiastic, and intelligent body is the nearest 
 approach to the peasantry of Europe. If we have 
 not the courtly polish of the European upper cir 
 cles, the absence of their stupid and brutal pea 
 santry is a fair offset. . . . 
 
 Students of H. [Harvard] do not on all occa 
 sions appear much better than their less favored 
 countrymen, either in point of gentlemanly and 
 distingue appearance or in conversation. . . . 
 
 The discussion on Fourierism, etc., of the she- 
 philosophers of W. Roxbury. Their speculations, 
 and the whole atmosphere of that heart of new 
 philosophy, were very striking and amusing after 
 seeing the manners of Paris and London, the 
 entertainments and pleasures and the workings 
 of passions which they in their retirement seem 
 scarce to dream of. ... 
 
 England has her hedges and her smooth green 
 hills, robed [?] with a spirit of power and worth, 
 strengthened and sanctioned by ages ; but give 
 me the rocky hillside, the shaggy cedar and scrub- 
 
118 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 oak, the wide reach of uncultivated landscape, the 
 fiery glare of the sun ... its wild and ruddy 
 light. All is new, all is rough, no charm of the 
 familiar. Fierce savages have roamed like beasts 
 amid its rugged scenery ; there was a day of strug 
 gle, and they have passed away, and a race of 
 indomitable men have succeeded them. . . . 
 
 Kahant, July 17th. The company on board the 
 steamboat difference in silence and intelligence 
 from a cackling party. The man with the model 
 of a beehive, Ohio. . . . The traveled fool, set 
 ting his name in the bar book as , 
 
 Cosmopolite. He finds some improvements here 
 "very creditable to the town," of which he is a 
 native. He imitates English dress and manners. 
 The dinner party was various and far from dis 
 tingue. 
 
 Roland Green, Mansfield. His family have 
 relics of the Indians. 
 
 The disagreeable whining manner of some 
 vulgar Yankee girls. 
 
 " John Norton s Captivity," taken at a fort in 
 Adams, 1746. 
 
 Springfield. The independent Yankee whom 
 I spoke to about his failure to call me. In Job s 
 language he " stood right up to it," giving shot 
 for shot. No English creeping. 
 
 The landlord no bowing. 
 Montague. Grape shot dug up. 
 
A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 119 
 
 The landlord of Chester Factory, sitting cross- 
 legged on his chair, took no notice of me as I 
 came in, but on my asking if the landlord was 
 in, he said, " Yes, here I be." 
 
 . . . An American landlord does not trouble 
 himself to welcome his guests. He lets them enter 
 his house, and sits by quite indifferent. He seems 
 rather to consider himself as conferring an obli 
 gation in anything he may do for them. 
 
 Stockbridge. Maple and beech have followed 
 the fir of the original growth. . . . 
 
 Dr. Partridge. The old man was in his labo 
 ratory, bedroom, etc., among his old tables, book 
 cases, etc., with shelves of medicines, and scales 
 suspended hard by. He is about 94, and remem 
 bered Williams [Capt. Ephraim Williams] well, 
 who he describes as a large, stout man, who used 
 often to visit his father, and take him on his 
 knee. He says he remembers the face as if he 
 saw it yesterday, especially the swelling of the 
 ruddy cheeks. His father, Colonel Partridge, 
 was in the service, and despised Abercrombie as 
 a coward. The Dr. remembers seeing a thou 
 sand of Abercrombie s Highlanders at Hatfield 
 or some other town where they were billeted. 
 Abercrombie was always trembling with fear of 
 Indians, and sending out scouts about camp. 
 When Howe fell, Partridge, the Dr. says, was 
 at his side, and his lordship said, " The army 
 has no leader, and is defeated." . . . 
 
 Gt. Barrington . . . Mt. Washington . . . 
 Bash-a-Bish. 
 
120 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 The hearty, horse-swapping, thumping young 
 Dutchman, who would be damned if he cared for 
 anything if he could only swap off his old wag 
 ons for Jim Fray s colt. . . . 
 
 The crouching, cadaverous, lank old man with 
 the opium for his rheumatic wife. . . . The Irish 
 priest, with his jovial conversation and hints 
 about a mitre. [Here follow various rumors 
 concerning letters, journals, remembrances, tra 
 ditions, concerning perhapses and may-be s, con 
 cerning Capt. Ephraim Williams and Rogers 
 the Ranger, all clues carefully noted, followed 
 by a " Nil Desperandum"] 
 
 The two girls on the road from N. Adams. 
 One of them was a mixture of all the mean quali 
 ties of her sex with none of the nobler. She was 
 full of the pettiest envy, spite, jealousy, and 
 malice, singularly impudent and indelicate. 
 
 " Should have given ye a pie to-day, but ain t 
 got no timber to make em." 
 
 Then follow memoranda of books, maps, his 
 tories, memoirs, travels, letters, papers, pam 
 phlets, notes from a French MS., etc., ending 
 with a reminder to be at Cambridge on the third 
 Wednesday of August. 
 
 But before the middle of September, with 
 another neat little leather-tongued notebook, 
 he went off to Concord. On the flyleaf is the 
 note " Read Dryden s prose " and also a copy 
 of a plan of old Fort Mackinaw made by 
 
A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 121 
 
 Lieutenant Whiting. This notebook served the 
 purpose of a spleen-valve, for in the midst of 
 historical notes and references are interspersed 
 very caustic descriptions of acquaintances and 
 companions. It would be unjust to think that 
 these satirical sketches indicate the usual pitch 
 of his judgments. A lad of twenty-one or two, 
 with a proud resolution hidden in his breast, with 
 strong ambition and high purposes, and perhaps 
 not unmindful of certain maidenly opinions, en 
 tertained at Keene and Salem, as to what the 
 world and young men should be, may well be 
 forgiven if he measures his fellows by exacting 
 standards, standards to which he endeavors to 
 conform his own conduct. Perhaps it was the 
 memory of a girl at Keene that provoked this 
 little irritation. 
 
 Sunday, Sept. 21. Some men are fools, utter 
 and inexpressible fools. I went over to Dr. Z s 
 last night to call on Miss . Heaven knows I 
 am quite indifferent to her charms, and called 
 merely out of politeness, not caring to have her 
 think I slighted her. But the Dr. in the con 
 temptible suspicion that he is full of, chose to 
 interpret otherwise. William X was there, whom 
 I allowed to converse with Miss Y while I talked 
 with the Dr. s lady. The Dr. watched me, though 
 I was not aware of it at the time, till happening 
 to rise to take a bottle of cologne, out of a mere 
 whim, and applying some of it to my handker- 
 
122 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 chief, the idiot made a remark, in a meaning 
 tone, about " long walks " in the evening. He 
 soon after asked me to take a glass of wine, say 
 ing that it would make me feel better. He whis 
 pered in my ear that X would go soon and I 
 better stay. What could I do or say ? I longed 
 to tell him the true state of my feelings, and 
 above all what I thought of his suspicious imper 
 tinence. I left the house vexed beyond measure 
 at being pitied as a jealous lover, when one ob 
 ject of my visit to Miss that evening was to 
 prove to her and the rest how free I was from 
 the influence of her attractions. Is it not hard 
 for a man of sense to penetrate all the depths of 
 a blockhead s folly ? and to know what inter 
 pretation such a fellow will put on his conduct ? 
 I sent him a letter which I think will trouble not 
 a little his jealous and suspicious temper. . . . 
 
 L s freaks ; his disgusting habits at table ; 
 
 windows broken and he will not mend them ; 
 
 goes to B s room, looks into his drawers, 
 
 " Hulloo, you Ve got some gingerbread ! " invites 
 himself to spend the evening there ; stays till 
 morning, and sleeps standing against the wall, 
 like a horse ! 
 
 Neither was our young gentleman very broad- 
 minded : 
 
 May 30, 1845. A great meeting of the Fou- 
 rierites in Tremont Chapel. Most of them were 
 rather a mean set of fellows several foreign 
 ers plenty of women, none pretty there was 
 most cordial shaking of hands and mutual con- 
 
A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 123 
 
 gratulations before the meeting began. A dirty 
 old man four feet high, filthy with tobacco, came 
 and sat down by me and was very enthusiastic. 
 He thought Mr. Kipley, who made the opening 
 speech, "one of the greatest men our coun 
 try can produce." Kipley was followed by a 
 stout old man ; he spoke with his hands in his 
 pockets, and gave nothing but statistics, in a 
 very dry uninteresting manner. It surprised me 
 to see these old fellows, who looked like any 
 thing but enthusiasts, attached to the cause. 
 H , the editor from N. Y., spoke in 
 
 a very weak indecisive manner, seemingly afraid 
 of himself and his audience. . . . Brisbane and 
 Dana followed in a pair of windy speeches, and 
 Channing was beginning a ditto when I came 
 away. They say that there is a system of laws 
 by which the world is to be governed " harmo 
 niously," and that they have discovered those 
 
 laws. F. was there looking much more 
 
 like a lunatic or a beast than a man. 
 
 The young man had standards of his own ; to 
 his thinking there were certain things a man 
 should endeavor to do, certain behaviors to 
 which a gentleman must conform ; and as he 
 was endowed with a masterful quality of mind 
 and an impatience of bad work, Frank had a 
 youthful tendency to abrupt and severe judg 
 ments ; of which, be it said, there is not a trace 
 in his history. 
 
 At Cambridge, soon after the summoning bell 
 of the third Wednesday, he began a new note- 
 
124 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 book, not of the holiday kind incased in green 
 leather, but a large square blue-covered notebook 
 intended for the base uses of grinds. This little 
 book proves his great zeal in acquiring know 
 ledge of European history. Long notes from 
 Gibbon on polytheism, policy, population, roads, 
 trade, and other great matters, so heavy to read, 
 so light to forget. On Gibbon s heels follow 
 Robertson and the Feudal System, then Gibbon 
 again, who had not been finished but intermitted ; 
 after him de Mably and Sismondi, then Gibbon 
 back again, like a great whale coming up to 
 breathe, all about kings, popes, declines of this 
 and growths of that ; then, on loose and separated 
 pages as befitted a lesser dignity, hints of Polizi- 
 ano and Savonarola. Then come Sully, Wraxall, 
 Michelet, glimpses of the humanities, and so 
 on through close pages of abstracts and memo 
 randa, until Notebook, No. 2, is reached, which 
 to the reader s relief of mind is dated six months 
 later, where Frank makes a headlong plunge into 
 the Holy Roman Empire, and all for the sake of 
 a background for Indian and coureur de bois. 
 Macaulay, von Ranke, Guizot, Dunham, Millot, 
 Pfeffel, Giannone (unless perchance these latter 
 two be makers and not writers of history), pri 
 mogeniture, Salic law, patriotism, vavasours, de 
 cretals, Venice, heresy, and despotism, all come 
 up to be taxed according to the decree of the 
 
A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 125 
 
 young Csesar, who had resolved to put a new 
 province under his subjection. No doubt even 
 such a hearty appetite, whetted by ambition, 
 helped by a strong memory, could not digest 
 the great stretch of recorded time from Augus 
 tus to the sailing of Jacques Cartier from Havre 
 de Grace, but he learned enough to know what 
 he must follow up more closely and what he 
 might pass by. Professor Wendell relates how 
 he once met Parkman in the Louvre, in front of 
 a picture of the murder of the due de Guise, and 
 Parkman immediately recounted with finished 
 detail all the story. The immediate service of 
 the Roman Empire, of the feudal system, of 
 mediaeval Europe was, not to stand either as 
 scenery or background, but to fill the vast spaces 
 behind, where carpenters, machinists, stage- 
 managers toil and sweat, all to cast the right 
 lights upon the stage on which Pontiac was to 
 play his brilliant part. 
 
 When the Law School opened, Frank took a 
 room in Divinity Hall, and using Blackstone as 
 a stalking horse betook himself to the immedi 
 ate object of his thoughts. Here is a list of some 
 of the books he took from the college library 
 while in college and at the Law School : Scott, 
 Shakespeare, Coleridge, Goldsmith, Dr. John 
 son, Irving, Chateaubriand, Carlyle, Machiavelli 
 in Italian, and, first interspersed but soon domi- 
 
126 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 nating general reading, books of American his 
 tory, "Long s Expedition," "Indian Wars," 
 "New Hampshire Historical Collection," "Lewis 
 and Clark," " Travels in Canada," " American 
 Annals," " Rogers s Journal," " Carver s Trav 
 els," " Bouquet s Expedition," " Tracts on the 
 War," " Charlevoix," Colden s " Five Nations," 
 " Moeurs des Sauvages," and scores more, many 
 1 or all contributing their tale of notes to fill little 
 books. 
 
 But study did not play too tyrannical a part 
 in his life ; he gave friendship and social pleasure 
 their dues. 
 
 PARKMAN TO GEORGE S. HALE, KEENE, N. H. 
 CAMBRIDGE, Monday, Oct. 6, [1844]. 
 
 DEAR GEORGE, . . . When shall I hear of 
 you and of your intentions with regard to your pro 
 fession ? Have you decided on the black gown ? 
 Believe me it will turn out the best spec. I am 
 down at Divinity, devoting one hour per diem 
 to law, the rest to my own notions. It is a little 
 dismal here without the fellers, and no Gary 
 [George Blankern Gary, a classmate] to laugh 
 at life a dull, unchanging monotony, varied by 
 a constitutional walk, or an evening expedition 
 to see Macready. . . . 
 
 We have here in the Law School a sprinkling 
 of fine fellows from north, south, east, and west 
 some in the quiet studying line, some in the 
 all Hell style, and some a judicious combination 
 
A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 127 
 
 of both. Dr. Walker pronounces a " very good 
 spirit " to prevail among the undergraduates, so 
 that there is no chance of a rebellion or any 
 other recreation to entertain us lookers-on. . . . 
 Please remember me to your father, mother, and 
 sister. Yrs. very truly, 
 
 FRANK PARKMAN. 
 
 HALE TO PARKMAN, CAMBRIDGE 
 
 KEBNE, Oct. 28, 1844. 
 
 DEAR FRANK, . . .In common with you I 
 have paid a little attention to Blackstone, and 
 hope to finish the second volume this week, but 
 not in such a way as to feel confident that I am 
 gaining much certain knowledge. Will you tell 
 me when you write how you study at C, at what 
 [and what] your lectures amount to, how fast 
 you read, etc. [embarrassing questions to a young 
 gentleman whose attention was already fixed on a 
 "Ranger s Adventure " and a " Scalp-Hunter "]. 
 . . . You ask about the black gown It trem 
 bles in the balance. Would I could see my way 
 clear I should certainly feel more at ease. To 
 tell the truth sub rosa, I am not in love with any 
 one of the learned professions. Oh glorious lit 
 erary ease," sweet otium cum scientia " ! " glo 
 rious humbug " " sweet nonsense," says Frank 
 Parkman and perhaps rightly. In the mean 
 time we both shout Vive Famitie and cherish 
 faithfully the remembrance of youthful efforts 
 which made the . . . [Chit Chat Club] worthy of 
 fame to our vanity, as it certainly was a bond of 
 union to its members. 
 
 Please tell Ned D wight he owes me a letter, 
 
128 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 and remember that you also are now ray debtor. 
 Meanwhile and ever, I am most truly 
 Yr. friend and classmate, 
 
 GEORGE S. HALE. 
 
 SAME TO SAME. 
 
 KEENE,. N. H., Nov. 17, 1844. 
 
 DEAR FRANK, ... I was very glad to hear 
 from you so soon. Quick replies are the life of 
 a friendly correspondence. ... I think the bal 
 ance is rather inclining to sackcloth and the 
 black gown, but I do not wish to decide at pre 
 sent. Miss Hall was very glad to hear from you 
 and will welcome you to Keene with pleasure 
 whenever your memory or fancy may lead you 
 away from your present literary ease. Do not 
 forget the maxim I laid down upon quick replies. 
 I assure you that your letters can never wear out 
 the hearty welcome they always get from me. 
 Most sincerely your friend, 
 
 GEORGE S. HALE. 
 
 Keene was not the only place where Frank 
 was in favor. 
 
 SALEM, Noon, Wednesday, Jan. 15th, 45. 
 
 MY DEAR FRANK, You will scarcely ex 
 pect me to pop in again on you so soon, but I 
 wish to nudge your memory, which seems to be 
 very short lived in regard to your Fair friends 
 in this City of Peace ; our next Assembly is to 
 morrow night, i. e. Thursday, Jan. 16th, 45, 
 and my grandmother begs me to assure you that 
 your chamber is ready for your occupation on 
 
A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 129 
 
 said night, and your knife and fork will be placed 
 for as many meals as you will honor her ; for be 
 it known to you, she considers the " Rev. Dr. P. s 
 son as a young man of remarkably quick parts 
 and very correct," to say nothing of his being 
 my friend. ... So if the recollection of the last 
 Assembly is agreeable enough to tempt you, and 
 nothing better offers nearer home, you must come 
 down to-morrow. Besides, we must chat over and 
 arrange the Keene expedition. . . . 
 
 If you will dine enfamille with us to-morrow, 
 I should be happy to measure appetites with 
 you. . . . 
 
 Farewell my estomac cries " cupboard," and 
 half -past one our primitive dinner hour is 
 at hand. Kind remembrances, 
 
 JOE PEABODY. 
 
 Dancing and flirting, if that light word may 
 be applied to Salem in the forties, were not the 
 only indications of youth and lightheartedness 
 to be found in the life of Francis Parkman, 
 Junior, ostensible votary of Blackstone and 
 Kent. 
 
 PARKMAN TO HALE, KEENE, N. H. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, Nov. 24, 44. 
 
 DEAR GEORGE, ... We wanted you the 
 other night. Joe got up one of his old-fashioned 
 suppers on a scale of double magnificence, in 
 viting thereunto every specimen of the class of 
 44 that lingered within an accessible distance. 
 There was old S. and Snaggy, N. D., Ned W. 
 
130 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 (who by the way is off for Chili !), P., etc., etc. 
 The spree was worthy of the entertainment. 
 None got drunk, but all got jolly ; and Joe s 
 champagne disappeared first ; then his Madeira ; 
 and his whiskey punch would have followed suit 
 if its copious supplies had not prevented. At 
 first all was quiet and dignified, not unworthy 
 of graduates ; but at length the steam found vent 
 in three cheers for 44, and after that we did not 
 cease singing and roaring till one o clock. ... I 
 succeeded in actually singing in the chorus to 
 Yankee Doodle without perceptibly annoying 
 the rest. . . . The whole ended with smashing a 
 dozen bottles . . . and a war dance with scalp 
 yells in the middle of the Common, in the course 
 of which several nightcapped heads appeared at 
 the opened windows of the astonished neighbors. 1 
 
 PARKMAN TO GEORGE B. GARY. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, Dec. 15, 44. 
 
 DEAR GEORGE, Here I am, down in Divin 
 ity Hall enjoying to my heart s content that 
 otium cum dignitate which you so affectionately 
 admire ; while you poor devil are jolted in Eng 
 lish coaches. . . . Do you not envy me in my lit 
 erary ease ? a sea-coal fire a dressing-gown 
 slippers a favorite author ; all set off by 
 an occasional bottle of champagne, or a bowl of 
 stewed oysters at Washburn s ? This is the cream 
 of existence. To lay abed in the morning, till 
 the sun has half melted away the trees and cas 
 tles on the window-panes, and Nigger Lewis s 
 fire is almost burnt out, listening meanwhile to 
 1 Life of Francis Parkman, p. 23. 
 
A MAKE-BELIEVE LAW STUDENT 131 
 
 the steps of the starved Divinities as they rush 
 shivering and panting to their prayers and reci 
 tations then to get up to a fashionable break 
 fast at eleven then go to lecture find it a 
 little too late, and adjourn to Joe Peabody s 
 room for a novel, conversation, and a morning 
 glass of Madeira. ... After all a man was 
 made to be happy ; ambition is a humbug a 
 dream of youth ; and exertion another ; . . . I 
 think the morbid tendency to unnecessary action 
 passes away as manhood comes on. . . . 
 
 At this time he injured sight and health by 
 getting up very early and studying by candle 
 light, often without a fire. 
 
 Perhaps you may imagine me under some vi 
 nous influence in writing this. Not at all ; yet if 
 I had written this a few nights ago, perhaps it 
 might have smacked more of inspiration. We 
 had a class spree ! Where if there was not much 
 wit, there was, as the Vicar of Wakefield says, 
 a great deal of laughing, not to mention singing, 
 roaring, and unseemly noises of a miscellaneous 
 character. . ." . Our brothers, whilom of ... [Chit 
 Chat Club] accused me in the beginning of the 
 term of an intention of authorship! probably 
 taking the hint from the circumstance of my 
 never appearing till eleven o clock, a la Scott ; 
 but I believe they no longer suspect me of so ill 
 advised an intention. It would run a little counter 
 to my present principles, though I do remember 
 the time when G. B. C. [Gary] meditated the 
 
 Baron of B ; and Snow felt sure (in his 
 
 cups) of being Captain General of Transatlantic 
 
132 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Literature, while your humble servant s less soar 
 ing ambition aspired to the manufacture of blood 
 and thunder chronicles of Indian squabbles and 
 massacres. . . . You will answer this, will you 
 not ? I am very eager to hear from you. 
 
 Yours truly, F. PARKMAN. 1 
 
 Frank kept his purpose to himself, and con 
 cealed from even his intimate friends that " Capt. 
 Jonathan Carver " had been at work on a tale 
 entitled " The Ranger s Adventure," and after 
 that on another entitled " The Scalp-Hunter." 
 
 1 Life of Francis Parkman, pp. 19-22. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 PREPAEATION FOR PONTIAC 
 
 THE earlier progress of the relations between 
 Frank and his first publisher may be deduced 
 from the following letters : - 
 
 KNICKERBOCKER OFFICE, NEW YORK, Feb. 18, 45. 
 
 To Capt. JONATHAN CARVER : 
 
 Dear Sir, I thank you most cordially for 
 your excellent sketch," The Scalp-Hunter," which 
 you were so good as to send us. It is truly a 
 thrilling story, and, to my mind, the closing 
 scene is worthy of Cooper s pen. It is even 
 better than "The Ranger s Adventure," which 
 graces our March issue. It shall have a " place 
 of honor " in our April number. 
 
 I need not say that we shall be but too happy 
 to hear from you at all times ; and it gives me 
 pleasure to say to you, that your impression of 
 the character of the medium of communication 
 with the public which you have chosen is by no 
 means a mistaken one. If ever there was a peri 
 odical that could be proud of its class of readers, 
 it is the " Knickerbocker." There is an affection 
 in the public mind toward it, which I am sure is 
 not surpassed by any kindred work at home or 
 
134 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 abroad. Pardon this seeming egotism, my dear 
 sir. I love the "Old Knick.," having been for 
 eleven years its editor ; and the feeling is widely 
 shared ; for more than half our subscribers are 
 of that long standing. Our corps of contributors 
 God bless them ! can t be exceeded ; as one 
 may see, by looking at their names on the cover. 
 
 You will receive the " Knickerbocker " regu 
 larly hereafter. Is " Capt. Jonathan Carver " a 
 nom de plume ? I partly suspect so, since proba 
 bility seems rather to favor the conclusion that a 
 gentleman tolerably familiar with his own name 
 would n t be very apt to make a mistake in spell 
 ing it. I observe you subscribe yourself Captain 
 " Jo/mathan " Carver ! May I hope to hear from 
 you. Gratefully and truly yrs, 
 
 L. GAYLORD CLARK. 
 
 Capt. " JO//NATHAN " CARVER. 
 
 KNICKERBOCKER SANCTUM, Monday, March 10th, 45. 
 MY DEAR SIR, ... I must again cordially 
 thank you for the " Scalp-Hunter." I am an 
 " old stager " in matters of the sort ; and it must 
 be something really "thrilling" to keep me 
 awake at night, after reading a proof sheet. . . . 
 I should be glad to hear from you as often as 
 may be agreeable to you ; and as early as the 
 sixth of each month, if intended for the ensuing 
 Number. Very truly, your obliged 
 
 L. GAYLORD CLARK. 
 
 Frank was, not unnaturally, taxed by his 
 friends with " concealment," or with what among 
 law students was probably known as suppressio 
 
PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 135 
 
 veri, the suppression of an important matter, 
 which the intimacy of friendship claimed a title 
 to hear. This charge, made by an affection that 
 felt a little hurt to find itself ranked lower than 
 it ranked itself, was not without justification. 
 
 PARKMAN TO HALE, FEB. 13, 1845. 
 
 By the way, what do you mean by charging 
 me (for the fourth time, is it ?) with a design 
 to write a novel, or a poem, or an essay, or what 
 ever it is? Allow me to tell you that though 
 the joke may be good, it is certainly old. . . . 
 If you catch me writing anything of the sort, you 
 might call me a " darned fool " with great pro 
 priety as well as elegance. 1 
 
 Frank, boy and man, was not oversensitive to 
 criticism. His own judgment was the only tribu 
 nal of much consequence to him ; moreover, he 
 was already in full cry upon the scent of Pontiac, 
 " laboring through an army of musty books and 
 antiquarian collections," and what between Eu 
 ropean history, which he was reading hard, and 
 a decent appearance of attending lectures on 
 law, he was too much occupied to trouble him 
 self with animadversions on what he deemed 
 his own business. And, though Frank was a 
 good son, then and always, he did not take his 
 family into his confidence about his literary 
 work any more than he did his comrades. This 
 1 Life of Francis Parkman, p. 22. 
 
136 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 was natural, as his father was out of sympathy 
 with his interests, and wished him as fathers 
 do to pursue a safe career, and win a high 
 position at the Suffolk bar. But Frank was 
 always dutiful, and their relations, if not inti 
 mate, were right-minded and affectionate. 
 
 This summer s trip was begun in July, but 
 in the mean time, by dint of five o clock in the 
 morning application, Frank had sent off the copy 
 for another tale to be published in the " Knicker 
 bocker Magazine" for June, and also a poem, 
 entitled, " The New Hampshire Ranger," to be 
 published in August. This year s little notebook, 
 crammed as usual with memoranda of MSS., 
 maps, pamphlets, and addresses of possible anti 
 quarians, shows that Frank stopped in New York 
 long enough to make caustic notes on some young 
 women, and quickly continued his journey to Phil 
 adelphia. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, July 14, 45. 
 
 DEAR MOTHER, Though I have been sev 
 eral days here, I have been compelled to re 
 main quiet and passive by the furious heat ; 
 it has now got up to 100 of the thermometer. 
 There is positively no place tolerably comfort 
 able but the bath, where I spend most of my 
 time. Yesterday I was at a Quaker meeting, 
 where, as it was too hot for the Spirit to move 
 anybody, the whole congregation slept in perfect 
 quiet for an hour and then walked off, without a 
 
PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 137 
 
 word said. . . . The Philadelpliians have shrunk 
 away to the dimensions of Frenchmen, by the 
 effects of the climate. People lounge about at 
 corners and around pumps, rapidly cooking in 
 the sun. ... I go to Lancaster to-morrow, thence 
 to Harrisburg, thence to Pittsburg, thence give 
 a look at Ohio, and thence go to Detroit, from 
 which I propose to return by Niagara and Albany. 
 My love to Carrie [his sister] and the rest, and 
 believe me, 
 
 Affectionately yours, FRANK. 
 
 At Lancaster he interested himself in observ 
 ing the Dutch farmers ; at Harrisburg he divided 
 his attention between the Dutch and the Sus- 
 quehanna, and made expeditions in the neighbor 
 hood to scenes of old forays. The railroads met 
 with his disapproval, so did some of his fellow 
 passengers ; " a drunken, swearing puppy in the 
 cars first amused and then disgusted me." At 
 Buffalo he took the steamer for Detroit in com 
 pany with " a host of Norwegian emigrants, very 
 diminutive, very ugly, very stupid and brutal in 
 appearance, and very dirty. They appeared to me 
 less intelligent and as ignorant as the Indians." 
 At Detroit he studied all the places which he 
 describes in the chapters relating to the siege of 
 the fort by Pontiac. Thence he went down Lake 
 Huron to Mackinaw, noting woodland and marsh, 
 promontory, beach and island, Indian huts and 
 
138 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Canadian settlements. Here he met a lieutenant 
 in the regular army, an antiquarian like him 
 self (" of which title I am a little ashamed," he 
 modestly says). He went about as usual, hunting 
 up the oldest inhabitants, buttonholing all per 
 sons suspected of special knowledge, conversing 
 with Indians, crawling into caves, climbing hills, 
 measuring fortifications, pacing the sites of an 
 cient forts, jotting down odd scraps of informa 
 tion ready for use thereafter. Nor did he forget 
 to find room in his diary for biting comments: 
 
 The dyspeptic man who insisted on helping 
 himself to such morsels as suited him (with his 
 own knife and fork). He had nursed himself 
 till he had reached a state of egotistic selfish 
 ness. . . . Niagara, Aug. 17. The " Cataract " 
 is a bloated, noisy house ; a set of well-dressed 
 blackguards predominated at table. ... I have 
 looked at the great cataract, but do not feel in 
 the temper to appreciate it, or embrace its gran 
 deur. An old woman, who for the pure love of 
 talking and an itching to speak to every one, sev 
 eral times addressed me with questions about she 
 knew not what, filled me with sensations of par 
 ticular contempt instead of amusing me, as they 
 would have done had not my stomach been dis 
 ordered. I sat down near the rapids. " What s 
 all this but a little water and foam ? " thought I. 
 " What a pack of damned fools ! " was my inter 
 nal commentary on every group that passed, and 
 some of them deserved it. But, thank Heaven, 
 I have partially recovered my good humor, can 
 
PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 139 
 
 sympathize with the species, and to some degree 
 feel the sublimity of the great cataract. 
 
 How many of the visitors here deserve to look 
 on it ? I saw in the tower a motherly dame and 
 her daughters, amid the foam and thunder and 
 the tremendous pouring of the waters. "Oh, 
 ma ! (half whispered) he s looking at us ! There, 
 I Ve torn my sash. I must go home and pin it 
 up," etc. 
 
 From Niagara he went to Oswego, Syracuse, 
 to the little Onondaga River, where he inspected 
 the council-house of the Indians, presented to the 
 chiefs gifts of cigars and pipes, and for return 
 extracted what information he could ; thence to 
 Oneida, to the valley of the Mohawk, and home 
 ward by Albany and New York. 
 
 These little notebooks not only show where 
 Frank went and what he did, but by indirection 
 reveal his dutiful character ; for, secluded on 
 back pages, there are accounts of expenditure, 
 kept in boyish-clerkly fashion and somewhat spas 
 modically. Frank had little natural taste for the 
 counting-room virtues, but he wished to please 
 his father, and so we find entries such as these : 
 
 Funds at starting, Tuesday, July 8, 1845 $103.17 
 A bill of credit for $100 more. 
 July 8. Cravat $ .75 
 
 Shave .06 
 
 Cider .04 
 
 Ticket to N. Y. 2. 
 
 " Supper on board .50 
 
140 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 9th Ale .06 
 
 " Boots .12 
 
 Porter .11 
 
 Carriage to Astor H. .50 
 
 Baths .25 
 
 and so on with minute precision till his return. 
 In this same little book, at the top of a page, 
 in among notes of American history, of Indians, 
 of frontiersmen, of journals, of gazettes, and all 
 the heady current of furious historic chase, is 
 written, abbreviated in order to squeeze in amid 
 more important matter : 
 
 M. W. F. Greenleaf 
 
 Tues. T. S. Story 
 
 10-11 o clock 
 
 Story on Bailments Tuesday from 10-11 
 Blackstone on Wednesday 11-12 2 d & 3 d Sections espe 
 cially. 
 
 A poor pennyworth of law to an intolerable deal 
 of border war ; this affords a fair measure of 
 the division of his interest between law and 
 history. 
 
 The next year he lived at home in Boston, 
 partly because his third term at the Law School 
 would be completed on January 16, and partly be 
 cause he was not well ; at times he lay in bed and 
 listened to his little sister, Eliza, read a stumpy 
 little volume of Blackstone, and on one day at 
 least Frithiof s Saga. The girl was shy about 
 reading poetry, and the admired big brother, 
 
PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 141 
 
 perceiving her diffidence, turned and praised 
 her; then and always his careless seeming but 
 instinctive tenderness knit bonds that grew 
 stronger and stronger all their lives. 
 
 In spite of Kent and Blackstone, Frank con 
 tinued to give his almost exclusive interest to 
 historical research, and we find traces of a wide 
 spread correspondence, Ohio, Delaware, Italy, 
 questions and answers about Pontiac, Paxton 
 Boys, Jesuits, etc. Some of these letters were 
 to his cousin, J. Coolidge Shaw, a young man 
 lately converted to Catholicism, then studying 
 in Rome for the priesthood. 
 
 SHAW TO PARKMAN. 
 
 ROME, Nov. 16th, 1845. 
 
 MY DEAR FKANK, I have inquired at the 
 Gesu of Father Glover and Father de Villefort 
 concerning your Canada affairs, but it was in 
 1762 that the Company of Jesus was suppressed 
 in France, and though the missionaries in Can 
 ada were not meddled with, this of course de 
 stroyed the communication between them and 
 the mother country. [Here follows advice as to 
 getting historical information, and the names of 
 several Jesuit Fathers.] If these cannot give 
 you what you seek, I fear it cannot be found. 
 
 Do you think you shall stick to the Law, or 
 cut it in a year or two to give yourself completely 
 to history ? I am glad you have taken this turn, 
 for we want literary men, and a fair historian 
 
142 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 is a great desideratum. ... It was history 
 made Hunter a Catholic ; and I think if you 
 continue it, it will make you one ; . . . and we 
 may live to see the poor Pope stripped of what 
 little earthly power yet remains to him, and 
 as completely a beggar as St. Peter or our 
 Saviour himself ; but we shall see him still the 
 Pope, and his people still look to him as father. 
 Negas ? Well, we shall see. . . . Remember 
 me with all love to Uncle Francis. . . . Tell 
 him we are now studying the treatise De Trini- 
 tate, which I think, if he read it, would convince 
 him that our Lord is not over well pleased at 
 being stripped of his Divinity and only honored 
 as a man when he ought to be worshiped as a 
 God. 
 
 Hope to have the pleasure of reading your 
 work when it is out, and that its success will 
 give you a right to make it your fixed pur 
 suit. . . . 
 
 Truly and affectionately yrs, 
 
 J. C. SHAW. 
 
 With theology and formal religion Frank had 
 little sympathy ; but random comments in his 
 diaries show that all his life he had a " reverent 
 gratitude for Christianity " and a strong senti 
 ment for what he deemed a real and masculine 
 religion. Probably the epithet, " reverent agnos 
 tic," which near, the end of life he accepted in a 
 conversation with his sister, of right belonged to 
 him in youth. Manliness was an essential char 
 acteristic of everything that found favor in his 
 
PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 143 
 
 eyes, and he believed the agnostic position the 
 most manly, for with that belief, so he thought, 
 a man stood on his own feet and faced the 
 universe, asking no prop except his own stout 
 heart. But metaphysics never interested him, 
 and at this time history crowded out every other 
 thought from his mind. 
 
 Frank now perceived that he had reached a 
 point in his studies at which he must take a new 
 course. On his summer excursions he had got 
 much information concerning the Yankee fron 
 tiersman, he had read all the books he could find 
 that dealt with his subject, he had quizzed 
 farmer, antiquarian, and wayfarer for tradition, 
 gossip, hearsay ; he must now study the Indians, 
 not the tamed savages living by the Kennebec, 
 or the Onondaga, but the aboriginal savages, in 
 their homes. He knew that personal knowledge 
 of their life and customs was essential to his 
 work, and now that he had performed the filial 
 duty of taking his lawyer s degree, he felt that it 
 was high time to go westward to the land of the 
 Sioux and the Snakes. Accordingly he gladly 
 accepted a suggestion from Mr. Quincy A. Shaw, 
 Coolidge s brother, he, too, bred upon Cooper 
 and Catlin, to join him and to take a journey 
 towards Oregon and California. 
 
 Already that year, immediately on the comple 
 tion of his third term in the Law School, Frank 
 
144 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 had made a trip to Philadelphia and Baltimore, 
 on which he had acquired certain valuable ex 
 periences carefully jotted down in his notebook : 
 "N. B. Always take a driver s card. . . . N. B. 
 Employ a porter in preference to a carriage for 
 baggage. . . . Always ask for a porter s card 
 see your baggage ticketed in person and get the 
 number of the car that contains it." From this 
 trip he got home about the middle of February, 
 and on March 28th started off again, this time 
 on his memorable expedition upon the Oregon 
 Trail. The careful little record of accounts, in 
 which bills for copying MSS. begin to appear 
 item 11.50, item $5.00, item $25.00 show that 
 he went to New York, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, 
 and so to St. Louis. 
 
 FRANK TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 CINCINNATI, April 9th, 1846. 
 
 DEAR MOTHER, ... To-day I reached 
 Cincinnati, after a two days passage down the 
 Ohio. The boat was good enough though filled 
 with a swarm of half-civilized reprobates, gam 
 bling, swearing, etc., among themselves. . . . The 
 great annoyance on board these boats is the ab 
 surd haste of everybody to gulp down their 
 meals. Ten minutes suffices for dinner, and it 
 requires great skill and assiduity to secure a 
 competent allowance in that space of time. As 
 I don t much fancy this sort of proceeding, I 
 generally manage to carry off from the table 
 
PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 145 
 
 enough to alleviate the pangs of hunger without 
 choking myself. The case is much the same here 
 in the best hotel in Cincinnati. When you sit 
 down, you must begin without delay grab 
 whatever is within your reach, and keep hold of 
 the plate by main force till you have helped 
 yourself. Eat up as many potatoes, onions, or 
 turnips as you can lay hands on ; and take your 
 meat afterwards, whenever you have a chance to 
 get it. It is only by economizing time in this 
 fashion that you can avoid starvation such a 
 set of beasts are these western men. ... In 
 three or four days I shall be at St. Louis, stop 
 ping a short time at Louisville, Kentucky. My 
 eyes are decidedly improved, and my health ex 
 cellent. In going about Cincinnati this morning, 
 I found a most ridiculous piece of architecture, 
 in utter defiance of taste or common sense ; and 
 learned that it was built by Mrs. Trollope during 
 her stay here. ... I am, dear mother, 
 
 Very affectionately yrs, F. P. 
 
 This letter must have crossed two from his 
 sister Caroline. 
 
 CAROLINE TO FRANK. 
 
 April 4, 1846. 
 
 MY DEAR FKANK, ... I don t believe 
 you can form any idea of your importance in our 
 family. We wish for you just as much to-day 
 as we did a week ago, when you left us. I was 
 really truly sorry that I had not a better com 
 mand of myself when you went away, for it is too 
 bad to give way to the feelings and make a leave- 
 
146 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 taking for such a pleasant journey so gloomy. 
 If I could have gone over the goocl-by again, it 
 should have been with smiles rather than tears, 
 for I would not be so selfish as to think of my 
 self, when there is so much pleasure in prospect 
 for you. . . . With true love, 
 
 CARRIE. 
 
 CAROLINE TO FRANK. 
 
 April 7, BOSTON, 1846. 
 
 ... I spent Sunday with Aunt Mary, who 
 misses your visits and the prospect of them very 
 much. I mean to spend a day or two with her 
 every week. Mrs. Swan wished me to give her 
 love to you, and says that she cannot realize 
 that such a quiet little boy as you were should 
 ever be such a " Will-o-the-Wisp." ... I for 
 got to tell you in our last letter how extremely 
 disappointed Perry [his classmate, H. J. Perry] 
 was on coming to see you on the afternoon you 
 had gone. . . . They all send their love, espe 
 cially Elly [his little brother], who misses you 
 very much, as we all do. . . . 
 
 With much love, CARRIE. 
 
 Frank was making notes all the time. He had 
 stopped to see the site of Fort Duquesne, the 
 remains of Fort Pitt, the spot of Braddock s de 
 feat, and various scenes of border war ; nor did 
 he pretermit his practice of making comments 
 on the people he met. " The English reserve or 
 offishness seems to be no part of the western 
 character I observe this trait in myself to- 
 
PREPARATION FOR PONTIAC 147 
 
 day, for instance, when a young fellow expressed 
 satisfaction that he should accompany me to St. 
 Louis, I felt rather inclined to shake him off, 
 though he had made himself agreeable enough." 
 This trait of Parkman s remained with him 
 through life ; it may receive sympathy or blame, 
 according to temperament, or perhaps accord 
 ing to the mood of the moment, but those who, 
 like this young fellow, wished to come within a 
 line beyond which Parkman proposed that they 
 should stay, were sometimes wounded in their 
 vanity. 
 
 He reached St. Louis about the 13th of April, 
 and was soon joined by Shaw. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IN the early part of 1846 Oregon was still the 
 whole country west of the Rocky Mountains, 
 stretching from Mexico (as it was then still un- 
 dispossessed by the United States), on the south, 
 as far north as the parallel 50 40 , and was 
 jointly occupied by Great Britain and the United 
 States, until later in that year the treaty fixed 
 the boundary between them at the 49th par 
 allel. The trail was the somewhat uncertain 
 track followed by emigrants and traders. 
 
 This expedition, which Shaw wished to ex 
 tend to California but could not as Frank had 
 not the time to give, took them into the vast 
 region east of the Rocky Mountains which is 
 now cut up into the States of Nebraska, Colo 
 rado, and Wyoming. 
 
 Parkman and Shaw left St. Louis on the 
 
 28th of April, 1846, on board a river steamboat 
 
 in a somewhat disorderly company of traders, 
 
 adventurers, gamblers, negroes, Indians, and emi- 
 
 1 See The Oregon Trail. 
 
OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL 149 
 
 grants. They landed on the western frontier of 
 Missouri near Kansas City, which they reached 
 the next day. There they made their headquar 
 ters while purchasing horses, mules, and various 
 articles necessary for the journey. Near by, en 
 camped on the prairie, were a multitude of emi 
 grants. Some of them were sober men, inter 
 ested in the doctrine of regeneration, others were 
 rogues from the lowest layer of society, prompted 
 by a forlorn hope of bettering their condition, 
 or by mere restlessness, or perhaps by a wish to 
 shake off the restraints of law and society. 
 Parkman and Shaw did not like such company, 
 and therefore they joined forces with a small 
 party of Englishmen for the sake of mutual 
 protection. 
 
 Their first experiences of the journey westward 
 were a mild foretaste of what was to come. No 
 sooner were the animals put in harness than the 
 shaft-mule reared and plunged, burst ropes and 
 straps, and nearly flung the cart into the Mis 
 souri. The beast was uncontrollable, and an 
 other had to be procured. This done, their cart 
 started, but had barely gone a few miles before 
 it stuck fast in a muddy gully, where it remained 
 for more than an hour. Their outfit was suffi 
 cient but not elaborate. Their guide was dressed 
 in broad felt hat, moccasins, and deerskin trou 
 sers ; he rode a Wyandot pony and carried his 
 
150 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 rifle in front, resting on the pommel of the sad 
 dle, bullet-pouch and powder-horn at his side, 
 and knife in belt. Parkman and Shaw wore 
 flannel shirts, buckskin breeches, and moccasins ; 
 each had a blanket rolled up behind, holsters 
 with heavy pistols, and the trail-rope coiled and 
 fastened to the front of the saddle. Each had 
 a gun, and a horse beside the one he rode. The 
 cart carried the provisions, tent, ammunition, 
 blankets, and presents for Indians. The mule 
 teer, Deslauriers, was a Canadian. 
 
 Neither fatigue, exposure, nor hard labor 
 could ever impair his cheerfulness and gayety, 
 or his politeness to his bourgeois [employer] ; 
 and when night came he would sit down by 
 the fire, smoke his pipe, and tell stories with 
 the utmost contentment. The prairie was his 
 element. 
 
 The guide, Henry Chatillon, was of a much 
 higher type ; he came of a family of French Ca 
 nadians, though he was born in Missouri. He 
 was a tall, powerful, fine-looking fellow. 
 
 The prairies had been his school ; he could 
 neither read nor write, but he had a natural re 
 finement and delicacy of mind, such as is rare 
 even in women. His manly face was a mirror 
 of uprightness, simplicity, and kindness of heart ; 
 he had, moreover, a keen perception of charac 
 ter, and a tact that would preserve him from 
 flagrant error in any society. He had not the 
 
OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL 151 
 
 restless energy of an Anglo- American. He was 
 content to take things as he found them ; and 
 his chief fault arose from an excess of easy gen 
 erosity not conducive to thriving in the world. 
 Yet it was commonly remarked of him that, 
 whatever he might choose to do with what 
 belonged to himself, the property of others was 
 always safe in his hands. His bravery was as 
 much celebrated in the mountains as his skill in 
 hunting ; but it is characteristic of him that, in 
 a country where the rifle is the chief arbiter be 
 tween man and man, he was very seldom in 
 volved in quarrels. Once or twice, indeed, his 
 quiet good-nature had been mistaken and pre 
 sumed upon, but the consequences of the error 
 were such that no one was ever known to repeat 
 it. No better evidence of the intrepidity of his 
 temper could be asked than the common report 
 that he had killed more than thirty grizzly bears. 
 I have never, in the city or in the wilderness, 
 met a better man than my true-hearted friend, 
 Henry Chatillon. 
 
 After a few days of varied discomforts, chief 
 of which were insects and thunderstorms, they 
 came to the Big Blue River, which they crossed 
 on a raft, and then they struck the regular trail 
 of the Oregon emigrants. Soon they came upon 
 a party of them. 
 
 These were the first emigrants that we had 
 overtaken, although we had found abundant and 
 melancholy traces of their progress throughout 
 the course of the journey. Sometimes we passed 
 
152 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the grave of one who had sickened and died on 
 the way. The earth was usually torn up, and 
 covered thickly with wolf -tracks. Some had es 
 caped this violation. One morning a piece of 
 plank, standing upright on the summit of a 
 grassy hill, attracted our notice, and riding up 
 to it, we found the following words very roughly 
 traced upon it, apparently with a red-hot iron : 
 
 MARY ELLIS 
 Died May 7th, 1845. 
 Aged two mouths. 
 
 Such tokens were of common occurrence. 
 
 Here a small emigrant train was invited by 
 the Englishmen to join company with them, 
 much to the disgust of Parkman and Shaw, as 
 the emigrant wagons drawn by oxen must ne 
 cessarily hinder their progress. The emigrants 
 themselves, however, were good fellows, and all 
 journeyed on in amity ; in one respect the addi 
 tion was an advantage, for every night two men 
 mounted guard, and with a greater number each 
 man s turn came round less frequently. Park 
 man rather enjoyed his watches in spite of loss 
 of sleep and rest. 
 
 A few days journey brought them to the top 
 of some sand-hills, from which they could see 
 the valley of the Platte. 
 
 We all drew rein, and sat joyfully looking 
 down upon the prospect. It was right welcome, 
 strange, too, and striking to the imagination ; 
 
OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL 153 
 
 and yet it had not one picturesque or beauti 
 ful feature ; nor had it any of the features of 
 grandeur, other than its vast extent, its soli 
 tude, and its wildness. For league after league a 
 plain as level as a lake was outspread beneath 
 us ; here and there the Platte, divided into a 
 dozen thread-like sluices, was traversing it, and 
 an occasional clump of wood, rising in the midst 
 like a shadowy island, relieved the monotony of 
 the waste. No living thing was moving through 
 out the vast landscape, except the lizards that 
 darted over the sand and through the rank grass 
 and prickly pears at our feet. [From here their 
 course lay westward through a long, narrow, 
 sandy plain, flanked by two lines of sand-hills, 
 and stretching nearly to the foot of the Rocky 
 Mountains. Before and behind them the plain 
 spread level to the horizon.] Sometimes it glared 
 in the sun, an expanse of hot bare sand ; some 
 times it was veiled by long coarse grass. Skulls 
 and whitening bones of buffalo were scattered 
 everywhere ; the ground was tracked by myriads 
 of them. . . . The naked landscape is, of itself, 
 dreary and monotonous enough; and yet the 
 wild beasts and wild men that frequent the val 
 ley of the Platte make it a scene of interest and 
 excitement to the traveler. Of those who have 
 journeyed there, scarcely one, perhaps, fails to 
 look back with fond regret to his horse and his 
 rifle. [Here they made acquaintance with the 
 Pawnee Indians, an idle, thieving tribe. Many 
 stories of their depredations were current, and 
 the travelers kept careful watch. The weather 
 was most fitful.] This very morning, for in- 
 
154 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 stance, was close and sultry, the sun rising with 
 a faint oppressive heat ; when suddenly darkness 
 gathered in the west, and a furious blast of sleet 
 and hail drove full in our faces, icy cold, and 
 urged with such demoniac vehemence that it felt 
 like a storm of needles. It was curious to see 
 the horses ; they faced about in extreme dis 
 pleasure, holding their tails like whipped dogs, 
 and shivering as the angry gusts, howling louder 
 than a concert of wolves, swept over us. Wright s 
 [the Englishmen s muleteer] long train of mules 
 came sweeping round before the storm, like a 
 flight of snow-birds driven by a winter tempest. 
 . . . The thing was too good to last long ; and 
 the instant the puffs of wind subsided we pitched 
 our tents, and remained in camp for the rest of 
 a gloomy and lowering day. 
 
 [The even tenor of the journey was soon broken 
 by the presence of buffalo. Their tracks had 
 been frequent for some days, and a few stray 
 bulls had been shot, but before this no herd had 
 been seen.] One day somebody cried, " Buffalo, 
 buffalo ! " It was but a grim old bull, roaming 
 the prairie by himself in misanthropic seclusion ; 
 but there might be more behind the hills. Dread 
 ing the monotony and languor of the camp, Shaw 
 and I saddled our horses, buckled our holsters 
 in their places, and set out with Henry Chatillon 
 in search of the game. Henry, not intending to 
 take part in the chase, but merely conducting 
 us, carried his rifle with him, while we left ours 
 behind as incumbrances. We rode for some five 
 or six miles, and saw no living thing but wolves, 
 snakes, and prairie-dogs. . . . The ground was 
 
OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL 155 
 
 none of the best for a race, and grew worse as 
 we proceeded ; indeed, it soon became desperately 
 bad, consisting of abrupt hills and deep hol 
 lows, cut by frequent ravines not easy to pass. 
 At length, a mile in advance, we saw a band of 
 bulls. Some were scattered grazing over a green 
 declivity, while the rest were crowded together 
 in the wide hollow below. Making a circuit, to 
 keep out of sight, we rode towards them, until 
 we ascended a hill within a furlong of them, be 
 yond which nothing intervened that could pos 
 sibly screen us from their view. We dismounted 
 behind the ridge, just out of sight, drew our 
 saddle-girths, examined our pistols, and mount 
 ing again, rode over the hill and descended at a 
 canter towards them, bending close to our horses 
 necks. Instantly they took the alarm ; those on 
 the hill descended, those below gathered into a 
 mass, and the whole got into motion, shouldering 
 each other along at a clumsy gallop. We fol 
 lowed, spurring our horses to full speed ; and as 
 the herd rushed, crowding and trampling in ter 
 ror through an opening in the hills, we were close 
 at their heels, half suffocated by the clouds of 
 dust. But as we drew near, their alarm and speed 
 increased ; our horses, being new to the work, 
 showed signs of the utmost fear, bounding vio 
 lently aside as we approached, and refusing to 
 enter among the herd. The buffalo now broke 
 into several small bodies, scampering over the 
 hills in different directions, and I lost sight of 
 Shaw ; neither of us knew where the other had 
 gone. Old Pontiac [Parkman s horse] ran like a 
 frantic elephant uphill and down hill, his pon- 
 
156 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 derous hoofs striking the prairies like sledge 
 hammers. He showed a curious mixture of 
 eagerness and terror, straining to overtake the 
 panic-stricken herd, but constantly recoiling in 
 dismay as we drew near. The fugitives, indeed, 
 offered no very attractive spectacle, with their 
 shaggy manes and the tattered remnants of their 
 last winter s hair covering their backs in irregu 
 lar shreds and patches, and flying off in the wind 
 as they ran. At length I urged my horse close 
 behind a bull, and after trying in vain by blows 
 and spurring to bring him alongside, I fired from 
 this disadvantageous position. At the report 
 Pontiac swerved so much that I was again 
 thrown a little behind the game. The bullet, 
 entering too much in the rear, failed to disable 
 the bull, for a buffalo requires to be shot at par 
 ticular points or he will certainly escape. The 
 herd ran up a hill, and I followed in pursuit. 
 As Pontiac rushed headlong down on the other 
 side, I saw Shaw and Henry descending the 
 hollow on the right at a leisurely gallop ; and in 
 front the buffalo were just disappearing behind 
 the crest of the next hill, their short tails erect, 
 and their hoofs twinkling through a cloud of 
 dust. 
 
 At that moment I heard Shaw and Henry shout 
 ing to me ; but the muscles of a stronger arm than 
 mine could not have checked at once the furious 
 course of Pontiac, whose mouth was as insensible 
 as leather. Added to this, I rode him that morn 
 ing with a snaffle, having the day before, for the 
 benefit of my other horse, unbuckled from my bri 
 dle the curb which I commonly used. A stronger 
 
OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL 157 
 
 and hardier brute never trod the prairie ; but the 
 novel sight of the buffalo filled him with terror, 
 and when at full speed he was almost incontrol- 
 lable. Gaining the top of the ridge, I saw nothing 
 of the buffalo ; they had all vanished amid the 
 intricacies of the hills and hollows. Reloading 
 my pistols in the best way I could, I galloped on 
 until I saw them again scuttling along at the base 
 of the hill, their panic somewhat abated. Down 
 went old Pontiac among them, scattering them 
 to the right and left ; and then we had another 
 long chase. About a dozen bulls were before us 
 scouring over the hills, rushing down the decliv 
 ities with tremendous weight and impetuosity, 
 and then laboring with a weary gallop upward. 
 Still Pontiac, in spite of spurring and beating, 
 would not close with them. One bull at length 
 fell a little behind the rest, and by dint of much 
 effort I urged my horse within six or eight yards 
 of his side. His back was darkened with sweat ; 
 he was panting heavily, while his tongue lolled 
 out a foot from his jaws. Gradually I came up 
 abreast of him, urging Pontiac with leg and rein 
 nearer to his side, when suddenly he did what 
 buffalo in such circumstances will always do, 
 he slackened his gallop, and turning towards us, 
 with an aspect of mingled rage and distress, low 
 ered his huge, shaggy head for a charge. Pontiac, 
 with a snort, leaped aside in terror, nearly throw 
 ing me to the ground, as I was wholly unprepared 
 for such an evolution. I raised my pistol in a 
 passion to strike him in the head, but think 
 ing better of it, fired the bullet after the bull, 
 who had resumed his flight ; then drew rein, and 
 
158 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 determined to join my companions. It was high 
 time. The breath blew hard from Pontiac s nos 
 trils, and the sweat rolled in big drops down his 
 sides ; I felt myself as if drenched in warm water. 
 ... I looked about for some indications to show 
 me where I was, and what course I ought to pur 
 sue. I might as well have looked for landmarks 
 in the midst of the ocean. How many miles I 
 had run, or in what direction, I had no idea ; 
 and around me the prairie was rolling in steep 
 swells and pitches, without a single distinctive 
 feature to guide me. I had a little compass hung 
 at my neck ; and ignorant that the Platte at 
 this point diverged considerably from its east 
 erly course, I thought that by keeping to the 
 northward I should certainly reach it. So I 
 turned and rode about two hours in that direc 
 tion. The prairie changed as I advanced, soften 
 ing away into easier undulations, but nothing 
 like the Platte appeared, nor any sign of a 
 human being : the same wild, endless expanse 
 lay around me still ; and to all appearance I was 
 as far from my object as ever. I began now to 
 think myself in danger of being lost, and, rein 
 ing in my horse, summoned the scanty share of 
 woodcraft that I possessed (if that term be appli 
 cable on the prairie) to extricate me. It occurred 
 to me that the buffalo might prove my best guides. 
 I soon found one of the paths made by them in 
 their passage to the river ; it ran nearly at right 
 angles to my course ; but turning my horse s head 
 in the direction it indicated, his freer gait and 
 erected ears assured me that I was right. . . . 
 Being now free from anxiety, I was at leisure 
 
OFF ON THE OREGON TRAIL 159 
 
 to observe minutely the objects around me ; and 
 here for the first time I noticed insects wholly 
 different from any of the varieties found far 
 ther eastward. Gaudy butterflies fluttered about 
 my horse s head ; strangely formed beetles, glit 
 tering with metallic lustre, were crawling upon 
 plants that I had never seen before ; multitudes 
 of lizards, too, were darting like lightning over 
 the sand. 
 
 He followed the buffalo path until at last he 
 came in sight of the river, and then with the aid 
 of Pontiac he found the emigrant trail, and see 
 ing that his party had not passed he turned to 
 meet them. 
 
 Having been slightly ill on leaving camp in 
 the morning, six or seven hours of rough riding 
 had fatigued me extremely. I soon stopped, there 
 fore, flung my saddle on the ground, and with my 
 head resting on it, and my horse s trail-rope tied 
 loosely to my arm, lay waiting the arrival of the 
 party, speculating meanwhile on the extent of the 
 injuries Pontiac had received. 
 
 Soon afterwards Shaw and the mule-team came 
 up, and the party resumed their way. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE OGILLALLAH 
 
 ON June 8th the party forded the South Fork of 
 the Platte. Here they parted from their com 
 panions. The Englishmen affected authority to 
 decide when and where they should encamp, and 
 were domineering in their bearing ; so Parkman 
 and Shaw, careless of the security afforded by 
 numbers, took a somewhat abrupt leave, and, 
 having less baggage, soon left the others behind. 
 They pushed on along the North Fork of the 
 Platte without adventures, beyond meeting a Da 
 kota village wandering along in rude procession 
 under the command of Old Smoke, and crossed 
 what is now the boundary between Nebraska 
 and Wyoming. They forded Laramie Creek, 
 the southern of two streams that unite just east 
 of Fort Laramie to form the North Fork of the 
 Platte, and, a short distance beyond, arrived at 
 the fort. This post was occupied, not by a gar 
 rison of United States troops, as the name might 
 suggest, for in fact the nearest soldiers were 
 seven hundred miles to the east, but by servants 
 
THE OGILLALLAH 161 
 
 of the American Fur Company, who bought 
 skins and furs of the trappers and Indians. The 
 scene was like that in a French fort on the fron 
 tier a hundred years before. The fort itself, 
 built of bricks dried in the sun, was oblong in 
 shape. Its walls were about fifteen feet high, 
 and were fortified at two of the corners by 
 blockhouses built of clay. Within, the area was 
 divided by a partition ; on one side was a court 
 surrounded by storerooms, offices, and bed 
 rooms ; on the other side was an inclosure where 
 the horses and mules were shut in at night. The 
 inhabitants were a motley crew. There were 
 the servants of the company, men of French Ca 
 nadian blood, in breeding and education not 
 much above their friends the Indians, who loafed 
 about with solemn faces in white buffalo robes, 
 or dozed in the sunshine. There were gayly 
 painted squaws in large numbers, a troop of 
 mongrel children tumbling about, and half-breed 
 trappers, who had either just come back from 
 a trapping expedition or were about to start. 
 Parkman and Shaw were hospitably received. 
 The chamber, ordinarily occupied by the bour 
 geois [the " boss "] of the post, who was absent, 
 was put at their disposal. Its furniture was a 
 bare bedstead, two chairs, a chest of drawers, 
 and a pail ; buffalo robes were stretched on the 
 floor for beds, as the bedstead was only an orna- 
 
162 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 ment. On the wall, side by side, hung a crucifix 
 and a fresh scalp. The food consisted of dried 
 buffalo meat, " an excellent thing for strength 
 ening the teeth," and cakes of bread. Here they 
 stayed several days, observing the ways and cus 
 toms of their hosts and of the Indians. Old 
 Smoke s village had encamped near by, and they 
 used to go there and spend most of their even 
 ings. 
 
 Parkman was very glad to observe the Indian 
 at home, but he desired with greater eagerness 
 to study him on the warpath ; for this an op 
 portunity seemed to be at hand. The son of an 
 Ogillallah chief, The Whirlwind, had been killed 
 by the Snake Indians; and in revenge The 
 Whirlwind had roused all the Dakota villages 
 within three hundred miles to take part in a 
 campaign against the Snakes. The Ogillallah In 
 dians belong to the Dakota or Sioux tribe, and 
 their kith and kin, having also grievances of 
 their own against the Snakes, acknowledged their 
 duty to punish the injury, and many villages, 
 making altogether five thousand persons or more, 
 were already on the march to the appointed 
 meeting ground on the river Platte. There they 
 were to celebrate the solemn rites which in In 
 dian usage precede a campaign, and then the war 
 riors, one thousand strong, were to start on the 
 warpath. " I was greatly rejoiced to hear of it. I 
 
THE OGILLALLAH 163 
 
 had come into the country chiefly with a view of 
 observing the Indian character. To accomplish 
 my purpose it was necessary to live in the midst 
 of them, and become, as it were, one of them. I 
 proposed to join a village, and make myself an 
 inmate of one of their lodges." The first plan 
 had been to join Old Smoke s village, but Henry 
 Chatillon, the guide, was very anxious to go to 
 The Whirlwind s village to see his squaw, who 
 belonged to that village, and was there very ill, 
 so Parkman changed his plan to accord with 
 Chatillon s desire. Parkman was not well he 
 says : - 
 
 I had been slightly ill for several weeks, but 
 on the third night after reaching Fort Laramie 
 a violent pain awoke me, and I found myself 
 attacked by the same disorder that occasioned 
 such heavy losses to the army on the Rio Grande 
 [Mexican war]. In a day and a half I was re 
 duced to extreme weakness, so that I could not 
 walk without pain and effort. Having no medi 
 cal adviser, nor any choice of diet, I resolved to 
 throw myself upon Providence for recovery, 
 using, without regard to the disorder, any por 
 tion of strength that might remain to me. So 
 on the twentieth of June we set out from 
 Fort Laramie to meet The Whirlwind s village. 
 Though aided by the high-bowed " mountain- 
 saddle," I could scarcely keep my seat on horse 
 back. 
 
 They halted at a spot on Laramie Creek which 
 
164 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 The Whirlwind must necessarily pass on his way 
 to the meeting place, and there pitched their 
 camp to await his coming. Days went by, but 
 the dilatory Whirlwind did not come. 
 
 If our camp was not altogether safe [a troop 
 of hostile Indians had passed within rifle-shot, but 
 had missed them on account of a heavy mist], still 
 it was comfortable enough ; at least it was so to 
 Shaw, for I was tormented with illness and vexed 
 by the delay in the accomplishment of my designs. 
 When a respite in my disorder gave me some 
 returning strength, I rode out well armed upon 
 the prairie, or bathed with Shaw in the stream, 
 or waged a petty warfare with the inhabitants 
 of a neighboring prairie-dog village. Around our 
 fire at night we employed ourselves in inveighing 
 against the fickleness and inconstancy of Indians, 
 and execrating The Whirlwind and all his crew. 
 
 Parkman s impatience could brook the delay 
 no longer, so he rode back to the fort, which was 
 about eighteen miles distant, to learn what news 
 he could of the war. At the fort, to his surprise, 
 he found The Whirlwind, whom the traders, in 
 their zeal to prevent any detriment to trade, were 
 urging to abandon the warpath. The Whirlwind 
 was fickle, and it seemed likely that the traders 
 would persuade him. Parkman returned to his 
 camp in great vexation, for his philanthropy, as 
 he said, was no match for his curiosity to sec the 
 Indian on the warpath ; but he tried with poor 
 
THE OGILLALLAH 165 
 
 success to console himself with the thought that 
 he avoided a very fair chance of being plun 
 dered, and perhaps stabbed or shot into the 
 bargain. In a few days, however, they were 
 cheered by the arrival of a young chief from The 
 Whirlwind s village, who stated that The Whirl 
 wind had not been persuaded to abandon the war 
 path, and was on his way to the meeting place, 
 and would arrive at the spot where Parkman was 
 encamped in two days ; and so it came to pass. 
 Parties of Indians arrived by twos and threes, 
 and then the main village in disorderly array 
 straggled to the camping ground, and pitched 
 their lodges, above one hundred and fifty in num 
 ber. Here they lingered for several days ; Park- 
 man made friends with the warriors and learned 
 their several histories. 
 
 After tarrying at this place long enough to 
 allow a proper period for vacillation, The Whirl 
 wind made up his mind not to repair to the meet 
 ing place of the war-party, but to cross the Black 
 Hills and proceed to the hunting grounds be 
 yond, so that his people might secure enough 
 buffalo meat for the coming season, and fresh 
 skins for their lodges. When that should have 
 been done, The Whirlwind proposed to send a 
 band of warriors against the enemy. Parkman 
 and Shaw held a council together whether to go 
 to the meeting place in the hope of finding other 
 
166 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 bands of Dakota there, or to abide with The 
 Whirlwind s village and share its fortunes. They 
 chose the latter course, and started on July first 
 with the Indians, but before they had ridden 
 many miles a message came from a fur trader, 
 Bisonette, whom they had met at the fort, saying 
 that he was going to the meeting place and 
 urging them to go, too ; so they changed their 
 minds, parted company with The Whirlwind, who 
 was westward bound, and turned their horses 
 heads to the north. On the third day they 
 reached the appointed place, but found neither 
 Indians nor Bisonette. They dismounted and 
 relieved their indignation with tobacco and criti 
 cism of the whole aboriginal race in America. 
 
 For myself, I was vexed beyond measure ; as 
 I well knew that a slight aggravation of my dis 
 order would render this false step irrevocable, 
 and make it impossible to accomplish effectually 
 the object which had led me an arduous journey of 
 between three and four thousand miles. . . . After 
 supper that evening, as we sat round the fire, I 
 proposed to Shaw to wait one day longer, in hopes 
 of Bisonette s arrival, and if he should not come, 
 to send the [muleteer] with the cart and baggage 
 back to Fort Laramie, while we ourselves followed 
 The Whirlwind s village, and attempted to over 
 take it as it passed the mountains. Shaw, not 
 having the same motive for hunting Indians that 
 I had, was averse to the plan ; I therefore re 
 solved to go alone. This design I adopted very 
 
THE OGILLALLAH 167 
 
 unwillingly, for I knew that in the present state 
 of my health the attempt would be painful and 
 hazardous. I hoped that Bisonette would appear 
 in the course of the following day, and bring us 
 some information by which to direct our course. 
 
 But Bisonette did not come, though Shaw took 
 a day s ride to find him, and the next morning 
 Parkman made ready to start. He had exchanged 
 Pontiac for a fleet little mare, Pauline, and all 
 his baggage was tied by leather thongs to her 
 saddle. In front of the black, high-bowed moun 
 tain-saddle were fastened holsters with heavy 
 pistols. A pair of saddle-bags, a blanket tightly 
 rolled, a small parcel of Indian presents tied up 
 in buffalo skin, a leather bag of flour, and a 
 smaller one of tea, were all secured behind, and 
 a long trail-rope was wound round her neck. 
 Raymond had a strong black mule equipped in 
 a similar manner. They crammed their powder- 
 horns to the throat and mounted. Eaymond was 
 a French Canadian trapper hired as guide the 
 week before. " I will meet you at Fort Laramie 
 on the first of August," said Parkman to Shaw. 
 So they parted ; Parkman and Raymond rode 
 off in the direction taken by The Whirlwind s 
 village, and Shaw after some misadventures re 
 turned, under the compulsion of ivy-poison, to 
 the fort. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A ROUGH JOURNEY 
 
 PARKMAN S way led across wide plains and rough 
 ridges of hills, all cracked and split with fissure 
 and ravine, and dazzling white under the burn 
 ing sun ; no trees cheered the waste, except a 
 stray pine here and there. But at sunset they 
 came upon a line of thick bushes which clothed 
 the banks of a little stream ; here they dis 
 mounted, made their fire, and, wrapped in their 
 blankets, fell fast asleep, in complete disregard 
 of howling wolves. In the early morning the 
 animals were grazing and Raymond had gone 
 for a shot at an antelope, when on a sudden 
 Pauline broke her hobbles and galloped off, and 
 the mule bounded after her as best he could on 
 his hobbled legs. Raymond, still near enough to 
 hear Parkman s call, ran in pursuit, and soon all 
 three were out of sight, leaving Parkman, too 
 weak to join in the chase, to his meditations. 
 
 It seemed scarcely possible that the animals 
 could be recovered. If they were not, my situa 
 tion was one of serious difficulty. Shaw, when I 
 
A ROUGH JOURNEY 109 
 
 left him, had decided to move that morning, but 
 whither he had not determined. To look for him 
 would be a vain attempt. Fort Laramie was 
 forty miles distant, and I could not walk a mile 
 without great effort. Not then having learned 
 the philosophy of yielding to disproportionate 
 obstacles, I resolved, come what would, to con 
 tinue the pursuit of the Indians. Only one plan 
 occurred to me : this was, to send Raymond to 
 the fort with an order for more horses, while I 
 remained on the spot, awaiting his return, which 
 might take place within three days. But to re 
 main stationary and alone for three days in a 
 country full of dangerous Indians was not the 
 most flattering of prospects. Resolving these 
 matters, I grew hungry; and as our stock of 
 provisions, except four or five pounds of flour, 
 was by this time exhausted, I left the camp to 
 see what game I could find. 
 
 A further danger was that Raymond might 
 catch the animals and not return. But Raymond 
 was faithful ; after a chase of ten miles and 
 more, he caught the fugitives, and Parkman was 
 able to start again upon his westward course in 
 the afternoon, but they were not destined to 
 make much progress that day. A tremendous 
 storm deluged them. After a time a blue rift 
 appeared in the clouds, and, growing larger, 
 made room for a rainbow ; the sun shone warm 
 on the plain, and revealed a belt of woods in 
 front, which proffered a good place for camp. 
 
170 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Raymond kindled a fire with great difficulty. 
 The animals turned eagerly to feed on the soft 
 rich grass, while I, wrapping myself in my 
 blanket, lay down and gazed on the evening 
 landscape. The mountains, whose stern features 
 had frowned upon us so gloomily, seemed lighted 
 up with a benignant smile, and the green, wav 
 ing undulations of the plain were gladdened with 
 warm sunshine. Wet, ill, and wearied as I was, 
 my heart grew lighter at the view, and I drew 
 from it an augury of good. 
 
 The next day they struck Laramie Creek, and 
 following the stream found marks of the Indians 
 at the point where they had forded the river. 
 Delighted to find the trail, Parkman and Ray 
 mond dined on haunch of antelope, and in high 
 spirits made ready to follow ; but as Parkman 
 was saddling the exhausted Pauline, she stag 
 gered and fell. With an effort she regained her 
 feet, and was able to carry her master at a slow 
 pace. The trail was clear at one spot where ant 
 hills held the dint of trailing lodge-poles, at 
 another it disappeared on flinty ground ; then it 
 became visible again where the leaves of the 
 prickly pear showed bruises. Towards evening 
 they lost the trail completely, but far away, a 
 little to their right, in a black valley at the foot 
 of Mount Laramie, which rose in purple dark 
 ness above its fellow peaks, they could see volumes 
 of smoke curling upward. At first they were 
 
A ROUGH JOURNEY 171 
 
 inclined to ride thither, but reflection dissuaded 
 them, and they afterward had reason to believe 
 that the smoke was raised as a decoy by hostile 
 Crows. That night they lay beside Laramie 
 Creek, and at daybreak Parkman plunged in, 
 and for the moment felt the tingling of health ; 
 but the sensation was momentary ; as soon as he 
 was in the saddle, he says, " I hung as usual in 
 my seat, scarcely able to hold myself erect." 
 
 From where they were they could see a pass 
 in the mountain wall, which gave cause to think 
 that the Indians had gone through it. 
 
 We reached the gap, which was like a deep 
 notch cut into the mountain ridge, and here we 
 soon found an ant-hill furrowed with the mark 
 of a lodge-pole. This was quite enough ; there 
 could be no doubt now. As we rode on, the open 
 ing growing narrower, the Indians had been com 
 pelled to march in closer order, and the traces 
 became numerous and distinct. The gap termi 
 nated in a rocky gateway, leading into a rough 
 and steep defile, between two precipitous moun 
 tains. Here grass and weeds were bruised to frag 
 ments by the throng that had passed through. 
 We moved slowly over the rocks, up the passage, 
 and in this toilsome manner advanced for an hour 
 or two, bare precipices, hundreds of feet high, 
 shooting up on either hand. Raymond, with his 
 hardy mule, was a few rods before me when we 
 came to the foot of an ascent steeper than the 
 rest, and which I trusted might be the highest 
 
172 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 point of the defile. Pauline strained upward for 
 a few yards, moaning and stumbling, and then 
 came to a dead stop, unable to proceed farther. 
 I dismounted, and attempted to lead her ; but 
 my own exhausted strength soon gave out, so I 
 loosened the trail-rope from her neck, and tying 
 it round my arm, crawled up on my hands and 
 knees. I gained the top, totally spent, the sweat- 
 drops trickling from my forehead. Pauline stood 
 like a statue by my side, her shadow falling upon 
 the scorching rock ; and in this shade, for there 
 was no other, I lay for some time, scarcely able 
 to move a limb. All around, the black crags, 
 sharp as needles at the top, stood baking in the 
 sun, without tree or bush or blade of grass to 
 cover their nakedness. The whole scene seemed 
 parched with a pitiless, insufferable heat. [After 
 a pause Parkman was able to mount again, and 
 they descended the defile on the farther side ; 
 here they were cheered by a clump of trees, a 
 fringe of grass, and a little icy brook. At the 
 foot of the mountains lay a plain, a half dozen 
 miles across and bad riding, and beyond the 
 plain there were thick woods and more moun 
 tains ; through these a rocky passage wound 
 among gigantic cliffs and led into a second 
 plain. Here they stopped to eat.] When we 
 had finished our meal Raymond struck fire, and 
 lighting his pipe, sat down at the foot of a tree 
 to smoke. For some time I observed him puffing 
 away with a face of unusual solemnity. Then 
 slowly taking the pipe from his lips, he iooked 
 up and remarked that we had better not go any 
 farther. " Why not ? " asked I. He said that the 
 
A ROUGH JOURNEY 173 
 
 country was become very dangerous, that we 
 were entering the range of the Snakes, Arapa- 
 hoes, and Gros-ventre Blackfeet, and that if any 
 of their wandering parties should meet us, it 
 would cost us our lives ; but he added, with 
 blunt fidelity, that he would go anywhere I 
 wished. I told him to bring up the animals, 
 and mounting them we proceeded again. I con 
 fess that, as we moved forward, the prospect 
 seemed but a doubtful one. I would have given 
 the world for my ordinary elasticity of body and 
 mind, and for a horse of such strength and spirit 
 as the journey required. Closer and closer the 
 rocks gathered round us, growing taller and 
 steeper, and pressing more and more upon our 
 path. We entered at length a defile which, in 
 its way, I never have seen rivaled. The moun 
 tain-was cracked from top to bottom, and we 
 were creeping along the bottom of the fissure, in 
 dampness and gloom, with the clink of hoofs on 
 the loose shingly rocks, and the hoarse murmur 
 ing of a petulant brook which kept us company. 
 . . . Looking up, we could see a narrow ribbon 
 of bright blue sky between the dark edges of the 
 opposing cliffs. This did not last long. The pas 
 sage soon widened, and sunbeams found their 
 way down, flashing upon the black waters. The 
 defile would spread to many rods in width ; 
 then we would be moving again in darkness. 
 The passage seemed about four miles long, and 
 before we reached the end of it the unshod hoofs 
 of our animals were broken, and their legs cut 
 by the sharp stones. Issuing from the mountain, 
 we found another plain. All around it stood a 
 
174 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 circle of precipices that seemed the impersona 
 tion of Silence and Solitude. 
 
 From this amphitheatre there was but one 
 outlet, over a low hill, and beyond that the 
 prairie spread wide and desolate. Here they 
 dismounted for the night and dined on their 
 last bit of antelope steak. Parkman was about 
 to shoot a rabbit, in order to replenish their 
 larder, but Raymond out of not unnecessary 
 caution stopped him, for fear lest the report 
 might attract visitors. 
 
 That night for the first time we considered 
 that the danger to which we were exposed was 
 of a somewhat serious character ; and to those 
 who are unacquainted with Indians it may seem 
 strange that our chief apprehensions arose from 
 the supposed proximity of the people whom we 
 intended to visit. Had any straggling party of 
 these faithful friends caught sight of us from 
 the hilltop, they would probably have returned 
 in the night to plunder us of our horses, and 
 perhaps of our scalps. But the prairie is unfa 
 vorable to nervousness ; and I presume that 
 neither Raymond nor I thought twice of the 
 matter that evening. [The next day they lost 
 the trail again on a broad flat plain, with no 
 thing in front but a long line of hills. Raymond 
 became discouraged.] " Now," said he, " we had 
 better turn round." But as Raymond s bourgeois 
 thought otherwise, we descended the hill and be 
 gan to cross the plain. We had come so far that 
 
A ROUGH JOURNEY 175 
 
 neither Pauline s limbs nor my own could carry 
 me back to Fort Laramie. I considered that 
 the lines of expediency and inclination tallied 
 exactly, and that the most prudent course was 
 to keep forward. 
 
 On they went, and drearily climbed the far- 
 off hills ; from the top Parkman discerned a few 
 dark spots moving, which he took to be buffalo, 
 but Raymond shouted " Horses ! " and galloped 
 on, lashing his mule to its best pace, and in a 
 few minutes, standing in a circle, they saw the 
 lodges of the Ogillallah. " Never, says Parkman, 
 "did the heart of wanderer more gladden at the 
 sight of home than did mine at the sight of that 
 Indian camp." 
 
 There, after the customary ceremony of shak 
 ing hands with everybody, the first business was 
 to choose a host, and after inquiry Parkman de 
 cided to partake of Big Crow s hospitality. 
 
 So Raymond and I rode up to the entrance 
 of Big Crow s lodge. A squaw came out imme 
 diately and took our horses. I put aside the 
 leather flap that- covered the low opening, and, 
 stooping, entered the Big Crow s dwelling. There 
 I could see the chief in the dim light, seated at 
 one side, on a pile of buffalo robes. He greeted 
 me with a guttural " How, cola ! " I requested 
 Reynal [a Canadian acquaintance hunting with 
 the Indians] to tell him that Raymond and I were 
 come to live with him. The Big Crow gave an- 
 
176 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 other low exclamation. The announcement may 
 seem intrusive, but, in fact, every Indian in the 
 village would have deemed himself honored that 
 white men should give such preference to his hos 
 pitality. The squaw spread a buffalo robe for us 
 in the guest s place at the head of the lod<. Our 
 saddles were brought in, and scarcely were we 
 seated upon them before the place was thronged 
 with Indians, crowding in to see us. The Big 
 Crow produced his pipe and filled it with the 
 mixture of tobacco and shongsasha, or red willow 
 bark. Round and round it passed, and a lively 
 conversation went forward. Meanwhile a squaw 
 placed before the two guests a wooden bowl of 
 boiled buffalo-meat ; but unhappily this was not 
 the only banquet destined to be inflicted on us. 
 One after another, boys and young squaws thrust 
 their heads in at the opening, to invite us to 
 various feasts in different parts of the village. 
 For half an hour and more we were actively en 
 gaged in passing from lodge to lodge, tasting in 
 each of the bowl of meat set before us, and inhal 
 ing a whiff or two from our entertainer s pipe. 
 
 The Whirlwind was not there ; he had not 
 come, rumor said, from fear of going so far into 
 the enemy s country, for the. village was now 
 encamped on the Snake hunting ground ; the 
 main body of the community had disregarded 
 his authority, and were on their way to hunt the 
 buffalo. 
 
 The next day brought with it a return of hos 
 pitality. 
 
A ROUGH JOURNEY 177 
 
 I intended that day to give the Indians a 
 feast, by way of conveying a favorable impres 
 sion of my character and dignity ; and a white 
 dog is the dish which the customs of the Dakota 
 prescribe for all occasions of formality and im 
 portance. I consulted Reynal : he soon discovered 
 that an old woman in the next lodge was owner 
 of the white dog [a big dog on which Parkman 
 had cast his eye]. I took a gaudy cotton hand 
 kerchief, and, laying it on the ground, arranged 
 some vermilion, beads, and other trinkets upon it. 
 Then the old squaw was summoned. I pointed to 
 the dog and to the handkerchief. She gave a 
 scream of delight, snatched up the prize, and van 
 ished with it into her lodge. For a few more trifles, 
 I engaged the services of two other squaws, each 
 of whom took the white dog by one of his paws, 
 and led him away behind the lodges. Having 
 killed him they threw him into a fire to singe ; 
 then chopped him up and put him into two large 
 kettles to boil. Meanwhile I told Raymond to 
 fry in buffalo-fat what little flour we had left, 
 and also to make a kettle of tea as an additional 
 luxury. The Big Crow s squaw was briskly at 
 work sweeping out the lodge for the approaching 
 festivity. I confided to my host himself the task 
 of inviting the guests, thinking that I might 
 thereby shift from my own shoulders the odium 
 of neglect and oversight. When feasting is in 
 question one hour of the day serves an Indian as 
 well as another. My entertainment came off at 
 about eleven o clock. At that hour Reynal and 
 Raymond walked across the area of the village, 
 to the admiration of the inhabitants, carrying the 
 
178 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 two kettles of dog meat slung on a pole between 
 them. These they placed in the centre of the 
 lodge, and then went back for the bread and the 
 tea. Meanwhile I had put on a pair of brilliant 
 moccasins, and substituted for my old buckskin 
 frock a coat which I had brought with me in view 
 of such public occasions. I also made careful use 
 of the razor, an operation which no man will neg 
 lect who desires to gain the good opinion of In 
 dians. Thus attired, I seated myself between Rey- 
 n al and Raymond at the head of the lodge. Only 
 a few minutes elapsed before all the guests had 
 come in and were seated on the ground, wedged 
 together in a close circle. Each brought with him 
 a wooden bowl to hold his share of the repast. 
 When all were assembled, two of the officials, 
 called " soldiers " by the white men, came for 
 ward with ladles made of the horn of the Rocky 
 Mountain sheep, and began to distribute the 
 feast, assigning a double share to the old men 
 and chiefs. The dog vanished with astonishing 
 celerity, and each guest turned his dish bottom 
 upward to show that all was gone. Then the 
 bread was distributed in its turn, and finally the 
 tea. As the "soldiers" poured it out into the same 
 wooden bowls that had served for the substantial 
 part of the meal, I thought it had a particularly 
 curious and uninviting color. " Oh," said Reynal, 
 " there was not tea enough, so I stirred some soot 
 in the kettle, to make it look strong ! " Fortu 
 nately an Indian s palate is not very discriminat 
 ing. The tea was well sweetened, and that was 
 all they cared for. Now, the feast being over, the 
 time for speechmaking was come. The Big Crow 
 
A ROUGH JOURNEY 179 
 
 produced a flat piece of wood, on which he cut 
 up tobacco and shongsasha, and mixed them in 
 due proportions. The pipes were filled and passed 
 from hand to hand around the company. Then 
 I began my speech, each sentence being inter 
 preted by Reynal as I went on, and echoed by 
 the whole audience with the usual exclamations 
 of assent and approval. As nearly as I can recol 
 lect, it was as follows : " I had come," I told them, 
 " from a country so far distant that at the rate 
 they travel, they could not reach it in a year." 
 " How ! How ! " - " There the Meneaska (white 
 men) were more numerous than the blades of 
 grass on the prairie. The squaws were far more 
 beautiful than any they had ever seen, and all 
 the men were brave warriors." " How ! How ! 
 How ! " I was assailed by twinges of conscience 
 as I uttered these last words. But I recovered 
 myself and began again. " While I was living in 
 the Meneaska lodges, I had heard of the Ogil- 
 lallah, how great and brave a nation they were, 
 how they loved the whites, and how well they 
 could hunt the buffalo and strike their enemies. 
 I resolved to come and see if all that I heard was 
 true." -"How! How! How!" -"As I had 
 come on horseback through the mountains, I had 
 been able to bring them only a few presents." 
 " How ! " " But I had enough tobacco to give 
 them all a small piece. They might smoke it, and 
 see how much better it was than the tobacco which 
 they got from the traders." " How ! How ! 
 How ! " " I had plenty of powder, lead, knives, 
 and tobacco at Fort Laramie. These I was anx 
 ious to give them, and if any of them should come 
 
180 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 to the fort before I went away, I would make 
 them handsome presents ! " " How ! How ! 
 How ! How ! " Raymond then cut up and distri 
 buted among them two or three pounds of tobacco, 
 and old Mene-Seela [the principal chief] began to 
 make a reply. It was long, but the following was 
 the pith of it. " He had always loved the whites. 
 They were the wisest people on earth. He be 
 lieved they could do anything, and he was always 
 glad when any of them came to live in the Ogil- 
 lallah lodges. It was true I had not made them 
 many presents, but the reason of it was plain. 
 It was clear that I liked them, or I never should 
 have come so far to find their village ! " Other 
 speeches were made. A short silence followed, 
 and then the old man (Mene-Seela) struck up a 
 discordant chant, which I was told was a song of 
 thanks for the entertainment I had given them. 
 " Now," said he, " let us go, and give the white 
 men a chance to breathe." So the company all 
 dispersed into the open air, and for some time the 
 old chief was walking round the village, singing 
 his song in praise of the feast, after the custom of 
 the nation. 
 
CHAPTEK XVII 
 
 LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE 
 
 AFTER some indecision, for the village was with 
 out a leader, even The Whirlwind when he was 
 present had no authority, the Indians set for 
 ward again for the hunting fields. The line of 
 march was always highly picturesque, painted 
 warriors riding gayly, iron-tipped lances glitter 
 ing in the sun, packhorses heavily laden with 
 bundles and babies, or dragging lodge poles, po 
 nies ridden by grinning young squaws, old men 
 on foot wrapped in white buffalo robes, slim 
 boys and girls, barking dogs, all apparently led 
 by the genius of confusion. It was always as 
 good as a play to Parkman, though he was 
 hardly in fit state of body to enjoy a pageant. 
 
 At our encampment that afternoon I was at 
 tacked anew by my old disorder. In half an hour 
 the strength that I had been gaining for a week 
 past had vanished again, and I became like a 
 man in a dream. But at sunset I lay down in 
 the Big Crow s lodge and slept, totally uncon 
 scious till the morning. The first thing that 
 
182 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 awakened me was a hoarse flapping over my 
 head, and a sudden light that poured in upon 
 me. The camp was breaking up, and the squaws 
 were moving the covering from the lodge. I 
 arose and shook off my blanket with the feeling 
 of perfect health ; but scarcely had I gained my 
 feet when a sense of my helpless condition was 
 once more forced upon me, and I found myself 
 scarcely able to stand. Raymond had brought 
 up Pauline and the mule, and I stooped to raise 
 my saddle from the ground. My strength was 
 unequal to the task. " You must saddle her," 
 said I to Raymond as I sat down again on a pile 
 of buffalo robes. He did so, and with a painful 
 effort I mounted. As we were passing over a 
 great plain surrounded by long broken ridges, 
 I rode slowly in advance of the Indians, with 
 thoughts that wandered far from the time and 
 the place. Suddenly the sky darkened, and thun 
 der began to mutter. Clouds were rising over 
 the hills, as dark as the first forebodings of an 
 approaching calamity ; and in a moment all 
 around was wrapped in shadow. I looked be 
 hind. The Indians had stopped to prepare for 
 the approaching storm, and the dense mass of 
 savages stretched far to the right and left. Since 
 the first attack of my disorder the effects of rain 
 upon me had usually been injurious in the ex 
 treme. I had no strength to spare, having at 
 that moment scarcely enough to keep my seat on 
 horseback. Then, for the first time, it pressed 
 upon me as a strong probability that I might 
 never leave those deserts. " Well," thought I to 
 myself, " the prairie makes quick and sharp 
 
LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE 183 
 
 work. Better to die here, in the saddle to the 
 last, than to stifle in the hot air of a sick cham 
 ber ; and a thousand times better than to drag out 
 life, as many have done, in the helpless inaction 
 of lingering disease." So, drawing the buffalo 
 robe on which I sat over my head, I waited till 
 the storm should come. It broke at last with a 
 sudden burst of fury, and passing away as rap 
 idly as it came, left the sky clear again. My re 
 flections served me no other purpose than to look 
 back upon as a piece of curious experience ; for 
 the rain did not produce the ill effects that I had 
 expected. 
 
 The Indians, being in enemy s country, were 
 anxious to lose no time, and pushed on westward ; 
 in a day or two their scouts reported herds of 
 buffalo marching slowly over the hills in the dis 
 tance. The lodges were pitched, and things got 
 ready for the hunt. Early in the morning the 
 huntsmen were off. 
 
 I had taken no food, and not being at all 
 ambitious of further abstinence, I went into my 
 host s lodge, which his squaws had set up with 
 wonderful dispatch, and sat down in the centre, 
 as a gentle hint that I was hungry. A wooden 
 bowl was soon set before me, filled with the nu 
 tritious preparation of dried meat called pem- 
 mican by the northern voyagers and wasna by 
 the Dakota. Taking a handful to break my fast 
 upon, I left the lodge just in time to see the last 
 band of hunters disappear over the ridge of the 
 neighboring hill. I mounted Pauline and gal- 
 
184 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 loped in pursuit, riding rather by the balance 
 than by any muscular strength that remained to 
 me. ... I left camp that morning with a philo 
 sophic resolution. Neither I nor my horse were 
 at that time fit for such sport, and I had deter 
 mined to remain a quiet spectator ; but amid the 
 rush of horses and buffalo, the uproar and the 
 dust, I found it impossible to sit still ; and as 
 four or five buffalo ran past me in a line, I lashed 
 Pauline in pursuit. We went plunging through 
 the water and the quicksands, and clambering 
 the bank, chased them through the wild sage 
 bushes that covered the rising ground beyond. 
 But neither her native spirit nor the blows of 
 the knotted bull-hide could supply the place of 
 poor Pauline s exhausted strength. We could 
 not gain an inch upon the fugitives. 
 
 After a shot, which hit but did not maim the 
 cow he was chasing, Parkman turned back and 
 rode slowly to camp. 
 
 In this place they remained five days, the 
 braves hunting every day and killing great num 
 bers of buffaloes. The hides were skinned, 
 scraped, and rubbed, the meat was cut up and 
 hung to dry in the sun. Parkman, and also 
 Pauline, were too tired to take further part in 
 the hunting, so he strolled over the prairie for 
 an occasional shot at an antelope, and watched 
 his hosts and their squaws at their various occu 
 pations. His repose at night was not all that 
 weary limbs might wish. In the next lodge 
 
LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE 185 
 
 gambling would be going on, fast and furious ; 
 ornaments, horses, garments, and weapons were 
 staked upon the chances of the game to the ac 
 companiment of yells, chants, and the thumping 
 of an Indian drum. In Parkmau s own lodge 
 Big Crow would rouse himself every night at 
 twelve o clock and sing a doleful dirge to ap 
 pease the spirits ; and the children, who were al 
 lowed to eat too much during the day and were 
 petted and generally spoiled, had a habit of 
 crawling about the lodge over Parkman and 
 every other object, and sometimes they cuddled 
 under his blanket. He was obliged to keep a 
 short stick at hand and punch their heads some 
 five times during the night. 
 
 On the twenty -fifth the camp broke up, and 
 the return journey was begun. . . . The lodges 
 were pitched early, and the chiefs sat in a circle 
 smoking and chaffing one another. 
 
 When the first pipe was smoked out, I rose 
 and withdrew to the lodge of my host. Here I 
 was stooping, in the act of taking off my powder- 
 horn and bullet-pouch, when suddenly, and close 
 at hand, pealing loud and shrill, and in right 
 good earnest, came the terrific yell of the war- 
 whoop. Kongra-Tonga s [Black Crow] squaw 
 snatched up her youngest child and ran out of 
 the lodge. I followed, and found the whole vil 
 lage in confusion, resounding with cries and 
 yells. The circle of old men in the centre had 
 
186 FRANCIS PAIIKMAN 
 
 vanished. The warriors, with glittering eyes, 
 came darting, weapons in hand, out of the low 
 openings of the lodges, and running with wild 
 yells towards the farther end of the village. Ad 
 vancing a few rods in that direction, I saw a 
 crowd in furious agitation. Just then I distin 
 guished the voice of Reynal [a French Canadian 
 living with the Indians] shouting to me from 
 a distance ; he was calling to me to come over 
 and join him [on the farther side of a little 
 stream]. This was clearly the wisest course, un 
 less we wished to involve ourselves in the fray ; 
 so I turned to go, but just then a pair of eyes, 
 gleaming like a snake s, and an aged familiar 
 countenance was thrust from the opening of a 
 neighboring lodge, and out bolted old Mene- 
 Seela, full of fight, clutching his bow and arrows 
 in one hand and his knife in the other. . . . The 
 women with loud screams were hurrying with 
 their children in their arms to place them out 
 of danger, and I observed some hastening to 
 prevent mischief by carrying away all the wea 
 pons they could lay hands on. On a rising ground 
 close to the camp stood a line of old women sing 
 ing a medicine-song to allay the tumult. As I 
 approached the side of the brook, I heard gun 
 shots behind me, and turning back saw the crowd 
 had separated into two long lines of naked war 
 riors confronting each other at a respectful dis 
 tance, and yelling and jumping about to dodge 
 the shots of their adversaries, while they dis 
 charged bullets and arrows against each other. 
 At the same time certain sharp, humming sounds 
 in the air over my head, like the flight of beetles 
 
LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE 187 
 
 on a summer evening, warned me that the danger 
 was not wholly confined to the immediate scene 
 of the fray. So, wading through the brook, I 
 joined Reynal and Raymond, and we sat down 
 on the grass, in the posture of an armed neu 
 trality, to watch the result. Happily it may be 
 for ourselves, though contrary to our expectation, 
 the disturbance was quelled almost as soon as it 
 began. When I looked again, the combatants 
 were once more mingled together in a mass. 
 Though yells sbunded occasionally from the 
 throng, the firing had entirely ceased, and I ob 
 served five or six persons moving busily about, 
 as if acting the part of peacemakers. One of 
 the village heralds or criers proclaimed in a loud 
 voice something which my two companions were 
 too much engrossed in their own observations to 
 translate for me. The crowd began to disperse, 
 though many a deep-set black eye still glittered 
 with an unnatural lustre, as the warriors slowly 
 withdrew to their lodges. This fortunate sup 
 pression of the disturbance was owing to a few 
 of the old men, less pugnacious than Mene-Seela, 
 who boldly ran in between the combatants, and, 
 aided by some of the " soldiers," or Indian police, 
 succeeded in effecting their object. 
 
 It was contrary to etiquette to inquire into the 
 cause of the brawl, and Parkman only learned it 
 some time afterwards. Mad Wolf had presented 
 Tall Bear with a horse, expecting, according to 
 the well-understood custom, to receive another 
 gift of equal value in return. Tall Bear, how- 
 
188 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 ever, made no reciprocal gift, whereupon Mad 
 Wolf strode up to Tall Bear s lodge, untied the 
 horse he had given, and started to lead it home ; 
 Tall Bear leapt from his lodge and stabbed the 
 horse dead. Mad Wolf, quick as a flash, drew 
 an arrow to the head against Tall Bear s breast, 
 but the other stood impassive as a statue, and 
 Mad Wolf lowered his bow. Partisans rallied 
 to each, and the fray began, but no one was 
 killed, thanks to the vigorous intervention of the 
 old chiefs and of the "soldiers," a species of con 
 stabulary appointed in council and charged with 
 the duty of preserving the peace. 
 
 The next step in the Indian preparation for 
 winter was to cut lodge poles. For these, which 
 could only be cut from tall straight saplings, it 
 was necessary to go to the Black Hills. So they 
 traveled eastward for two days and arrived at 
 the foot of the gloomy ridges ; here, after trav 
 ersing a long ravine between precipitous cliffs 
 and masses of rock, they came upon the desired 
 groves. The Indians cut their poles, while Park- 
 man cultivated the friendship of Mene-Seela, 
 and persuaded Black Crow, the White Eagle, 
 and the Panther, his more intimate comrades, 
 to spin yarns of their adventures. Most of the 
 Indians Parkman did not trust, and did not like. 
 
 They were thorough savages. Neither their 
 manners nor their ideas were in the slightest 
 
LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE 189 
 
 degree modified by contact with civilization. 
 They knew nothing of the power and real char 
 acter of the white men, and their children would 
 scream in terror when they [first] saw me. Their 
 religion, superstitions, and prejudices were those 
 handed down to them from immemorial time. 
 They fought with the weapons that their fathers 
 fought with, and wore the same garments of 
 skins. They were living representatives of the 
 " stone age ; " for though their lances and arrows 
 were tipped with iron procured from the traders, 
 they still used the rude stone mallet of the prime 
 val world. . . . For the most part, a civilized 
 white man can discover very few points of sym 
 pathy between his own nature and that of an 
 Indian. With every disposition to do justice to 
 their good qualities, he must be conscious that 
 an impassable gulf lies between him and his red 
 brethren. No, so alien to himself do they appear 
 that, after breathing the air of the prairie for a 
 few months or weeks, he begins to look upon 
 them as a troublesome and dangerous species of 
 wild beast. Yet, in the countenance of the Pan 
 ther (. . . who, unless his face greatly belied 
 him, was free from the jealousy, suspicion, and 
 malignant cunning of his people), I gladly read 
 that there were at least some points of sympathy 
 between him and me. 
 
 As they approached Fort Laramie Parkman 
 became eager to make haste, for August 1st, the 
 day on which he had promised to meet Shaw, 
 had already come ; so, when the buttes, near 
 which he had encamped while waiting for the 
 
190 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 unpunctual Whirlwind, lifted their rough cones 
 above the horizon, he rode away from his savage 
 hosts in company with Raymond and one Indian 
 who was bound for the fort. Several of the In 
 dians proffered him their horses as parting pre 
 sents, for the sake of receiving Pauline in return, 
 but their offers were promptly declined ; Park- 
 man shook hands with Reynal, but in deference 
 to aboriginal custom, took no leave of the In 
 dians, and with mixed feelings of regret and 
 pleasure parted with them forever. That night 
 they encamped near their old site. 
 
 " First, however, our wide-mouthed friend [the 
 Indian] had taken the precaution of carefully 
 examining the neighborhood. He reported that 
 eight men, counting them on his fingers, had been 
 encamped there not long before, Bisonette, 
 Paul Dorion, Antoine Le Rouge, Richardson, 
 and four others whose names he could not tell. 
 All this proved strictly correct. By what instinct 
 he had arrived at such accurate conclusions, I 
 am utterly at a loss to divine. 
 
 Parkman s impatience got them up long be 
 fore sunrise, and they reached the fort well 
 before noon ; there they found Shaw, Chatillon, 
 and Deslauriers the muleteer, and had a banquet 
 on biscuit, coffee, and salt pork, which they ate 
 and drank with all the ostentation of plates, 
 knives, forks, and cups, sitting on stools before 
 a wooden structure politely called a table. Shaw 
 
LIFE IN AN INDIAN VILLAGE 191 
 
 then produced his library, Shakespeare, Byron, 
 and the Old Testament. 
 
 I chose the worst of the three, and for the 
 greater part of that day I lay on the buffalo 
 robes, fairly reveling in the creations of that 
 resplendent genius which has achieved no more 
 signal triumph than that of half beguiling us to 
 forget the unmanly character of its possessor. 
 
 The young men bade good-by to their compan 
 ions, especially to Chatillon, with much regret, 
 left the fort, and turned their faces eastward. 
 They had made great friends with Chatillon, 
 and thereafter friendly letters and gifts passed 
 between them. Once they made the mistake 
 of offering payment for rich gifts from him, 
 and hurt his feelings. Chatillon prospered in a 
 worldly sense, and years afterwards Parkman 
 saw him at St. Louis, an owner of houses, dressed 
 in the discomforts of white shirt, urban coat, 
 and trousers. 
 
 The returning journey was made without much 
 ill luck. From Westport they went by boat to St. 
 Louis, which they reached in the beginning of 
 October, and the young men made haste to give 
 their friends news of themselves. 
 
 ST. Louis, Oct. 7th, 46. 
 
 MY DEAR MOTHER, ... Everybody here 
 speaks of the intense heat of the past summer. 
 We, Q. and I, may congratulate ourselves on hav- 
 
192 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 ing escaped it, besides gaining a great deal of 
 sport, and a cartload of practical experience. I 
 feel about ten years older than I did five months 
 ago. To-day, for the first time, I have mounted 
 the white shirt, tight dress coat, etc. . . . My 
 temperament is bilious, and a meat diet, I sup 
 pose, acts unfavorably on it ; and hence the 
 particularly uncomfortable state to which I was 
 reduced when in the Indian country ; but in 
 spite of this, they tell me here that I look better 
 than when I set out for the mountains. 
 
 ... I shall go by stage, as the rivers are low, 
 to Chicago, thence by railroad to Detroit, and 
 thence to Buffalo. Ask Carrie to write, as I want 
 very much to hear from her. You will hear from 
 me often, and meanwhile believe me, dear mother, 
 respectfully, your affectionate FRANK. 
 
 On his return he felt that he had qualified 
 himself by practical experience to write the his 
 tory of the Indian and French wars, and grate 
 ful that so loose a rein had been given to his 
 inclination, he was ready to do his duty towards 
 his father and the law. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 UNDER DK. ELLIOTT S CAKE 
 
 FKANK had come back with a great store of in 
 formation and experience ; he had garnered the 
 grain and was ready to begin to grind. But vio 
 lent exertion, exposure, bad food, wet clothes, 
 and all evil attendants of physical hardship, 
 began to exact their scot, and the chief burden 
 of their exaction fell on his weakest member, 
 his eyes. No sooner had he got home than he 
 was obliged to be off again to New York to put 
 himself under the care of Dr. Elliott, a famous 
 oculist, whose skill had already wrought a cure 
 for his sister Caroline, who had suffered with 
 her eyes. From this time his physical life as 
 sumes the grim and strained attitude of one 
 long wrestle with ill health. At first there was 
 hope that two months would suffice to make the 
 weak eyes strong and undo the hurt that the 
 Oregon journey had done ; but though his eyes 
 sometimes got better and sometimes got worse, 
 the two months lengthened out, and at the end 
 of the second year his eyes were worse, much 
 
194 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 worse. In this wrestling-match with fate there 
 were recesses, pauses, breathing spaces, but from 
 this fatal year his body was but a ragged fort 
 in which the spirit was incessantly beleaguered. 
 In his brief autobiographical letters he has told 
 the story in a soldier s way; it reads like the 
 journal of a fighting regiment. Those pages tell 
 of hardships ; these are intended to chronicle 
 the happier intervals between bouts of pain, to 
 record recollections and the careless gossip of 
 letters which show the tender love of his family, 
 the proud affection of his friends, and to relate 
 the gradual progress of his work. 
 
 CAROLINE TO FRANK. 
 
 BOSTON, Dec. 17th, 1846. 
 
 It is a great while since I have written to you, 
 for I do not get time to do half what I want to. 
 . . . The historical lectures take a great deal of 
 time, and if I read half of the books he [the 
 teacher] recommends I should be able to do no 
 thing else. They are very interesting and edify 
 ing. How glad I am that your eyes are improv 
 ing so much and what a comfort to be able to 
 read so long. Don t you occasionally turn your 
 thoughts homeward and remember that the two 
 months are almost gone ? I fear that when they 
 are gone, the Dr. will think that it would be bet 
 ter to stay a little longer. I wish you were at 
 home to go with me to Aunt Shaw s party next 
 Tuesday. ... I must say the party has no great 
 
UNDER DR. ELLIOTT S CARE 195 
 
 attractions for me ... if you were here I should 
 like it much better. ... I hope I shall have a 
 letter from you soon, but don t write unless you 
 can without the least difficulty. Mother and all 
 send their love. . . . Good-by, my dear brother. 
 
 Jan. 11, 1847. 
 
 Let me in the first place wish you a happy 
 New Year, though ten days of it has gone, but 
 there is enough left beside. We had a most re 
 markable day here as to weather : it was oppres 
 sively warm with winter clothes. . . . Did you 
 make many calls? There were some families 
 here who received their friends, but I should 
 not care about its becoming a general custom ; 
 there seems no satisfaction in such visits, and it 
 must be a real hard day s work for gentlemen. 
 . . . We heard from Aunt Mary yesterday. She 
 is at Providence now, as I suppose you know, 
 but is not much better than she has been since 
 the summer. . . . She writes in pretty good 
 spirits though, and wants to know particularly 
 about you, and sends her love. We are going 
 this evening to see the " Viennoises Danseuses " 
 (I am quite willing to write it, but would n t 
 think of pronouncing it). Father saw them in 
 Dublin, and was so delighted with them that he 
 is willing to be seen at the theatre in such a 
 cause, custom notwithstanding. I think it will 
 be quite an inducement in itself to go, just for 
 the sake of seeing him sitting in one of the 
 boxes ! 
 
196 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Tuesday, Feb. 23d, 1847. 
 
 ... I believe that father told you in his last 
 letter that Dr. Elliott gave "encouraging ac 
 counts " of you when he was here ; but he mis 
 understood me, for I was the only one of the 
 family that the Dr. saw, and all that he said 
 was that yours was a difficult case, that he had 
 no doubt of his curing you finally, but that after 
 you had been with him a few weeks he found there 
 were peculiarities of the system that at first he 
 could not discover. He said that your nervous 
 system was a good deal deranged, which made it 
 difficult to affect you by medicine, or something 
 to that purpose ; if I have not represented it as 
 it was told, do not think he made out a better 
 statement just to please us, for all he said to 
 encourage was that it was a curable case, and 
 that he should do all he could to enable you to 
 come home as soon as possible, as father de 
 sired. . . . Last week I had a miniature party, 
 and wish you had been here, for it was very 
 pleasant. . . . They came to tea, and it was a 
 very sociable little soiree. We had music of the 
 first order, for they are a very musical set, and 
 Matilda Abbot sings remarkably well. . . . 
 
 Now Frank, my dear, I have heard that you 
 have written some account of your journey in the 
 " Knickerbocker," and how brotherly it would 
 be if you would send us the number which con 
 tains it, for I suppose you have it, or at least 
 you might have told us that it was to be seen 
 there, for you know how much interested I 
 should be in everything you write, and all that 
 you do. Only think how long it is since you 
 
UNDER DR. ELLIOTT S CARE 197 
 
 have lived at home, almost a year. Sometimes 
 I feel that you know so much more, and that we 
 are so different in mind and in our feelings about 
 some things that we might not be so near to 
 each other as is my sincerest wish ; but this feel 
 ing, perhaps, is quite unnecessary, and I hope 
 that our love will be just as strong as if I 
 did not feel there was any difference. I never 
 could have told you this, it is so much easier to 
 write one s secret feelings than to speak them, 
 but I am glad to let you know them. . . . Write 
 to us soon, and I hope you will have better ac 
 counts to give. Mother sends her love, and with 
 much love from your sister CAKRIE. 
 
 Tuesday, March 2d, 1847. 
 
 Your letter reached us yesterday, and I can 
 not tell you how badly we feel on account of 
 your health. It is a hard trial, I am sure, not to 
 be able at least to use your mind while you are 
 shut out from reading. I do hope that this state 
 will not continue long. ... I hope that next 
 summer you will feel inclined to loafe round at 
 Phillips beach with us. For we have the pros 
 pect of the same pleasant family that we had 
 last year, and you would be able to have quite a 
 variety in your occupations too, . . . and there 
 are beautiful rides and walks all around there, 
 and perhaps we might renew our horseback ex 
 peditions, which are very popular there, espe 
 cially the ride to Nahant over the beach, and 
 when you get there you would find many of 
 your friends, Mary Eliot among others. Is n t 
 that a pleasant prospect ? It would be so plea- 
 
198 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 sant to have you there with us, you don t know 
 how we used to long for you last summer. . . . 
 I go to history in a few minutes, so I am in a 
 hurry. . . . Mother and all the rest send their 
 love and wish you were with us that we might 
 do something for you. I hope it will not be long 
 before we can see you. Maria Eldredge is going 
 to N. Y. in a few weeks to stay. I should like to 
 go with her to stay with you. Suppose I should 
 not be admitted to Delmonico s, though. . . . 
 
 Friday, March 19th, 1847. 
 
 We were very glad to hear from you yester 
 day, and I hope you will feel the good effects of 
 the new system, but if it is much more severe 
 than that which the Dr. generally uses, I should 
 think you would be in torture. ... 1 cannot 
 tell you how delighted Elly [his brother John 
 Eliot] was with the book you sent him, and you 
 could not have chosen a better time to send it. 
 . . . He is quite overcome by your thinking of 
 him and is going to write you a letter next week. 
 Father sends his love. Mother and the girls send 
 love also. . . . 
 
 BOSTON, May 14th, [1847]. 
 
 . . . We were very glad to receive a letter 
 from you this morning, and hope you will feel 
 that your eyes are continuing to improve with 
 out any more drawbacks. . . . Mary gets on 
 very well with the copying; it is about finished 
 now. ... I hope you will be able to read this 
 yourself, and out of compassion for your eyes I 
 will not inflict more, but believe me, dear Frank, 
 that nothing would make me happier than to 
 
UNDER DR. ELLIOTT S CARE 199 
 
 feel that I could do something to make your un 
 occupied time pass pleasantly. ... I hope we 
 shall hear very soon. With much love, 
 
 CARRIE. 
 
 In the course of nature a father, as the purse- 
 holder, has relations and correspondence with a 
 son which differ a little in tenor from those 
 which mother and sister have, and as the Park- 
 man family did not differ in any marked partic 
 ular from other families, we find traces of that 
 eternal dialogue between the purse-holder and 
 the purse-emptier, which commonly fills so much 
 larger a part in the correspondence between 
 father and son. 
 
 BOSTON, March 2, [1847]. 
 
 MY DEAR SON, We have read your letter 
 to Carrie with no little regret and disappoint 
 ment. I am pained by what you write of your 
 general state of health as well as of your eyes. 
 And I hardly know what course it will be best 
 for you to pursue. . . . 
 
 You write in a short postscript that you are 
 in want of money. I am most happy, as you 
 well know, to supply it. But I confess, my dear 
 son, that I am somewhat surprised by the fre 
 quency of your calls. Since I was in New York, 
 when I gave you fifty dollars in addition to 
 twenty or thirty you then had, I sent you sev 
 enty dollars, in anticipation, as I thought, of 
 your needs for the present. I take it for granted 
 that it was ample for the bills at Delmonico sj 
 
200 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 etc., for the month just ended, and that those bills 
 are paid. I request that instead of a short post 
 script thro Caroline [mark the full complement 
 of syllables] you would let me know more par 
 ticularly of the amount of your expenses, and 
 what is necessary for a month. All that is 
 proper for your comfort and gratification shall 
 always and most readily be supplied. But for the 
 four months you have been in New York you 
 have received $400, or at the rate of $1200 a 
 year. ... I wish you would write to me partic 
 ularly if your eyes permit. Your mother sends 
 her love, and we earnestly hope, my dear son, 
 that you will find yourself better soon. 
 I am your affectionate father, 
 
 FRANCIS PARKMAN. 
 
 Then those honest friends, great peace 
 makers, that knit up the raveled sleave of a 
 father s care, exact accounts, served their good 
 offices. 
 
 Item . . . Bootblack . . .10 
 
 " .. Ale ... .12 
 
 " . . . Breakfast . . .37 
 
 Umbrella . .75 
 
 "... Chocolate, etc. . .18 
 
 " .. Ale ... .12 
 
 "... Breakfast . . .25 
 
 " . . Dinner . . .75 
 
 "... Tea . . . .25 
 
 " . . Waiter . . .25 
 
 "... Carriage . . .50 
 
 " . . Books . 1.50, etc. 
 
 In the next letter their service is recognized. 
 
UNDER DR. ELLIOTT S CARE 201 
 
 Monday, March 8, 1847. 
 
 MY DEAR SON, Your statement of your 
 expenses at Delmonico s is altogether satisfac 
 tory. . . . 
 
 I am at present at a loss what to advise as to 
 your remaining from home. It seems to me very 
 desirable that you should have more of domestic 
 comfort than you can possibly have as you are. 
 . . . Think over the matter in your own mind, 
 and at your leisure give me your ideas. We are 
 all well. Your affectionate father, 
 
 F. PARKMAN. 
 
 Frank, however, was obliged to stay away all 
 the spring and all the summer too. 
 
 In the mean time " The Oregon Trail " had 
 begun its slow publication in the "Knicker 
 bocker Magazine." Frank had kept a full note 
 book of his expedition and adventures, and soon 
 after his return, from these notes and from his 
 admirable memory, had dictated the book to 
 his friend and comrade, Shaw. The first chap 
 ters appeared in February. Frank, in his mod 
 est, reserved, self-sufficient way, deigned to tell 
 neither his family nor his friends. His sister 
 found it out by chance, so did his friends. It was 
 put out into the world to stand on its own feet, 
 and like a waif win what success it might in the 
 estimation of the impartial, cold-hearted sub 
 scribers to the " Knickerbocker." If it deserved 
 success, Frank wished it to succeed ; if not, why 
 
202 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 let it go and keep company with mediocrity and 
 failure, as it deserved. 
 
 The book was not as successful, not as pop 
 ular with the public, as might well have been 
 expected even by a young man much less cool 
 and self-contained than Frank. It was more than 
 twenty years since the " Last of the Mohicans " 
 had been published, and it was reasonable to 
 anticipate an eager reception for a fresh tale 
 of the wild life of the West. The editor of the 
 " Knickerbocker," however, justly appreciated 
 its worth ; so did others. 
 
 DOBB, HIS CROSSING, 
 Woden, his day, Aug. 30, [ 47]. 
 
 MY DEAR PARKMAN, Your next " Trail " 
 has the place of honor in the " Knickerbocker," 
 that is, the one for October. They are excellent 
 papers. Washington Irving told me to-day that 
 he read them with great pleasure as I always 
 do. I hope you find them as correctly printed 
 as you could expect, under the circumstances. I 
 read them carefully ; but the manuscript is some 
 times very obscured. How are your eyes? I long 
 much to hear that they are getting well. . . . 
 
 Will you let me say how much I am, and truly, 
 yours, L. GAYLORD CLARK. 
 
 REV. F. PARKMAN TO SAME. 
 
 Monday Morning 1 , Aug. 7th, [ 47]. 
 
 MY DEAR SON, ... Though I wrote to you 
 something of a long letter on Friday, yet I can 
 not help " taking pen in hand," just to tell you 
 
UNDER DR. ELLIOTT S CARE 203 
 
 of a little incident which, as it gave pleasure to 
 your mother and me, will not, I think, be other 
 wise than agreeable to you. 
 
 Last week Elly came into town, and having 
 a half day s leisure, strolled over to the Navy 
 Yard at Charlestown. As he was looking round, 
 as boys love to look, an officer met him and 
 asked him his name; and finding it Parkman, 
 he asked him, further, if he was any relation to 
 the gentleman who wrote articles in the " Knick 
 erbocker." Elly told him that he was his brother, 
 which, as you know, was no more than true. 
 The officer then said, " Come with me, and I 
 will show you all there is to see ; for I am glad 
 to know a brother of the writer of those pieces. 
 He writes well, and I read 4 The Oregon Trail 
 with great pleasure." He then took Elly all over 
 the yard, and when he had shown him fully all 
 there was to be seen he invited him into his own 
 room, and among many other things showed him 
 the numbers of the "Knickerbocker" which he 
 said had given him so much pleasure. 
 
 I confess, my dear Frank, I was much grati 
 fied by this ; but I should not be studious to 
 write it out at length, did I not feel that under 
 your trials and inability to do as much as you 
 desire, you are entitled to know that what you 
 have done, and still can do, is fully appreciated. 
 It is a consolation, when some of our plans are 
 interrupted, to know that others have so well 
 succeeded. And I congratulate you on having 
 accomplished so much and so successfully amidst 
 great discouragements. . . . Mother sends her 
 love ; and I am your affectionate father, 
 
 F. PAKKMAN. 
 
204 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 SAME TO SAME. 
 
 BOSTON, Friday, Sept. 3, [1847]. 
 
 MY DEAR SON, ... I have received for 
 you a diploma as Honorary Member of the New 
 York Historical Society. I hear frequently of 
 your " Oregon Trail," and of the success of your 
 lucubrations. . . . 
 
 With sincere affection, I am yours, 
 
 F. PARKMAN. 
 
 By this time, finding that his eyes had not 
 improved, Frank had gone to Brattleboro, Ver 
 mont, to try the water-cure, somewhat fash 
 ionable in those days. But the success of this 
 experiment, though he repeated it several times, 
 was slight, and he went back again to Dr. El 
 liott s care. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 ILL HEALTH, 1848-1850 
 
 BEFOEE the " Oregon Trail " had run its slow 
 course in the " Knickerbocker Magazine," Park- 
 man had been busying himself in putting into 
 narrative the varied mass of information which 
 he had been gathering during the previous six 
 or seven years. It was not easy to make one 
 straight-away story of it, there was such lack of 
 unity in the subject. Pontiac was but the most 
 conspicuous chief in a long line of border war that 
 encircled the English settlements from Maine to 
 Carolina. There was need of art, of grouping 
 and arrangement, of dragging certain events and 
 actors into the foreground, of pushing others 
 back, of exalting here and abasing there; in 
 short, of the infinite pains that only can over 
 come an unwieldly narrative. Parkman himself 
 says in the preface that lack of eyesight, which 
 forced him to long periods of darkness and medi 
 tation, during which he thought out the sequence 
 of his story, was really of service to him. It is a 
 generous instance of giving the devil his due. I 
 
206 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 quote his autobiography l for an account of this 
 period of composition. 
 
 In the spring of 1848, the condition indicated 
 being then at its worst, the writer resolved to 
 attempt the composition of the history of the 
 conspiracy of Pontiac, of which the material had 
 been for some time collected and the ground pre 
 pared. The difficulty was so near to the impossi 
 ble that the line of distinction often disappeared, 
 while medical prescience condemned the plan as 
 a short road to dire calamities. His motive, how 
 ever, was in part a sanitary one, growing out of 
 a conviction that nothing could be more deadly 
 to his bodily and mental health than the entire 
 absence of a purpose and an object. The diffi 
 culties were threefold : an extreme weakness of 
 sight, disabling him even from writing his name, 
 except with eyes closed ; a condition of the brain 
 prohibiting fixed attention, except at occasional 
 brief intervals ; and an exhaustion and total de 
 rangement of the nervous system, producing of 
 necessity a mood of mind most unfavorable to 
 effort. To be made with impunity, the attempt 
 must be made with the most watchful caution. 
 
 He caused a wooden frame to be constructed 
 of the size and shape of a sheet of letter paper. 
 Stout wires were fixed horizontally across it, half 
 an inch apart, and a movable back of thick paste 
 board fitted behind them. The paper for writing 
 was placed between the pasteboard and the wires, 
 guided by which, and using a black lead crayon, 
 he could write not illegibly with closed eyes. He 
 
 1 Life ofParkman, pp. 325-327. 
 
ILL HEALTH, 1848-1850 207 
 
 was at the time absent from home, on Staten 
 Island, where, and in the neighboring city of 
 New York, he had friends who willingly offered 
 their aid. It is needless to say to which half of 
 humanity nearly all these kind assistants be 
 longed. He chose for a beginning that part of 
 the work which offered fewest difficulties, and 
 with the subject of which he was most familiar, 
 namely, the Siege of Detroit. The books and 
 documents, already partially arranged, were pro 
 cured from Boston, and read to him at such times 
 as he could listen to them ; the length of each 
 reading never, without injury, much exceeding 
 half an hour, and periods of several days fre 
 quently occurring during which he could not lis 
 ten at all. Notes were made by him with closed 
 eyes, and afterwards deciphered and read to him 
 till he had mastered them. For the first half 
 year the rate of composition averaged about six 
 lines a day. The portion of the book thus com 
 posed was afterwards partially rewritten. His 
 health improved under the process, and the re 
 mainder of the volume in other words, nearly 
 the whole of it was composed in Boston, while 
 pacing in the twilight of a large garret [5 Bow- 
 doin Square], the only exercise which the sen 
 sitive condition of his sight permitted him in 
 an unclouded day while the sun was above the 
 horizon. It was afterwards written down from 
 dictation by relatives under the same roof, to 
 whom he was also indebted for the preparatory 
 readings. His progress was much less tedious 
 than at the outset, and the history was complete 
 in about two years and a half. 
 
206 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 This story was given to the world after his 
 death ; in life Parkman concealed his disabilities 
 from his acquaintances under a cool reserve. 
 Once a friend, coming from a distance, entered 
 the room where Parkman sat in the dark with 
 curtains drawn and eyes bandaged ; surprised by 
 sympathy, he betrayed his pity. The tone of 
 Parkman s voice made him think for an instant 
 that his own eyes had deceived him, and that he 
 was in the presence of a perfectly well, untroubled 
 man. Nevertheless, Parkman s intimates knew 
 what odds he struggled with, and having in their 
 minds the young man who had spent his time 
 crying " words of manage to his bounding steed," 
 leaping on and off while at full gallop, one of 
 them has said that on horseback, with his face 
 grim and resolute, he looked like Colleoni, 
 they could not wholly forbear to express their 
 sympathy. 
 
 Mr. Edmund D wight was a classmate and 
 dear friend. 
 
 EDMUND DWIGHT TO PARKMAN. 
 
 BOSTON, April 23d, 48. 
 
 MY DEAR FRANK, I received your most wel 
 come note three days ago. Thank you for it. 
 . . . Your account of yourself is perhaps as 
 good as could have been expected. I wish that 
 it had been a great deal better, but still it is 
 enough for us to build our hopes upon that all 
 
ILL HEALTH, 1848-1850 209 
 
 will yet be well. I believe I have told you how 
 certain I consider your final success to be if your 
 health is spared. So keep up your spirits, dear 
 Frank. No one ever did so more thoroughly and 
 bravely than you have done. Your reward is as 
 certain as any future event can be. . . . 
 
 Pray let nie hear from you soon, and believe 
 me, dear Frank, faithfully and warmly, your 
 friend. 
 
 BOSTON, April 30th, 1848. 
 
 I saw Quincy Shaw last night, who told me he 
 heard indirectly that you were getting on pretty 
 well, which is very good news so far as it goes. 
 Charlie Norton will bring more minute intelli 
 gence, and I hope soon to get a word having 
 your own authority for it. ... 
 
 I have read " The Oregon Trail " for April and 
 admire it exceedingly, though I think they would 
 be still more interesting if read without a month s 
 intermission between the chapters. ... If you 
 have not already made up your mind to collect 
 and publish what has been portioned out to us, 
 I hope you will for your friends sake as well as 
 your own. I will not give you the opinions which 
 I hear expressed unless you prove intractable ; 
 if you do I have that which will bring you 
 round. . . . 
 
 BOSTON, May 18, 1848. 
 
 I was heartily glad to receive a line from you 
 on Sunday, giving so encouraging account of 
 your condition and prospects. You know that if 
 my good wishes could do you any good, you 
 would have had the full benefit of them long 
 ago. . . . 
 
210 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 BOSTON, June 10, 1848. 
 
 I received your letter of the 9th upon my re 
 turn from Springfield to-day. No words can tell 
 you, dear Frank, how deep my sympathy is for 
 you in all your terrible sufferings, nor how ar 
 dent my admiration for the noble fortitude with 
 which you bear them. Nor is my faith that in 
 this world you will find at last that happiness 
 which you are so faithfully earning less deep 
 than my sympathy and sorrow for your misfor 
 tunes. The postscript, of your letter adds a 
 f round of belief and opens a prospect of success, 
 t cannot, it will not be that you shall be disap 
 pointed and foiled at last. No, dear Frank, it 
 will all be well with you before long, and your 
 reward will be as great as the difficulties you 
 have overcome. The darkest cloud has a silver 
 lining, and that will soon be turned toward you, 
 and all these storm clouds pass away. I know 
 how truly religious you are amidst all this dread 
 ful trial. Only recollect that " hope " is ranked 
 next to " faith " among the Christian virtues. 
 Heaven bless the Doctor who gives you such 
 good grounds for belief in the place of hope, and 
 with one skillful Dr. for your eyes and another 
 for your nerves all will be well before long. . . . 
 Farewell, my dear friend. Heaven be with you 
 and send you bright days quickly. 
 
 July 19, 1848. 
 
 I was very glad indeed to receive your let 
 ter two days ago confirming the impression I 
 had received when with you that you were grow 
 ing better. The progress may be, or rather, I 
 suppose, must be, slow, and changes for the 
 
ILL HEALTH, 1848-1850 211 
 
 worse will occur ; still, so long as the direction is 
 the right one, there is a certainty of coming out 
 right at last. . . . 
 
 July 22d. 
 
 The returned volunteers parade the streets to 
 day, and the city is full of gaping countrymen 
 to see the warriors. Do you still hold to your 
 old notions about the glory of a soldier and the 
 high qualities that are required to make a man 
 fight well? Because if you do I should like to 
 argue the point with you. A good officer is a 
 noble fellow, and so is any other good man in 
 active business. I m getting a contempt for 
 men who only preach and theorize. If a man 
 does keep straight through the bad influences of 
 such a life it says a vast deal for him. Good-by. 
 Keep up your spirits, and believe me, dear Frank, 
 yours sincerely, 
 
 EDMUND DWTGHT, JR. 
 
 In some of the letters there are references to 
 politics which seem to imply that Dwight and 
 Parkman shared the views prevailing in well-to- 
 do Boston, dislike of the ad valorem clauses 
 in the tariff, indignation with the South, disap 
 proval of the Mexican war. But Parkinan s 
 world had shrunk to the four walls of a dark 
 ened room, and his thoughts were too closely 
 concentred on his work to wander far afield. 
 
 He valued his friends, and always kept the 
 letters that bore witness to the affection they 
 felt for him. 
 
212 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 C. E. NORTON TO PARKMAN. 
 
 Sunday, June 18, 1848. 
 
 MY DEAR FRANK, I have long meant to 
 write to you, and should have done so before 
 now had I supposed my letter would have given 
 you pleasure. But as Ned Dwight told me last 
 week that you spoke in your last letter to him 
 of not being so well, except as regards your 
 eyes, I determined to write to you, if for no 
 other reason than to assure you of my continued 
 and sincere sympathy with you. You have, my 
 dear friend, one great source of support and 
 comfort in your sufferings, the consciousness 
 that they have not been sent to you as the retri 
 bution for your past life, but that they have 
 come in accordance with the inscrutable design 
 of God, and will finally work out their own re 
 sult by bringing you nearer to him. Let me 
 quote from Miss Barrett two or three lines : 
 
 " With earnest prayers 
 Fasten your soul so high that constantly 
 The smile of your heroic cheer may float 
 Above all floods of earthly agonies." 
 
 All this is, I know, very familiar to you, and for 
 the last year or two you have given proof to 
 every one who has known you that you carry 
 your principles, which so few of us do, into daily 
 action ; and in the midst of suffering you may 
 have the encouragement of knowing that your 
 example is one which we shall always cherish as 
 inciting us to manliness and patience and faith. 
 . . . Good-by. Write to me if you can. With 
 kindest remembrances from the whole family. 
 
ILL HEALTH, 1848-1850 213 
 
 BOSTON, Sept. 4th, 1848. 
 
 I have just got and looked over the worthless 
 number of the " Knickerbocker " for this month. 
 Where is the " Oregon Trail " ? Have you quar 
 reled with the editor, or he with you? Or was 
 the manuscript lost ? Or is Clark, knowing that 
 there are but three numbers more, keeping it 
 back that he may have a number or two for his 
 new volume, so as to retain his subscribers who 
 subscribe for the sake of that alone? It is not 
 good policy in an editor of a magazine to have 
 one contributor who so far excels the rest. Pray 
 write to me to tell me about the missing chapter 
 and about yourself. I hope you still keep to your 
 intention of publishing the " Trail " in a volume 
 this autumn. The time is drawing near when it 
 should be out. Do begin to print, and either 
 make arrangements with some New York pub 
 lisher, or let me make them with some publisher 
 here. At any rate, let me do as much for you in 
 looking over the proofs, or in any other way, as I 
 can. . . . 
 
 NEW YORK, Febr y 25th, 1849. 
 
 It seemed almost as if I were going to meet 
 you, when yesterday morning I went down to 
 Putnam s to see him about your book. ... I 
 found Putnam, and learned from him that the 
 "Oregon and California Trail" would be out in 
 about ten days some time in next week. He 
 said that so far as he knew there had not been 
 the least difficulty in making out the corrections 
 in the copy you had sent him, that he had re 
 ceived the last proof that morning, that the en 
 gravings were so nearly finished that he thought 
 
214 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 he could give me copies of them to send on to 
 you to-morrow, and that he could have six copies 
 bound and sent to you early. I selected a neat 
 and handsome style in which to have them bound, 
 and told Putnam s clerk to be careful to have 
 the matter attended to. ... 
 
 MILAN, April 18th, 1850. 
 
 I have owed you a letter for a long time. It 
 has not been from any want of frequent remem 
 brance that I have not written if I did not 
 know that you would believe in that, I should 
 certainly have written before. Your last letter 
 came to me at Alexandria. I was very glad to 
 receive it, as it contained good accounts of your 
 self. I hope that you could have written in the 
 same way all the winter. . . . During this last 
 January I was traveling from Agra to Bombay, 
 and during the journey, which was a solitary one, 
 I often thought over and with constant pleasure 
 the mornings of the January of the year before 
 spent with you. I trust you will have a very long 
 manuscript for me to read a year hence, when I 
 am once more at home. . . . 
 
 Ever your very faithful friend, 
 
 CHARLES ELIOT NORTON. 
 
 E. George Squier, another friend, was an anti 
 quarian interested in Central America, a man of 
 scholarly tastes and archa3ological learning, full 
 of energy and exuberant vigor. 
 
ILL HEALTH, 1848-1850 215 
 
 PABKMAN TO SQUiER [dictated]. 
 
 BOSTON, Oct. 15th, 1849. 
 
 MY DEAR SQUIER, ... As for me I am 
 rather inclined to envy you less for your success 
 and your prospects, enviable as they are, than for 
 your power of activity. From a complete and 
 ample experience of both, I can bear witness that 
 no amount of physical pain is so intolerable as 
 the position of being stranded and doomed to lie 
 rotting for year after year. However, I have not 
 yet abandoned any plan which I have ever formed, 
 and I have no intention of abandoning any until 
 I am made cold meat of. At present I am much 
 better in health than when you last saw me, and 
 do not suffer from that constant sense of oppres 
 sion on the brain which then at times annoyed 
 me almost beyond endurance. I find myself able 
 to work a little, although my eyes are in a to 
 tally useless state and excessively sensitive. The 
 eyes are nothing to the other infernal thing, 
 which now seems inclined to let me alone, good 
 riddance to it ; so I continue to dig slowly along 
 by the aid of other people s eyes, doing the work 
 more thoroughly, no doubt, and digesting my ma 
 terials better than if I used my own. I have just 
 obtained the papers that were wanting to com 
 plete my collection for the illustrative work on 
 the Indians which I told you about. The manu 
 scripts amount to several thousand pages. I am 
 inclined to think that the labor of collecting them 
 might have been better bestowed, but I was a 
 boy when I began it, and at all events the job 
 will be done thoroughly. . . . If I can serve you 
 
216 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 in the way of writing or otherwise, I wish you 
 would let me know, and I shall be very glad to 
 do anything in my power. By some practice I 
 have caught the knack of dictating and find it as 
 easy as lying. 
 
 Believe me, with much regard, very truly 
 yours, 
 
 [F. PARKMAN.] 
 
 In May, 1850, he married Miss Catherine 
 Scollay Bigelow, a daughter of Dr. Jacob Bige- 
 low, at that time a distinguished physician in 
 Boston. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 LIFE AND LITERATURE, 1850-1856 
 
 PARKMAN S married life was very happy, espe 
 cially in these first years before the devil of 
 lameness clutched him. He and his wife were 
 rarely suited to each other ; she was a spiritu 
 ally-minded and an intellectual woman, religious, 
 fond of poetry, dearly loved by those who knew 
 her best. She was endowed by nature with a 
 sweet, joyful disposition, with humor and flashes 
 of wit, and with the high courage requisite to 
 tend unfalteringly the pain and suffering of the 
 man she loved. She, too, was calm outwardly 
 and ardent underneath, and in self-abnegation 
 and devotion bore her great sorrows. She put 
 aside everything to minister to him, became his 
 eyesight and his health, and lived his life in 
 all ways possible. The death of her little son, 
 Francis, broke her heart, and it never healed ; 
 after that she went about like one who belonged 
 in another world. In the last year of her life 
 she was called upon to bear her husband s worst 
 illness ; but the first years of married life were 
 
218 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 gay and happy. They were poor, with not much 
 more than six hundred dollars a year to begin 
 housekeeping : 
 
 Sie batten nichts und doch genug 
 
 In the winter they lived part of the time at his 
 father s house, and part at Dr. Bigelow s ; one 
 summer they spent at Milton, the next at Brook- 
 line. Some letters to Mr. Norton, who was at 
 that time in Europe, written soon after their 
 marriage, reveal their interests and their happi 
 ness. 
 
 PARKMAN TO NORTON [dictated]. 
 
 MII/TON, June 15, [1850]. 
 
 MY DEAR CHARLEY, ... I have a place 
 near Milton Hill, small, snug, and comfortable, 
 where I can offer entertainment for man and 
 beast, of which I hope you and your steed will 
 one day avail yourselves. We have woods about 
 us dark enough for an owl to hide in, very fair 
 society, not too near to bore us, and, what is 
 quite as much to the purpose, a railroad to place 
 us within arm s reach of town. This kind of life 
 has one or two drawbacks, such as the necessity 
 of paying bills, and the manifold responsibilities 
 of a householder, an impending visit from the 
 tax-gatherer, and petitions for the furtherance of 
 charitable enterprises which, as I am informed, 
 the son of my father will not fail to promote. . . . 
 
 I have a reader for an hour or two, and when 
 it is not too bright play the amateur farmer, to 
 the great benefit of my corporeal man. Kate 
 
LIFE AND LITERATURE, 1850-1856 219 
 
 [Mrs. Parkman] is generally my amanuensis, 
 as perhaps you may see by this handwriting. 
 Pontiac is about three quarters through, and I 
 hope will see the light within a year. I cal 
 culated at starting it would take four years to 
 finish it, which, at the pace I was then writing, 
 was about a straight calculation, for I was then 
 handsomely used up, soul and body on the rack, 
 and with no external means or appliances to 
 help ine on. You may judge whether my present 
 condition is a more favorable one. I detest be 
 ing spooney or an approximation to it, so I say 
 nothing, but if you want to understand the thing, 
 take a jump out of hell-fire to the opposite ex 
 treme, such a one, in short, as Satan made when 
 he broke bounds and paid his visit to our first 
 parents. . . . 
 
 With the greatest regard, very truly yours, 
 
 F. PARKMAN, JR. 
 
 SAME TO SAME [dictated]. 
 
 MILTON, Sept. 22d, 1850. 
 
 MY DEAR CHARLEY, It is a fortnight since 
 your letter came to hand, and I have been too 
 busy to answer it; rather a new condition of 
 things for me, but the fact is all the time which 
 I could prudently give to work has been taken up 
 in carrying forward my book so as to be ready 
 for publication next spring. I see that you are 
 a true-hearted American, and have too much 
 sense to be bitten by the John Bull mania, which 
 is the prevailing disease of Boston in high places 
 and in low. A disgusting malady it is, and I 
 pray Heaven to deliver us from its influence. 
 
220 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 We can afford to stand on our own feet and 
 travel our own course without aid or guidance ; 
 and ray maxim is, that it is about as well to go 
 wrong on one s own hook as to go right by slav 
 ishly tagging at the heels of another. But in the 
 present case the thing is reversed. It is we that 
 are going right, and John Bull may go to the 
 devil. Fine Yankee brag, is n t it ? In spite 
 of Taylor s [President Taylor] death we have 
 come out right at last. There is no danger, thank 
 God, of the Union breaking up at present, in 
 spite of all the efforts of Garrison and his coad 
 jutors. 
 
 I wish with all my heart that you could be 
 here, as you kindly wish, at the forthcoming of 
 my book ; but a copy shall be put by for you. 
 I find it seriously no easy job to accomplish all 
 the details of dates, citations, notes, etc., with 
 out the use of eyes. Prescott could see a little 
 confound him, he could even look over his 
 proofs, but I am no better off than an owl in 
 the sunlight. The ugliest job of the whole is 
 getting up a map. I have a draught made in 
 the first place on a very large scale. Then I 
 direct how to fill it in with the names of forts, 
 Indian villages, etc., all of which I have pretty 
 clearly in my memory from the reading of count 
 less journals, letters, etc., and former travels 
 over the whole ground. Then I examine the 
 map inch by inch, taking about half a minute 
 for each examination, and also have it com 
 pared by competent eyes with ancient maps and 
 draughts ; then I have the big map reduced to a 
 proper size. I have got to the end of the book 
 
LIFE AND LITERATURE, 1850-1856 221 
 
 and killed off Pontiac. The opening chapters, 
 however, are not yet complete. I have just 
 finished an introductory chapter on the Indian 
 tribes, which my wife pronounces uncommonly 
 stupid. Never mind, nobody need read it who 
 don t want to, ... I shall stereotype it myself 
 and take the risk. . . . 
 
 I remain, my dear Charley, ever faithfully 
 yours, 
 
 F. PARKMAN, JR. 
 
 Another extract from this correspondence 
 shall be the last. 
 
 SAME TO SAME [dictated]. 
 
 Nov. 10th, 1850. 
 
 . . . Just now we are on the eve of an elec 
 tion a great row about the Fugitive Slave 
 Law, and an infinity of nonsense talked and 
 acted upon the subject. A great union party is 
 forming in opposition to the abolitionists and 
 the Southern fanatics. For my part, I would see 
 every slave knocked on the head before I would 
 see the Union go to pieces, and would include 
 ,in the sacrifice as many abolitionists as could be 
 conveniently brought together. . . . 
 
 All his life Parkman liked common sense. 
 He was irritated by sentimentality, by fanati 
 cism, by transcendentalism, by eccentricity of 
 thought ; and he was wont to relieve his mind 
 by a little emphatic language, which he was 
 pleased to enhance with a certain extravagance, 
 half in jest, half in relief of his humors. 
 
222 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 The " Conspiracy of Pontiac," was published 
 in 1851, but it had been ready for more than a 
 twelve-month. Mr. Jared Sparks read a portion 
 of the manuscript in March, 1850. " It affords," 
 he says, " a striking picture of the influence of 
 war and religious bigotry upon savage and semi- 
 barbarous minds." But the old pedagogical his 
 torian of the earlier American generation, miss 
 ing in the young historian of a new school a 
 proper predilection for moral lessons, so ready 
 to hand, could not find it in his heart to stop 
 there. Referring to the massacre by the Paxton 
 Boys, 1 he writes : " The provocation and sur 
 rounding circumstances afford no ground of miti 
 gation of so inhuman a crime. It is one of the 
 great lessons of history, showing what passion 
 is capable of doing when it defies reason and 
 tramples on the sensibilities of nature, to say 
 nothing of the high injunctions of Christianity. 
 Although you relate events in the true spirit 
 of calmness and justice, yet I am not sure but 
 a word or two of indignation now and then, at 
 such unnatural and inhuman developments of 
 the inner man, would be expected of a historian, 
 who enters deeply into the merits of his sub 
 jects." But Parkman preferred to state facts as 
 he believed them to be, and to let his readers 
 make their own philosophical deductions and 
 
 1 Conspiracy of Pontiac, chap. xadv. 
 
LIFE AND LITERATURE, 1850-1856 223 
 
 ejaculate their own exclamations of indignation 
 or content. 
 
 Negotiations for publication began in the sum 
 mer, when the manuscript was submitted to 
 Messrs. Harper & Brother by a friend. Park- 
 man would have preferred to have the book pub 
 lished in two volumes, in appearance similar to 
 Prescott s " Conquest of Mexico," but the pre 
 cise form was indifferent to him " provided the 
 book appear in a decent and scholar-like dress." 
 The title caused him some perplexity. He sug 
 gested the following name, " which, however, I 
 don t greatly admire," it certainly is open to 
 criticism from a bookbinder who should wish to 
 stamp the name on the back, "A History of 
 the War with Pontiac and the Indian Tribes of 
 North America in their combined attack upon 
 the British Colonies after the Conquest of Can 
 ada," or " A History of the Conspiracy of Pon 
 tiac and the Struggle of the North American 
 Indians against the British Colonies after the 
 Conquest of Canada ; " and again, " The War 
 with Pontiac (or Pontiac s War), a History of 
 the Outbreak of the Indian Tribes of America 
 against the British Colonies after the Conquest 
 of Canada." The difficulty for the outside of the 
 book was the same as for the inside ; the far- 
 spread border war resisted the attempt to crib 
 and confine it within the circle of unity. 
 
224 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 The prudent Harpers, scared perhaps by 
 these titles, submitted the MS. to their reader, 
 and wrote back : 
 
 " Our Reader [the capital R served both to show 
 how Rhadamanthine that gentleman was, and to 
 soften the Rejection] has just returned to us 
 Mr. Parkman s MS. His opinion, as regards 
 the literary execution of the work, etc., is very 
 favorable, but he is apprehensive that the 
 work, highly respectable as it is, will not meet 
 with a very rapid or extensive sale," etc., etc. 
 
 " Our Reader" had said : 
 
 The subject is handled with very considerable 
 ability in a manner highly creditable to the 
 industry, intelligence, and literary skill of the 
 author. The narrative is lively and often grace 
 ful, the rules of historical perspective are well 
 observed, and the whole effect of the picture is 
 pleasing and impressive. It will worthily fill a 
 notch among the standard works of American 
 history. At the same time, I do not anticipate 
 for it a remarkably brilliant reception. This is 
 forbidden both by the subject and the style. . . . 
 It will require a good deal of effort to push it 
 into general circulation among the people. 
 
 Therefore the Harpers, in the self-respecting 
 phraseology of the old-fashioned counting-room, 
 advised that Parkman should stereotype the work 
 at his own cost, and then submit the plate proofs 
 to various publishers, and find where he could 
 get the best terms. 
 
LIFE AND LITERATURE, 1850-1856 225 
 
 Parkman followed this advice and had the 
 book stereotyped, having learned what terms to 
 make by borrowing from the " confounded " 
 Prescott the latter s contract with a printer for 
 stereotyping the " Conquest of Mexico/ The 
 book was published by Messrs. Little & Brown. 
 
 " Our Reader " was sagacious ; the book was 
 not a popular success. But those who read it 
 admired and enjoyed it. Mr. Jared Sparks may 
 speak for the students of American history : 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, June 4, 1850. 
 
 I have been intimately acquainted with ye 
 progress of Mr. Parkman s historical studies 
 several years. On ye subject of our Indian His 
 tory, subsequent to ye French War, he has taken 
 unwearied pains to collect materials, and has 
 procured copies of many original manuscripts 
 and papers both in this country and from ye 
 public offices in London. I doubt if any writer 
 has bestowed more thorough research, or has 
 more completely investigated his subject. I have 
 read one chapter of his work, wh. appeared to 
 me to be written in a spirited style, and with 
 good judgment and discrimination in ye selec 
 tion of facts. 
 
 Other readers wrote their feelings, perhaps 
 none of them are entitled to speak for anybody 
 but themselves. Mr. Gr. R. Russell, however, a 
 relation, expressed a common opinion in a letter 
 to Parkman : 
 
226 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 I have just finished reading your " History of 
 the Conspiracy of Pontiac." I have read the work 
 with great care, going over parts of it twice, not 
 for purposes of criticism, but to enjoy the really 
 beautiful descriptions, which place scenes before 
 the reader as distinctly conspicuous as though he 
 gazed at them wrought out on canvas by the hand 
 of a master. 
 
 Particular reasons for enjoyment are unimpor 
 tant matters of personal taste which the reader 
 must determine for himself ; but the young man, 
 the middle-aged man, or the graybeard, is not to 
 be envied who, even now, fifty years after its 
 publication, cannot sit up half the night over the 
 pages of " Pontiac " and read about the bloody 
 scalpings, skirmishes, forays, and battles which 
 arouse that central government of our being, the 
 aboriginal savage in us. John Fiske says that 
 the secret of Parkman s power is that his Indians 
 are true to the life, that Pontiac is a man of 
 warm flesh and blood. 
 
 The book was also published in London by 
 Richard Bentley at the time of the publication of 
 the American edition. Mr. Bentley took a more 
 hopeful view than the Reader for the Harpers, 
 but that keen-scented gentleman, with his daintier 
 sense of the reading public s appetites, was the 
 more accurate. At the end of a year the English 
 publisher s account carried a deficit of 53 2, 
 and his ledger showed that of the five hundred 
 
LIFE AND LITERATURE, 1850-1856 227 
 
 copies printed, but one hundred and fifty-three 
 had been sold. 
 
 Parkman, however, never fell before the tempta 
 tion to dally over that which had been done, 
 stopping neither to regret this nor to wish that 
 changed ; he ever pressed onward to the things 
 that were before. No sooner was " Pontiac " pub 
 lished than he strained in his leash to get after 
 his great quarry, the English-French contest. But 
 the devils of ill health leaped upon him. In the 
 autumn of 1851 an effusion of water on the left 
 knee lamed him ; a partial recovery was followed 
 by a relapse, which came to a crisis in 1853 and 
 shut him up in the house for two years. An odd 
 consequence was that all the irritability of his 
 nervous system centred in his head, causing him 
 great pain. When he tried to fix his attention, 
 he felt as if he had an iron band clamped around 
 his head, like an old instrument of torture ; at 
 other times his thoughts swooped through his 
 brain like an infernal blast, with a horrid con 
 fusion of tossing pains. In the train of these 
 furies followed sleepless nights. Work upon his 
 history was impossible. Afterwards, when the 
 rage of the crisis was spent, he betook himself 
 to writing reviews of historical books, and in 
 1856 he published a novel, " Vassall Morton." 
 Perhaps in writing the novel he wished to occupy 
 time which he could not use in graver work, per- 
 
228 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 haps he desired to prove himself in a new field. 
 The novel was not a success. To most readers 
 to-day, merely seeking selfish amusement, the 
 book does not appear to have deserved success. 
 Parkman himself rated it at its worth, or proba 
 bly at less than its worth ; he never spoke of it, 
 
 and did not include it in his collected works. Its 
 
 i 
 
 real interest is in the self-revelation of the au 
 thor ; for Vassall Morton, the hero, is undoubt 
 edly in great measure drawn from Parkman s 
 own imagination of himself. The generation of 
 that day, however, had its own appetite in novels, 
 and people of taste here and there liked it. 
 
 George William Curtis, in " Putnam s 
 Monthly," said that "Vassall Morton" was far 
 the best of late American novels, but that it 
 was sketchy, as if tossed off in intervals of 
 severer study, and not equal to what was to be 
 expected from Parkman s position in literature. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 1858-1865 
 
 THE following years brought the great sorrows 
 of his life ; in 1857 his little boy died, the next 
 year his wife died, leaving him with two little 
 girls, Grace and Katharine, and as if to prove 
 him, body and soul at once, another fierce attack 
 of his malady fell upon him. Some friend senti 
 mentally assumed that he had nothing more to 
 live for, but his blunt answer intimated that 
 Francis Parkman was not born to hoist the 
 white flag. 
 
 This attack of illness was so bad that the doc 
 tor hardly expected him to live, but Parkman 
 meant to make a fight for life, and went to Paris 
 to consult the famous physician, Brown-Sequard. 
 On the steamer he met Professor Child. The fol 
 lowing letters show somewhat of his condition : 
 
 PROFESSOR F. J. CHILD TO PARKMAN. 
 
 GENOA, 21 January, [1859]. 
 
 MY DEAK FRIEND, ... I must not ask 
 about you because I know you cannot answer 
 
230 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 me by pen and ink. You will believe that though 
 I have not written I have thought a great deal 
 of you. I wish that you may have found at least 
 some alleviation to your great sufferings in Paris, 
 or if not there in the mountains, and I wish 
 that we could meet every now and then, and go 
 back in the same ship. My dear fellow, you can 
 not even read much, and so you must believe 
 that there is a great deal in these last lines when 
 I say that I shall never forget your magnanimous 
 fortitude, that I felt an intense sympathy for 
 you that I could not express when we were to 
 gether, and that I shall often pray God to help 
 you, as I have constant occasion to do for other 
 friends. 
 
 NICE, 23 February, [1859]. 
 
 ... I begin faintly to realize what I have 
 often supposed I thoroughly comprehended, 
 but did not, that happiness in this world is 
 par dessus le marche. I don t mean to talk like 
 a philosopher. Your experience, given with such 
 profound feeling and conviction in our first con 
 versation on board ship, ought never to be lost 
 sight of by me. My dear fellow, I hope you get 
 some comfort from heaven, if none on earth. 
 Remember me kindly. I received your message. 
 God bless you ever. 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 F. CHILD. 
 
 This letter confirms what his closest friends 
 knew, that, where Parkman met a man like 
 Child, endowed by nature with ten talents for 
 tenderness, he laid aside the grim aspect of his 
 
1858-1865 231 
 
 reserve and showed his sensitiveness to affec 
 tion. 
 
 Parkman stayed in Paris for several months. 
 He wrote home some scraps of information about 
 his health, in answer to a loving appeal from his 
 sisters, " Do not write the best of it to us, write 
 the whole ; " they were ready, as he knew, " to 
 give their health to him," if only nature had 
 allowed love to make the sacrifice. 
 
 PARKMAN TO HIS SISTER. 
 
 PAKIS, Dec. 22, 58. 
 
 MY DEAK MOLLY, I got y r letter yester 
 day with Grace s remarkable designs. I was 
 very glad to hear from home. ... I am well 
 lodged, Hotel de France, 239 Rue St. Honore 
 have felt much better since arriving. I find 
 abundant occupation for the winter. I often see 
 Anna Greene, and have been at Howland s and 
 Mrs. Wharton s. For the rest, I shun Americans 
 like the pest. I have not even given my address 
 to my bankers, Hottinguer & Co., to whom 
 please direct. I tell them to send my letters 
 to Wm. Greene. I passed the Empress day be 
 fore yesterday, in the Bois de Boulogne ; I re 
 ceived a gracious bow in return of my salute. 
 On the previous day, the heir of the Empress, 
 about 3 years old, was walking with his gou- 
 vernante and servants in the garden of the Tui- 
 leries, while a line of Zouave sentinels kept the 
 crowd at a safe distance. Paris is greatly 
 changed since I was here 14 years ago. The 
 
232 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Emperor has made great improvements in many 
 parts and added vastly to the beauty of the city. 
 Tell Jack [his brother] I cannot advise him to 
 come, as the cigars are very bad. Give my love 
 to Grace [daughter], mother, Lizzie [sister], and 
 all. Y rs affect ly, F. 
 
 SAME TO SAME. 
 
 PARIS, Jan. 13, 1859. 
 
 MY DEAR MOLL, I got y r letter yesterday 
 and Lizzy s some time ago. By this time all 
 mine will have come. I wrote Dr. B. [Bigelow] 
 that I was floored with lameness. It still con 
 tinues, but seems mending, so that I get about 
 drive all day (chiefly on omnibuses ! !), dine 
 at 6, and commonly spend the evening at the 
 cafes. I have seen Dr. Brown-Sequard, who fixed 
 Sumner s head. He says he can soon cure the 
 lameness, but that the head is quite another 
 matter. He says, however, that it will not kill 
 me, and at some remote period may possibly be 
 come better. He has 2 other cases of the kind 
 but says they are very rare. I am still unable to 
 walk more than 5 minutes at a time. . . . 
 
 I am greatly obliged to Uncle C. [Chardon] 
 for his remembrance, and hope the youngster 
 will do honor to the name. He should be 
 brought up to some respectable calling, and not 
 allowed to become a minister. . . . [He had a 
 high regard for many of the clergy, but liked to 
 chaff them as a body.] Love to Jack. Ditto 
 to Grace, to whom I would send a little doll, if 
 it would go into the letter. With love to mo 
 ther and Lizzy, Y rs aff ly, F. 
 
1858-1865 233 
 
 PARKMAN TO HIS SISTER. 
 
 PAKIS, Jan. 19, 1859. 
 
 MY DEAR Liz, My knees are somewhat 
 better, and I am about all day, sleep well, etc. 
 So much for my corporeal state. I mean to stay 
 here some time, as I am better off than else 
 where. ... I see Anna Greene almost daily. 
 Greene is a capital fellow, and nothing of a par 
 son. X wrote me a long letter in which she 
 advises me to leave Paris, as the contrast be 
 tween outward gayety and inward sin must grate 
 dreadfully on my feelings! I used to think 
 her a woman of sense and understanding. What 
 the devil are your sex made of ? Also that I 
 should leave my hotel and live at a boarding- 
 house kept by a female friend of hers, where I 
 should be surrounded by such kind people ! I 
 shall stop off that sort of thing. 
 
 Y rs affec ly, F. 
 
 PARKMAN TO HIS SISTER. 
 
 PARIS, Feb. 30, 1859. 
 
 MY DEAR MOLLY, I got y r letter of Feb. 8 
 about a week ago. I am a little less lame. I get 
 on well enough. The omnibuses of Paris of 
 which there are about 700 are made with rail 
 ings, etc., in such a way that with a little science I 
 can swing myself to the top with the arms alone, 
 and here I usually spend the better part of the 
 day smoking cigarettes and surveying the crowds 
 below. I have formed an extensive acquaintance 
 among omnibus cads and the like, whom I find 
 to be first-rate fellows in their way also have 
 
234 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 learned pretty thoroughly the streets of Paris, 
 where much may be seen from the top of an 
 omnibus. When hungry or thirsty, I descend to 
 any restaurant, cafe, or " buffet " that happens 
 to be near, whether of low or high degree, if 
 only clean. In fine weather, an hour or two may 
 always be spent pleasantly enough, between 2 
 and 5 o clock, in the open air under the porches 
 of the cafes on the Boulevards, where all Paris 
 passes by. 1 
 
 In one respect I have gained greatly from 
 Brown-Sequard s treatment. The muscles, which 
 ever since my first lameness have been very much 
 reduced and weakened, are restored wholly to 
 their natural size and strength, so that when the 
 neuralgic pain subsides I shall be in a much 
 better condition than before. . . . 
 
 Y rs aff ly, R 
 
 His health, however, made but little gain, and 
 he went home after the winter was over. From 
 this time he lived with his mother and sisters, at 
 their house in town in the winter, at his house 
 hard by Jamaica Pond in the summer. His 
 daughters had gone to live with their aunt, Miss 
 Bigelow, for he was unable to take the charge 
 of them. This little country-place on Jamaica 
 Pond was one of the great pleasures in his life. 
 He had bought the cottage, with three acres of 
 garden about it, after his father s death, in 1852, 
 and there he lived, in warm weather, all his life. 
 1 Life of Francis Parkman, pp. 101, 102. 
 
1858-1865 235 
 
 It was on the border of Jamaica Pond that 
 Parkman revealed a versatility of spirit which, 
 in a man whose indomitable will was clinched 
 upon a work of history, the dream of his boy 
 hood, may well quicken the most sluggish admi 
 ration. Balked in his course, pulled off from his 
 chosen work, another man would have felt justi 
 fied in despair, at least in idleness ; not so he. 
 His wife had given him the suggestion, " Frank, 
 with all your getting, get roses." Up he got and 
 made a garden of roses. He had three acres, his 
 man Michael, such enrichment of the soil as a 
 horse, a cow, and a pig could supply, a few 
 garden implements, and a wheeled chair, or in 
 happy seasons a cane ; with these he grew his 
 beautiful roses, " Madame Henriette, rosy pink, 
 very large and beautiful," " ^Etna, brilliant crim 
 son tinted with purple," " Mariquita, white, 
 lightly shaded, beautiful," " Marechal Niel, beau 
 tiful, deep yellow, large, full, and of globular 
 form, very sweet, the shoots well clothed with 
 large shining leaves," " Euphrosyne, creamy buff, 
 very sweet and good," and a thousand more. Suc 
 cess led to a head-gardener, spadesman, and hoe- 
 man, to greenhouse, hotbeds, hybrids, horticul 
 tural shows, medals, and all the pomp that Flora 
 showers on her successful bedesmen. He loved 
 what he calls " that gracious art which through 
 all time has been the companion and symbol of 
 
236 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 peace ; an art joined in the closest ties with Na 
 ture, and her helper in the daily miracle by 
 which she works beauty out of foulness and life 
 out of corruption ; an art so tranquillizing and 
 so benign ; so rich in consolations and plea 
 sures." He turned to Nature like a lover, and 
 with the industry and will of a man who meant 
 to be " a jolly thriving wooer." His character 
 was his art. In " The Book of Roses " he says : 
 
 One point cannot be too often urged in re 
 spect to horticultural pursuits. Never attempt 
 to do anything which you are not prepared to do 
 thoroughly. A little done well is far more satis 
 factory than a great deal done carelessly and 
 superficially. . . . The amateur who has made 
 himself a thorough master of the cultivation of 
 a single species or variety has, of necessity, ac 
 quired a knowledge and skill which, with very 
 little pains, he may apply to numberless other 
 forms of culture. 
 
 This is the way he went to work for a bed of 
 roses. He took a plot some sixty feet long by 
 forty wide, his gardener dug it, turned it, spaded 
 it, and hoed it two feet and a half deep. Then 
 a layer of manure was spread at a depth of 
 eighteen inches ; on top of that a spaded mix 
 ture of native yellow loam nicely intermin 
 gled with black surface soil was shoveled in ; 
 then, this time nine inches deep, a second layer 
 of manure, and again on top of that a shoveling 
 
1858-1865 237 
 
 of the nicely intermingled dirt. On top of the 
 bed he spread a third layer of manure, with a 
 goodly supply of sandy road-scrapings. Each 
 act was performed with sacerdotal exactness. 
 The manure was not home-got, for he had " found 
 no enriching material so good as the sweepings 
 from the floor of a horseshoer, in which manure 
 is mixed with the shavings of hoofs," - it was 
 light and porous, and altogether deserving of 
 commendation. 
 
 Sometimes in his wheeled chair he would pro 
 pel himself from tuft to tuft, armed with trowel 
 or sickle, but he liked best to superintend some 
 delicate manoauvre, as of sowing the seeds of 
 roses ; there he sat, one hand on a wheel, to 
 revolve himself along the edge of the bed, 
 carefully made of loam, old manure, leaf -mould, 
 and sand, and with the other hand scattered 
 broadcast and thick over the expectant ground 
 seeds born of some marriage of horticultural con- 
 venance contrived by himself. Thus he came to 
 love stocks, stalks, runners, creepers, corollas, 
 pistils, stamens ; and, love of science mingling 
 with his love of beauty, he gradually devoted 
 himself almost exclusively to the hybridization 
 of lilies and the cultivation of roses. Thus forced 
 to leave library and desk, and the long lists of 
 catalogued and ticketed manuscripts, he betook 
 himself to the business of growing and selling 
 
238 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 flowers. He was better at growing than at sell 
 ing, and took a partner for a season. 
 
 PARKMAN TO MRS. SAM. PARKMAN. 
 
 JAMAICA PLAIN, Ap. 4, 1862. 
 
 MY DEAR MARY, ... I am daily here in 
 Jamaica Plain and am at last really busy, hav 
 ing formed a partnership with Spooner [a florist] 
 which will absorb all the working faculties 1 
 have left. So you find me a man of business. I 
 am content with the move, and resolved to give 
 the thing a fair trial, and, by one end of the 
 horn or the other, work a way out of a condi 
 tion of helplessness. At all events, this is my 
 best chance, and I will give it a trial. Spooner 
 wants me to go to England and France in the 
 fall, to look up new plants. The thing has dif 
 ficulties and risks, not a few under any circum 
 stances ; but is attractive, and doubly so as it 
 gives me a prospect of meeting you. So I cherish 
 it, as probably an illusion, but still a very pleas 
 ing one. Turning tradesman has agreed with 
 me so far. Several bushels of historical MSS. 
 and fragments of abortive chapters have been 
 packed under lock and key, to bide their time. 
 Affecly y rs, F. P. 
 
 The firm did not make money, and dissolved 
 within a year. Parkman continued to labor in 
 his garden. He became member, and finally 
 president, of the Massachusetts Horticultural So 
 ciety, and in due course won hundreds of prizes 
 at the flower shows. His experiments in hybridi- 
 
1858-1865 239 
 
 zation of lilies were most careful, and (so Pro 
 fessor Goodale says) there are no better lessons 
 on this subject for the botanical student than 
 Parkman s own narrative of what he did. He 
 wished to combine two Japanese lilies, that they 
 should not " live unwooed and unrespected fade," 
 the Lily Beautiful, with lancet leaves, and the 
 Lily Golden ; the former was to be the bride. 
 Four or five varieties, in color from pure white 
 to deep red, were tended in pots under glass, for 
 the Lily Beautiful will not ripen its seed un- 
 coaxed in New England air. When the flowers 
 were on the point of opening, Parkman took a 
 forceps and removed all the anthers from the 
 expanding buds, the pollen at that period was 
 still wholly unripe, and self-impregnation was 
 impossible. He then applied the pollen of the 
 Lily Golden to the pistils of the Lily Beautiful 
 as soon as they were in a condition to receive it. 
 Conception took place, the pods swelled, and 
 the seed ripened ; though the pods looked full, 
 they held less seeds than chaff, and these seeds 
 were rough and wrinkled, not like the smooth 
 seeds of the Lily Beautiful when left to itself. 
 Fifty seedlings were got, their stems all mottled 
 like the father plant ; " the infant bulbs were 
 pricked out into a cold frame " and left there 
 three or four years ; then they were planted in a 
 bed for blooming. One bud at last opened, and 
 
240 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 spread its flower nine and a half inches in di 
 ameter, resembling its father in fragrance and 
 form, its mother in color ; the next year the bulb 
 produced a flower whose extended petals mea 
 sured twelve inches from tip to tip, and taken 
 to England it produced other flowers fourteen 
 inches across. This was the famous Lilium 
 Parkmanni. 1 The other forty-nine hybrids all 
 put forth flowers like their mother s. 
 
 In 1866 he published " The Book of Roses," 
 in which he told the various processes of culti 
 vation, training, and propagation, both in 
 open ground and in pots, and gave accounts 
 of the various families and groups, with descrip 
 tions of the best varieties. Among other fruits 
 of this book was this letter : 
 
 ESTEEMED SIR, Allow one of your most ar 
 dent admirers to address you, for the purpose of 
 obtaining from you a floral sentiment and your 
 autograph. I am a great lover of flowers and 
 the beauties of nature in general, and being well 
 aware of the fact that you are a great floricul- 
 tural historian, I take the liberty to address you. 
 May I kindly ask if you will favor me with a 
 quotation from your " Book of Roses " or else 
 some sublime floral sentiment which may occur 
 to your mind. 
 
 I am the fortunate possessor of floral senti 
 ments from the pen of such celebrated botanists, 
 
 1 Sold at last to an English florist for a thousand dollars. 
 
1858-1865 241 
 
 floriculturists, and pomologists as ... [the quick 
 and the dead]. I assure you, sir, that such a 
 contribution from you will be highly valued and 
 appreciated, and long after you shall have gone 
 to join that grand and immortal army of floral 
 writers this contribution will be sacred to me. 
 My object is only to possess letters or quotations 
 dwelling on floriculture. If you cannot think of 
 anything appropriate, will you kindly write for 
 me those exquisite words of the late Solon Rob 
 inson, " A love of flowers is a love of the beauti 
 ful, and a love of the beautiful is a love of the 
 good," from his "Facts for Farmers" (1864), 
 p. 500. 
 
 Whether Mr. Parkman gave a floricultural or 
 a pomological sentiment, or none, is not known. 
 
 Outdoor occupation did him good, but per 
 haps the tenderness of the flowers comforters 
 who comfort and ask neither thanks nor confi 
 dence in return did him more good still. The 
 whole garden was delightful, the best of phy 
 sicians, the best of friends. Sometimes in the 
 richness of the blossoming time the colors were 
 
 too heavily laid on by the horticultural hand ; 
 
 
 
 The fayre grassy grownd 
 Mantled with green, and goodly beautifide 
 With all the ornaments of Floraes pride, 
 Wherewith her mother Art, as halfe in scorn 
 Of niggard Nature, like a pompous bride 
 Did decke her, and too lavishly adorne 
 
 was too red and pink and yellow. The azaleas, 
 
242 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 rhododendrons, magnolias, syringas, lilacs,, and 
 the big scarlet Parkman poppies were too bold 
 for a less scientific eye, and overshadowed the 
 columbine, foxglove, larkspur, violet, even the 
 Japanese iris, whose seeds had been fetched from 
 the Mikado s garden, and all the wee, modest 
 flowers; but people would drive thither many 
 miles to see the splendor of the blossoms. 
 
 The garden was of modest dimensions and 
 sloped down sharply to the shore, so that the lit 
 tle walk from the house to the dock on the pond s 
 edge ran past all the vegetable friends, trees, 
 shrubs, and plants. There were a tall, wide- 
 spreading beech, elms sixty feet high, a big chest 
 nut, a tulip, a plane-tree, two white oaks, a 
 sassafras, Scottish maples and scarlet maples, 
 lindens, willows, pines, and hemlocks ; and hold 
 ing themselves a little aloof, as befitted their 
 rarity and breeding, a Kentucky coffee-tree, a 
 gingko, the magnolia acuminata, and the Park 
 man crab, first of its kind in New England, 
 radiant with its bright-colored flowers. 
 
 Parkman always lived comfortably but sim 
 ply, for though he had inherited a competence 
 from his father, his books brought him in little, 
 even in his first days of fame he received 
 hardly more, as he said, than the wages of a 
 day-laborer, and his researches were very ex 
 pensive, and horticulture paid little. At the 
 
1858-1865 243 
 
 time of the partnership he was troubled by the 
 thought that for the firm s benefit it might be his 
 duty to sell the garden ; but he was not obliged 
 to make that sacrifice. His purse gradually be 
 came somewhat heavier, so that in 1874 he was 
 able to build a pleasant house in place of the 
 original cottage. 
 
 I have not finished the list of Parkman s ills. 
 He was forced to endure anew the poison of in 
 action when the Civil War broke out, and the 
 "hand that should have grasped the sword " 
 an itching palm could hold nothing but the 
 trowel or the pen. He, with his heart and soul 
 in the Union cause, and believing in the enforce 
 ment of right by might, was compelled to sit 
 and hear the President s call for troops, to sit 
 and read Governor Andrew s proclamation, to 
 sit and see his friends and kinsmen ride away 
 to the front, and in a wheeled chair or darkened 
 room to receive the news of battle, of defeat, of 
 victory. This was bitterer than any pain. 
 
 As he himself said : 
 
 Who can ever forget the day when from spires 
 and domes, windows and housetops, the stars and 
 stripes were flung to the wind, in token that the 
 land was roused at last from deadly torpor. They 
 were the signals of a new life ; portentous of 
 storm and battle, yet radiant with hope. Our 
 flag was never so glorious. On that day it be- 
 
244 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 came the emblem of truth and right and justice. 
 Through it a mighty people proclaimed a new 
 faith that peace, wealth, ease, material pro 
 gress were not the sum and substance of all good. 
 Loyalty to it became loyalty to humanity and 
 God. The shackles of generations were thrown 
 off. We were a people disenthralled, rising from 
 abasement abject and insupportable. 
 
 There is not a chapter in his books which does 
 not show that the bent of his spirit was to fight 
 by day in the forest, and bivouac by night under 
 the stars ; and yet while a million men were under 
 arms he was not able to take any part, even the 
 very least. This was his purgatory ; he sat with 
 outward calm and inward wrath in his town 
 house or on the banks of Jamaica Pond and 
 wrote " The Book of Roses," and put together 
 page by page " The Pioneers of New France." 
 He was a stoic, and believed the stoic s creed, 
 that the ills of life should be accepted at the 
 hands of fate without petulance, without spleen, 
 with no word, not merely not complaining, but not 
 demanding sympathy, not telling even friendly 
 ears. He believed in the virtue of silent forti 
 tude. This rule he deliberately put aside for 
 once. Before the close of the war he wrote the 
 brief autobiographical letter published in Mr. 
 Farnham s Life, which shows how much (in his 
 uncertainty of life and of strength to labor) he 
 wished the world to know that while his friends 
 
1858-1865 245 
 
 were dying for a great cause, he was not un 
 worthy of their friendship, and that but for hos 
 tile fate he too would have accomplished no un 
 worthy thing. This letter, indorsed " Not to be 
 used during my life," was sent to Dr. George E. 
 Ellis in 1868, with a note saying : 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, Running my eye over 
 this paper, I am more than ever struck with its 
 egoism, which makes it totally unfit for any eye 
 but that of one in close personal relations with 
 me. It resulted from a desire natural, per 
 haps, but which may just as well be suppressed 
 to make known the extreme difficulties which 
 have reduced to very small proportions what 
 might otherwise have been a good measure of 
 achievement. Having once begun it, I went on 
 with it, though convinced that it was wholly un- 
 suited to see the light. Physiologically consid 
 ered, the case is rather curious. ... If I had 
 my life to live over again, I would follow exactly 
 the same course again, only with less vehemence. 
 Very cordially, F. PARKMAN. 
 
 He wrote a very similar, almost identical, let 
 ter in 1886 to Mr. Martin Brimmer, which is 
 printed in the appendix. Both letters were kept 
 secret till after Parkman s death, in accordance 
 with his instructions. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 HISTORY AND FAME 
 
 THE first volume of the great series on France 
 and England in North America was not pub 
 lished till 1865. In the preface he writes : 
 
 To those who have aided him with information 
 and documents, the extreme slowness in the pro 
 gress of the work will naturally have caused sur 
 prise. This slowness was unavoidable. During 
 the past eighteen years, the state of his health 
 has exacted throughout an extreme caution in 
 regard to mental application, reducing it at best 
 within narrow and precarious limits, and often 
 precluding it. Indeed, for two periods, each of 
 several years, any attempt at bookish occupation 
 would have been merely suicidal. A condition of 
 sight arising from kindred sources has also re 
 tarded the work, since it has never permitted 
 reading or writing continuously for much more 
 than five minutes, and often has not permitted 
 them at all. 
 
 Thus, so far as concerns his history, the record 
 of these laborious years, doing " day labor, light 
 denied," is chiefly a chronicle of the spirit domi 
 nating continuous insurrections of the body. It 
 
HISTORY AND FAME 247 
 
 is the story of a prize-fight a bout, a respite, 
 again a toeing of the line, again blows hard and 
 heavy, and Parkman again and again coming 
 back to the scratch, on guard, teeth set, and reso 
 lute " never to submit or yield." The cause of 
 all these ills was the subject of great disagree 
 ment among physicians ; Dr. George M. Gould, 
 of Philadelphia, has written a very interesting 
 monograph to prove that unsymmetric astigma 
 tism and anisometropia were the prime devils in 
 his body. Sed non nobis Procul, prof am! 
 Enough of this, as he himself would have said. 
 
 At the time he published " The Pioneers of 
 France in the New World " he had written parts 
 of later volumes, near a third of " The Jesuits," 
 a half of " La Salle ; " also the material for 
 " Frontenac " was partially arranged for compo 
 sition, and most of the material for the whole 
 series had been collected and was within reach. 
 "The Pioneers" could not fail of flattering 
 criticism from the newspapers ; the episode of 
 Menendez and Dominique de Gourgues, the 
 story of Champlain, have all the spirit of the 
 " Trois Mousquetaires " and all the accuracy of 
 Agassiz. The "Tribune" ventured to say to 
 New Yorkers that " in vigor and pointedness of 
 description, Mr. Parkman may be counted supe 
 rior to Irving; " and the "Nation " said, " This 
 book will add his name to the list of those his- 
 
248 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 torians who have done Bonor to American liter 
 ature." 
 
 The other volumes followed with louder and 
 louder choruses of applause, " The Jesuits in 
 North America" in 1867, "La Salle and the 
 Discovery of the Great West" in 1869, the 
 " Old Rdgiine " in 1874, " Frontenac " in 1877, 
 " Montcalin and Wolfe " in 1884, for here he 
 broke the sequence of his story in order that he 
 might run no risk, but complete while yet time 
 served the last great scene of the play. After 
 wards, in 1892, he published the " Half Century 
 of Conflict," and the long day s work was done. 
 
 The careless, pleasure-loving reader, who skips 
 prefaces and notes, might rashly conclude that 
 what is so delightful to read is not to be classed 
 with " profitable " books of research, which 
 commonly have the charm of a law book and 
 read like a dictionary ; to such readers a page or 
 two must be addressed. In the preface to the 
 " Pioneers " Parkman says : 
 
 Faithfulness to the truth of history involves 
 far more than a research, however patient and 
 scrupulous, into special facts. . . . The narrator 
 must seek to imbue himself with the life and 
 spirit of the time. He must study events in 
 their bearings near and remote ; in the char 
 acter, habits, and manners of those who took 
 part in them. . . . With respect to that spe 
 cial research which, if inadequate, is still in the 
 
HISTORY AND FAME 249 
 
 most emphatic sense indispensable, it has been 
 the writer s aim to exhaust the existing material 
 of every subject treated. . . . With respect to 
 the general preparation, ... he has long been 
 too fond of this theme to neglect any means 
 within his reach of making his conception of it 
 distinct and true. 
 
 For the second volume, " The Jesuits in North 
 America," there was a mass of materials, as 
 " nearly every prominent actor left his own re 
 cord of events," and all the documents connected 
 with the Jesuits had to be studied and compared. 
 For " La Salle " he had to examine volumes of 
 manuscript drawn from the public archives of 
 France. For the " Old Regime " the story is very 
 much the same. For " Montcalm and Wolfe," be 
 sides books, pamphlets, brochures, memoirs, re 
 ports, documents, and all the multitudinous forms 
 of print, brevier, long primer, small pica, not to 
 forget Borgis, nonpareille, Garmond, and Cicero, 
 and all the other outlandish types of foreign 
 lands, six thousand folio pages of manuscript 
 had been copied from the Archives de la Marine 
 et des Colonies, the Archives de la Guerre, and 
 the Archives Nationales at Paris ; ten volumes 
 of copies had been made from the Public Record 
 Office and the British Museum in London ; and 
 on the heels of these he had to listen to the slow 
 deciphering of cramped writing, crabbed writing, 
 hasty, blotted, blurred writing, faded writing, 
 
250 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 unpunctuated writing, all sorts of writing, ab 
 breviated by caprice and the waywardest fancy, 
 naturally bad, worsened by time, by the corrup 
 tions of moth and dust, and all the foes of his 
 tory. So, too, it was for the " Half Century of 
 Conflict." 
 
 In the upper hall of the house of the Massa 
 chusetts Historical Society stands a large wooden 
 press, a bookcase with doors ; over the top is 
 carved Parkman s name. Within are his manu 
 scripts, given by him to the Society. They not 
 only tell of all the work he did, but they talk 
 about him, and boast of the proud and affec 
 tionate interest he took in them. There the vol 
 umes of MSS. stand bound in their bindings, 
 differing in degree according to size and dig 
 nity. There are the early -gathered " Pontiac 
 Miscellanies " in big, red, shiny leather, with gilt 
 lettered backs, standing eighteen inches high 
 and near two inches thick, neat copies of docu 
 ments ; one volume of them, of less elegant cal 
 ligraphy, in Parkman s own hand, copied from 
 records in the Maryland Historical Society in 
 1845. Next them come the letters of Pedro Me- 
 nendez, the cruel Spaniard ; and following him 
 more great big red books, copied for Francis 
 Parkman, Esq., by Ben : Perley Poore, Historical 
 Agent of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, as 
 the frontispiece recounts in pied letters of great 
 
HISTORY AND FAME 251 
 
 brilliancy. Very creditable calligraphy they 
 are. Then follow volumes in rows, volumes 
 of " Correspondance Officiate," 1621-1679 ; vol 
 umes on Acadia, Isle Royale, Canada ; volumes 
 of documents copied from the Public Record 
 Office in London ; volumes of Dinwiddie s let 
 ters, these last in green leather, in self -satisfied 
 distinction from their fellows. Then other vol 
 umes, English and French, of which none is more 
 interesting than the " Voyage dans le Gulfe de 
 Mexique," written by La Salle s brother, an old 
 manuscript bought at a sale in London in 1857 
 for $48.50, as the fly-leaf says. It begins : 
 
 MONSEIGNEUR, Voicy la Relation du voy 
 age que mon f rere entreprit pour decouvrir dans 
 le golfe du mexique, Fembouchure du fleuve de 
 missisippy, une mort inopinee et tragique 1 ayant 
 empeche de le parachever et d en rendre Conte 
 a votre grandeur, j espere quelle agreera que je 
 suplee a son defaut. 
 
 In the days of Louis XIV even death was a 
 poor excuse for not fulfilling the punctilios due 
 the king. 
 
 Following these big books come little note 
 books of Parkman s own keeping, loose sheets, 
 letters, journals, little parcels of papers neatly 
 tied with ribbon, the MSS. of one or two of the 
 histories, and a guerilla band of those enemies 
 of peace and order, " Sundry documents." 
 
252 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 His printed books, several thousands, were 
 kept in his study on the third story of No. 50 
 Chestnut Street ; so were the MSS. before they 
 were given to the Historical Society. Up in 
 that study he used to sit all the winter months, 
 in the company of his books and manuscripts, 
 while the fire from the open stove flickered sal 
 utations to the shelves opposite, and the books 
 stared back at trophies got forty years before 
 on the Oregon trail, bow, arrows, shield, pipe 
 of peace, hanging tamely on the wall ; the little 
 bronze cats on the mantelpiece played undis 
 mayed beside the couchant Barye lioness, em 
 bodiment of the eternal struggle, the triumph 
 of the strong, the ruin of the weak ; and Sir 
 Jeffrey Amherst, out from his engraving after 
 Reynolds s portrait, his head resting pensively 
 on one hand, careless of baton and helmet, gazed 
 ruminatingly at his fellow pictures, prints of the 
 " Catterskills," of the ruins of Ticonderoga, of 
 Lake George. From other walls Sir Walter 
 Scott, a lion, and a cat looked gravely at Colonel 
 Shaw, Colleoni, Diirer s Knight (a favorite), 
 and at the facade of Notre Dame ; but pictures 
 had no great liberty of place, for the bookshelves 
 spread themselves over most of the room. 
 
 Parkman used to sit in a simple easy-chair, 
 his feet near the stove, while his sister, at a little 
 table beside the window, wrote at his dictation. 
 
HISTORY AND FAME 253 
 
 But when his work was over, as the short win 
 ter twilights hurried away, his thoughts often 
 must have wandered back over the forty years 
 spent in the wilderness of physical ills, and with 
 his jaw set firm, but with his kind heart un 
 strung, he must have remembered the old days 
 of boyhood, of health, of promise, when Nature, 
 too, was young and beautiful and savage, and 
 perhaps he repeated the words of his youth : 
 
 Thus to look back with a fond longing to inhos 
 pitable deserts, where men, beasts, and Nature 
 herself, seem arrayed in arms, and where ease, 
 security, and all that civilization reckons among 
 the goods of life, are alike cut off, may appear 
 to argue some strange perversity, and yet such 
 has been the experience of many a sound and 
 healthful mind. To him who has once tasted 
 the reckless independence, the haughty self-reli 
 ance, the sense of irresponsible freedom, which 
 the forest life engenders, civilization thenceforth 
 seems flat and stale. Its pleasures are insipid, 
 its pursuits wearisome, its conventionalities, du 
 ties, and mutual dependence, alike tedious and 
 disgusting. . . . The wilderness, rough, harsh, 
 and inexorable, has charms more potent in their 
 seductive influence than all the lures of luxury 
 and sloth. There is a chord in the hearts of 
 most men, prompt to answer loudly or faintly, 
 as the case may be, to such rude appeals. But 
 there is influence of another sort, strongest with 
 minds of the finest texture, yet sometimes hold 
 ing a controlling power over those who neither 
 
254 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 acknowledge nor suspect its workings. There 
 are so few imbruted by vice, so perverted by art 
 and luxury, as to dwell in the closest presence 
 of Nature, deaf to her voice of melody and 
 power, untouched by the ennobling influences 
 which mould and penetrate the heart that has 
 not hardened itself against them. Into the spirit 
 of such an one the mountain wind breathes its 
 own freshness, and the midsummer tempest, as 
 it rends the forest, pours its own fierce energy. 
 ... It is the grand and heroic in the hearts of 
 men which finds its worthiest symbol and noblest 
 aspiration amid these desert realms in the 
 mountain and in the interminable forest. 1 
 
 So spake the lover at twenty-three, in the lux 
 uriant exuberance of love and youth ; so thought 
 the old man, thinking of his mistress whom he 
 had not seen for forty years. Perhaps to his 
 thin determined lips and firm-set jaw, up from 
 his modest heart, came the ancient benedic 
 tion, 
 
 Blessed of the Lord be his land, 
 
 For the precious things of heaven, for the dew, 
 
 And for the chief things of the ancient mountains, 
 
 And for the precious things of the lasting hills, 
 
 And for the precious things of the earth and fulness 
 
 thereof, 
 And for the good will of him that dwelt in the bush. 
 
 As I have said, his reputation increased as 
 the series advanced, and on the publication of 
 " Montcalm and Wolfe " he reached the height 
 1 Pontiac, vol. ii. pp. 237-239. 
 
HISTORY AND FAME 255 
 
 of his fame; this book he and the world re 
 garded as his best. He could then feel that, 
 even should he not fill in the intervening half 
 century between Frontenac and Montcalm, his 
 work had been in substance done, that his en 
 durance had overcome its enemies. He enjoyed 
 applause, not so much that of the public for 
 he had a smack of Coriolanus s opinion on the 
 " raskell many " as that of men whose judg 
 ment was trained and instructed, and whose 
 speech was measured. 
 
 MR. HENRY ADAMS TO PARKMAN. 
 
 [WASHINGTON], 21 December, 1884. 
 
 MY DEAR PARKMAN, Your two volumes on 
 Montcalm and Wolfe deserve much more care 
 ful study than I am competent to give them, 
 and so far as I can see, you have so thoroughly 
 exhausted your sources as to leave little or 
 nothing new to be said. The book puts you in 
 the front rank of living English historians, and 
 I regret only that the field is self-limited so that 
 you can cultivate it no further. Your book 
 is a model of thorough and impartial study and 
 clear statement. Of its style and narrative the 
 highest praise is that they are on a level with its 
 thoroughness of study. Taken as a whole, your 
 works are now dignified by proportions and com 
 pleteness which can be hardly paralleled by the 
 " literary baggage " of any other historical writer 
 in the language known to me to-day. . . . 
 
 Ever truly y rs, HENRY ADAMS. 
 
256 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 MR. E. L. GODKIN TO PARKMAN. 
 
 [NEW YORK], Dec. 14, 1885. 
 
 MY DEAR PARKMAN, I have just finished 
 your u Wolfe and Montcalm," and I cannot help 
 doing what I have never done before write to 
 tell the author with what delight I read it. I do 
 not think I have ever been so much enchained 
 by a historical book, although I was passionately 
 fond of history in rny boyhood. Wolfe, too, was 
 one of my earliest heroes, and although I have 
 been familiar for over forty years with his story, 
 I became almost tremulous with anxiety about 
 the result of the night attack when reading your 
 account of the final preparations, a few evenings 
 ago. 
 
 What became of Montcalm s family ? Has he 
 any descendants now? What a pathetic tale 
 his is ! 
 
 . . . Thank you most sincerely for a great 
 pleasure. Yours very sincerely, 
 
 E. L. GODKIN. 
 
 A later letter, 1887, characteristically says : 
 "I hope you are well and busy. No one else 
 does nearly as much for American literature. 
 This is i gospel truth. " 
 
 MR. HEXRY JAMES TO PARKMAN. 
 
 DOVER, [ENGLAND], August 24th, [1885]. 
 MY DEAR PARKMAN, This is only three 
 lines, because I cannot hold my hand from tell 
 ing you, as other people must have done to your 
 final weariness, with what high appreciation and 
 genuine gratitude I have been reading your 
 
HISTORY AND FAME 257 
 
 " Wolfe and Montcalm." (You see I am still so 
 overturned by my emotion that I can t even 
 write the name straight.) I have found the right 
 time to read it only during the last fortnight, 
 and it has fascinated me from the first page to 
 the last. You know, of course, much better than 
 any one else how good it is, but it may not be 
 absolutely intolerable to you to learn how good 
 still another reader thinks it. The manner in 
 which you have treated the prodigious theme is 
 worthy of the theme itself, and that says every 
 thing. It is truly a noble book, my dear Park- 
 man, and you must let me congratulate you, 
 with the heartiest friendliness, on having given 
 it to the world. So be as proud as possible of 
 being the author of it, and let your friends be 
 almost as proud of possessing his acquaintance. 
 Reading it here by the summer smooth channel 
 with the gleaming French coast, from my win 
 dows, looking on some clear days only five miles 
 distant, and the guns of old England pointed sea 
 ward, from the rambling, historic castle, perched 
 above me upon the downs ; reading it, I say, 
 among these influences, it has stirred all sorts 
 of feelings none of them, however, incompat 
 ible with a great satisfaction that the American 
 land should have the credit of a production so 
 solid and so artistic. . . . Believe in the per 
 sonal gratitude of yours, ever very faithfully, 
 
 H. JAMES. 
 
 MB. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL TO PARKMAN. 
 31, LOWNDES SQUARE, [LONDON], S. W., 8th Deer., 1884. 
 DEAR PARKMAN, I have just done reading 
 your book, and write a line to thank you for 
 
258 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 what has been so great a pleasure. It went as 
 delightfully as floating down one of the forest 
 streams where your scene is laid. You have done 
 nothing better, and you know how I liked the 
 others. Faithfully yours, 
 
 J. R. LOWELL. 
 
 MB. GEORGE BANCROFT TO PARKMAN. 
 
 WASHINGTON, D. C., 28 Nov., 1884. 
 DEAR MR. PARKMAN, I am delighted at 
 receiving from you under your own hand these 
 two new volumes with which you delight your 
 friends and instruct readers in both worlds. 
 You belong so thoroughly to the same course of 
 life which I have chosen that I follow your 
 career as a fellow soldier, striving to promote 
 the noblest ends, and I take delight in your 
 honors as much or more than I should my own. 
 You have just everything which go to make an 
 historian persistency in collecting materials, 
 indefatigable industry in using them, swift dis 
 cernment of the truth, integrity and intrepidity 
 in giving utterance to truth, a kindly human 
 ity which is essential to the true historian, and 
 which gives the key to all hearts, and a clear and 
 graceful and glowing manner of narration. I 
 claim like yourself to have been employed ear 
 nestly, and pray you to hold me to be in all sin 
 cerity and affectionate regard, 
 
 Your fellow laborer and friend, 
 
 GEO. BANCROFT. 
 
 Mr. Henry Cabot Lodge dedicated his " His 
 torical and Political Essays " to Parkman, - 
 
HISTORY AND FAME 259 
 
 "To Francis Parkman, in token of admiration 
 for his great work as an American historian and 
 for his character as a man " and at the time 
 wrote this letter : 
 
 Nov. llth, [1892]. 
 
 DEAR MR. PARKMAN, I send herewith a 
 little volume of essays, which I have taken the 
 liberty and given myself the great pleasure of 
 dedicating to you. ... I should have liked to 
 have had time to write an article on the com 
 pletion of your history, but politics have so en 
 grossed me of late that literature has gone to 
 the wall. But I wished in some public fashion 
 to express the great admiration I feel for your 
 writings and for your services to American his 
 tory, and also for the character, courage, and 
 will which have enabled you to do such work 
 despite the obstacles with which you contended 
 and which you have so entirely overcome. May 
 I add that I also wished to express my very 
 strong personal regard for you. The dedication 
 cannot possibly give you the pleasure that it 
 gives me, but I venture to hope that you will 
 accept it. Sincerely y rs, 
 
 H. C. LODGE. 
 
 Mr. Theodore Roosevelt dedicated " The Win 
 ning of the West " to Parkman, having first writ 
 ten this letter to ask permission : 
 
 OYSTER BAY, LONG ISLAND, N. Y., 
 April 23d, 88. 
 
 MY DEAR SIR, I suppose that every Ameri 
 can who cares at all for the history of his own 
 
260 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 country feels a certain personal pride in your 
 work it is as if Motley had written about 
 American instead of European subjects, and so 
 was doubly our own ; but those of us who have 
 a taste for history, and yet have spent much of 
 our time on the frontier, perhaps realize even 
 more keenly than our fellows that your works 
 stand alone, and that they must be models for 
 all historical treatment of the founding of new 
 communities and the growth of the frontier here 
 in the wilderness. This even more than the 
 many pleasant hours I owe you must be my 
 excuse for writing. 
 
 I am engaged on a work of which the first 
 part treats of the extension of our frontier west 
 ward and southwestward during the twenty odd 
 years from 1774 to 1796. . . . This first part I 
 have promised the Putnams for some time in 
 1889 ; it will be in two volumes, with some such 
 title as " The Winning of the West and South 
 west." . . . 
 
 I should like to dedicate this to you. Of course 
 I know that you would not wish your name to be 
 connected, in even the most indirect way, with 
 any but good work ; and I can only say, that I 
 will do my best to make the work creditable. . . . 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 THEODORE ROOSEVELT. 
 
 MR. JUSTIN WINSOR TO PARKMAN. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, May 23, 92. 
 
 DEAR PARKMAN, ... I read your " Pon- 
 tiac" when I was in college, and I have not failed 
 to read each succeeding work of yours upon its 
 
HISTORY AND FAME 261 
 
 publication. In the last ten years I have seldom 
 had them off my study table, for work I have 
 been upon has often almost constantly taken 
 me to them ; and always with increasing admira 
 tion. Believe me faithfully yours, 
 
 JUSTIN WINSOR. 
 
 Just before his death he was invited to at 
 tend the World s Congress of Historians, at 
 the World s Fair, in Chicago, as " The Nestor 
 and most beloved of American Historians." I 
 cite these letters because scholars say that " no 
 one who has not prosecuted some original re 
 search on the same lines can have an idea of the 
 extreme care with which he [Parkman] worked, 
 or of the almost petty detail which he was at 
 pains to master, not necessarily to use, but sim 
 ply to inform himself thoroughly of the circum 
 stances or of the man [of which or whom he 
 was writing]." For though he always wished to 
 make his books delightful to read, he never used 
 his imagination except as a means to discover 
 and to combine the jots and tittles of accurate 
 detail. 
 
 There were also tributes from persons less 
 well known. 
 
 HON. FRANCIS PARKMAN : 
 
 Dear Sir, Hoping and begging, I write 
 you asking you if you will be so very kind as to 
 give me your " autograph " please may I have 
 
262 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 it? I would feel most highly honored to receive 
 and love dearly to possess your autograph. And 
 if it is pleasing to you, Dear Sir ! to favor me 
 with a line or favorite sentiment I will ever 
 be most grateful for your exquisite kindness 
 for it will be to me a " precious souvenir " 
 of a " Divinely gifted and most illustrious . gen 
 tleman" whose name is dearly familiar and 
 whose " noble researches " and "grand and bril 
 liant " Historical writings which ever charm and 
 enlighten the world have endeared you to 
 all hearts, as the most " famous and brilliantly 
 gifted Historian of the world." . . . 
 
 To HON. FRANCIS PARKMAN, " Author," " King of His 
 torians." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 
 
 PARKMAN S history is in substance a history of 
 Canada, and in that country aroused great inter 
 est and admiration and also some dissatisfaction 
 and dissent. Canadians almost unanimously ac 
 knowledged that Canada was greatly indebted to 
 him for fame and honor : for, before Parkman 
 wrote, on the south side of the border there was 
 little information and much prejudice in regard 
 to the past of our northern neighbor ; in Eng 
 land there were but hazy ideas of an uninterest 
 ing agricultural province, momentarily illumi 
 nated by the exploit of an Englishman on the 
 Plains of Abraham ; and in France, Canada was 
 but a vague and mortifying memory. English- 
 speakers did not read the books of French Cana 
 dians, and for them Parkman put the history of 
 Canada on a level of interest and importance 
 equal to that, as statesmen say, of the most 
 favored nation ; before him, there was a history 
 in English by William Smith, and the extent to 
 which Mr. William Smith s history failed to 
 
264 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 dispel the general darkness of ignorance holds 
 out a measure by which we can judge what 
 Parkman did for Canada. 
 
 The criticism which he received, sometimes 
 bitter, came from French Canadians, not wholly 
 able to forget that they represented a fallen 
 cause ; they had remained loyal to that cause, 
 with the loyalty that forgets defects and enhances 
 virtues. The lost cause was not only that of a 
 nation, charming even to those whose birth and 
 breeding cut them off from full appreciation, but 
 also that of a church, sacred with all the affec 
 tion that men cherish for their mothers. They 
 could not enjoy the story which told how that 
 nation and that church had been vanquished by 
 their common foe, and, as the story was told, 
 justly vanquished ; for the teller, despite gener 
 ous and impartial sympathy, believed that the 
 side upon which the right on the whole prepon 
 derated had prevailed. That the victory had 
 been deserved was, in Parkman s judgment, the 
 verdict of history ; but what man is there, who 
 belongs to the side which has lost, who can pa 
 tiently endure to hear Rhadamanthus say, " You 
 have received your deserts." Thus there was 
 some feeling against Parkman, and when in 
 1878 some of the gentlemen of Laval Univer 
 sity, the distinguished Catholic university at 
 Quebec, wishing to honor him, even if in their 
 
CANADA AND CANADIAN FKIENDS 265 
 
 judgment sometimes astray, proposed that the 
 university should confer the degree of Doctor of 
 Letters upon him, there was warm opposition. 
 Hot words were spoken, strong feelings were 
 strongly expressed ; the conservatives carried the 
 day, and the degree was denied. On the other 
 hand, in the following year, the English univer 
 sity at Montreal, McGill, gave him the degree 
 of Doctor of Laws. He was also chosen hono 
 rary member of the Literary and Historical So 
 ciety of Quebec, and a corresponding member of 
 the Royal Society of Canada. 
 
 The opposition of adverse critics troubled 
 Parkman very little. He took no position on a 
 matter of history until he had studied it with 
 great care, and with all the impartiality that was 
 possible. 
 
 On his visits to Canada Parkman naturally 
 visited his friends and not his critics, and from 
 them he always received the kindest hospitality. 
 Quebec, as the historic centre of Canada, was 
 his headquarters, and there he had very warm 
 friends ; in earlier days Judge Black, Judge Stu 
 art, and all his life Sir James M. Le Moine, the 
 latter a man of letters and student of history, 
 whose country-seat, Spencer Grange, is not far 
 from the site where the gallant Levis routed Gen 
 eral Murray. In the company of these gentle 
 men Parkman would wander over the battlefields 
 
266 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 from Cap Rouge on the west to the Falls of 
 Montmorency on the east, examining the historic 
 spots, such as Sillery, a little village on the north 
 bank of the river, famous as possessing the oldest 
 house in Canada, and in the brave days of old 
 crowned with a French battery. Their friendly 
 commerce was fittingly accompanied, following 
 the best Hellenic traditions, by interchange of 
 gifts. He had friendships, too, with several 
 French Canadians, gentlemen of Quebec, who 
 were interested in Canadian history. Such was 
 M. Hubert La Rue, who always held out a warm 
 welcome: "Rendez-vous tout droit a la maison, ou 
 votre petite chambre du fonds vous attend avec 
 impatience." He made a friendly acquaintance 
 with M. Ferland, Abbe Laverdiere, Dr. J. C. 
 Tache, and other scholars. M. N. E. Dionne, now 
 librarian of the Parliamentary Library in the 
 Province of Quebec, did some copying for Park- 
 man in 1871, as he himself tells, in English so 
 much better than much of our American-French, 
 that I venture to quote it : " Being poor, I was 
 glad to gain some dollars, but I was chiefly proud 
 to accompany this well-known Boston ian through 
 his peregrinations from the Seminary to the epis 
 copal palace, from the registrar office to the Ter 
 rier s office, compulsing together every document 
 which he intended to use." Parkman was well 
 pleased with the copies ; and M. Dionue, himself 
 
CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 267 
 
 a historian, is able to add, " So that I must say, 
 and everybody can say so, that if I am something 
 to-day, I owe this to Mr. Parkman." 
 
 Among the Catholic clergy he had many 
 friendly acquaintances. M. Audet, chaplain of 
 the Couvent de Jesus et Marie de Sillery, intro 
 duced him to a priest at Cape Breton in these 
 terms, " This gentleman, in spite of the difference 
 of faith, has shown in his writings great justice 
 in his estimate of the deeds of Catholics in Can 
 ada ; " and to another thus, " This gentleman, 
 although he does not share our faith, has in all 
 his writings taken pains to give the most just 
 and favorable testimony to the work of Catholi 
 cism in Canada." 
 
 Parkman s chief correspondence and most fa 
 miliar intercourse were with M. 1 Abbe H. R. 
 Casgrain, the distinguished historian of Canada. 
 The two were good friends for some twenty-eight 
 years ; M. F Abbe, then a professor in the univer 
 sity, was the chief combatant on Parkman s side 
 in the battle royal over the Laval degree ; the 
 friendship had begun by an interchange of let 
 ters in 1866, for the Muse of History, taking 
 each by the hand, had brought them together. 
 Parkman wished to subscribe to a Canadian re 
 view, "Le Foyer Canadien." Abbe Casgrain, 
 secretary to the board of publication, hearing of 
 this wish, presented him with all the back num- 
 
268 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 bers, for, as the French know better than the 
 rest of us, " little gifts make great friendships." 
 The Abbe was a descendant of M. Baby, " a 
 prominent habitant," who lived across the river 
 from Detroit at the time of Pontiac s attack, and 
 by his good offices rendered the hard-pressed gar 
 rison great service ; l this ancestry made a natu 
 ral tie between the two historians. They had 
 another bond, for the Abbe was afflicted with 
 a partial blindness that prevented him from 
 reading or writing. Between them there was 
 an interchange of maps and documents and of 
 photographs. The little incidents of history, the 
 tassels and ornaments of narrative, made their 
 intercourse very agreeable. For example, Abbe 
 Casgrain brought together careful documentary 
 evidence that Cham plain s tomb had been erected 
 on the spot now occupied by the post-office, near 
 the Chateau Frontenac, a feat that aroused 
 jealousy and disbelief in other antiquarians. On 
 this occasion Parkman wrote, "A friend in Mon 
 treal sent me a newspaper with a notice of your 
 great discovery. I have long hoped that some 
 thing might be brought to light on this point, 
 and wait with interest to hear more." Then fol 
 lows another letter, disputing the Abbe s opinion 
 that Brebeuf the noble Jesuit should not 
 have an accent on the first syllable of his name, 
 1 Pontiac, vol. i. p. 248. 
 
CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 269 
 
 ending, " I hope soon to hear that Champlain s 
 bones are found." 
 
 Then Parkman sends a copy of "The Jesuits 
 in North America." 
 
 BOSTON, Jan. 30, 1868. 
 
 If you are not in Quebec, it will no doubt await 
 your return. Remembering that I am a heretic, 
 you will expect a good deal with which you will 
 be very far from agreeing. The truth is, I am a 
 little surprised that neither Catholics nor Pro 
 testants have been very severe in their strictures 
 on the book. I fully expected to be attacked by 
 both that is by the Calvinistic portion of Pro 
 testants. I believe both sides saw that I meant 
 to give a candid view of my subject in the best 
 light in which I could see it. 
 
 SAME TO SAME. 
 
 BOSTON, Feb. 13, 1868. 
 
 MY DEAR ABBE, Many thanks for your 
 most kind and welcome letter. I am truly glad 
 that, as a man of letters and as a Catholic priest, 
 you can find so much to approve in my book, 
 and I set an especial value on your commenda 
 tion. We are, as you say, at opposite poles of 
 faith but my faith, such as it is, is strong and 
 earnest, and I have the deepest respect for the 
 heroic self-devotion, the true charity, of the early 
 Jesuits of Canada. . . . 
 
 Believe me ever, with great esteem, 
 Your friend and servant, 
 
 F. PARKMAN. 
 
270 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 SAME TO SAME. 
 
 50 CHESTNUT ST., BOSTON, 10 April, 71. 
 My DEAR ABBE, Many thanks for your 
 most friendly and obliging letter, and for the 
 books which accompanied it. I regret to hear that 
 your eyes still give you so much trouble ; a mat 
 ter in which I can wholly sympathize with you, 
 my own having been useless for ten years or 
 more, and even now permitting me to write or 
 read only for a few minutes at one time. 
 
 Soon after this the Abbe went to Boston and 
 paid Parkman a visit at his country home by 
 Jamaica Pond. The Abbe* says, " Les politesses 
 exquises dont je fus 1 objet de sa part et de celle 
 de sa famille ont laisse* en moi des souvenirs qui 
 ne sont pas effaces ; " and Parkman wrote : " I 
 recall your visit with the greatest pleasure, and 
 congratulate myself that after so long an inter 
 val I have at last the good fortune to know you 
 personally." The visit was short, but Parkman 
 took the Abbe to see Harvard College, Mr. 
 Agassiz, and Mr. Longfellow, whose long white 
 beard, falling over his chest, recalled to the Abbd 
 the ancient seers and poets, " Ossian, Baruch, or 
 Camoens." 
 
 One consequence of this visit was the little 
 book, " Francis Parkman, par 1 Abbe* H. R. 
 Casgrain," published in 1872, which is full of 
 admiration, of compliments, and yet speaks out 
 frankly the author s divergent views. 
 
CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 271 
 
 We have enlarged as far as possible the place 
 of praise, in order to accord to Truth all its rights, 
 to criticism elbow-room. Let us say, without 
 beating about the bush, . . . Mr. Parkman s 
 work is the negation of all religious belief. The 
 author rejects the Protestant theory as well as 
 Catholic dogma ; he is an out-and-out rationalist. 
 We perceive an upright soul, born for the truth, 
 but lost without a compass on a boundless sea. 
 Hence these aspirations towards the true, these 
 flashes of acknowledgment, these words of hom 
 age to the truth, followed, alas, by strange fall 
 ings off, by fits of fanaticism that are astound 
 ing. 
 
 The Abbe* sent Parkman the proofs of this 
 little book before publication. 
 
 PARKMAN TO CASGRAIN. 
 
 BOSTON, Jan. 26, 1872. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, The proofs came yester 
 day. I think you know me too well to doubt that 
 I accept your criticism as frankly as it is given, 
 and that I always listen with interest and satis 
 faction to the comments of so kind and generous 
 an opponent. I only wonder that, in the oppo 
 sition of our views on many points of profound 
 importance, you can find so much to commend. 
 When you credit me with loyalty and honor, you 
 give me the praise that I value most of all. 
 
 In all that you say of my books and of myself 
 I recognize a warmth of personal regard which 
 would lead me to distrust your praises but for 
 the manifest candor and sincerity which pervade 
 
272 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 your praise and blame alike. I need not say that 
 I am extremely gratified by the one ; and as for 
 the other, I gladly accept it. I know what your 
 views are. You have spoken them openly, but 
 very kindly. As a Catholic you could not have 
 said less, and you might have said more. 
 
 I wish you were not in error when you say 
 that I am about finishing my present task. A 
 very long road is still before me. The subject 
 is complicated and difficult, and the time I can 
 give to it each day is short, both from other 
 deviations and the state of my health, which often 
 makes study out of the question. According to 
 the " medical faculty," as the newspapers say, 
 the trouble comes from an abnormal state or 
 partial paralysis of certain arteries of the brain. 
 Whatever it is, it is a nuisance of the first order, 
 and a school of patience by which Job himself 
 might have profited. However, Providence per 
 mitting, I will spite the devil yet. 
 
 Very sincerely and cordially yours, 
 
 F. PARKMAN. 
 
 SAME TO SAME. 
 
 BOSTON, 17 Nov., 72. 
 
 I have just returned [from a trip to France]. 
 I have brought home a large collection of doc 
 uments. More are to follow, to the amount of 
 about 2500 folio pages. So you see, I did not 
 lose my time. 
 
 Let me correct what seems a mistaken im 
 pression. In your critique of Chauveau you 
 speak of dures verites which you uttered in re 
 gard to my books, and for which I thanked you 
 
CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 273 
 
 and still thank } r ou. But this is because I like 
 frank and outspoken criticism, when kindly ut 
 tered, not because I recognize as verites the 
 strictures passed upon me. While esteeming my 
 critic, I still believe myself in the right. 
 
 [May 23, 1873.] 
 
 Of one thing I beg you to be entirely assured, 
 and that is that your article in the " Revue " 
 [criticising Parkman] has not in the slightest 
 degree affected the cordial regard which I enter 
 tain for you. I knew that you wrote it with 
 pain and regret, in obedience to a sense of duty ; 
 and besides, I believe that when I feel confident 
 in my position I am not very sensitive to criti 
 cism. 
 
 After this, Parkman made a return visit to 
 the Abbe, at the Maison d Airvault, the latter s 
 family place at Riviere Ouelle, a village on the 
 south bank of the St. Lawrence, opposite the 
 mouth of the Murray River. Here Parkman not 
 merely had the pleasure of the society of his 
 host and his host s family, but became familiar 
 with a little village not so very different from 
 what it had been when the fleur-de-lis floated 
 over the citadel of Quebec. Correspondence was 
 taken up again as before. M. FAbbe wrote a 
 review of the " Old Regime," in which he found 
 sundry expressions of opinion that did not co 
 incide with his own. 
 
274 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 PARKMAN TO CASGRAIN. 
 
 JAMAICA PLAIN, 9 May, 1875. 
 
 MON CHER AMI, I have read your article 
 on the Old Regime with attention and inter 
 est. It is very much what I had expected, know 
 ing your views and the ardor with which you 
 embrace them, as well as the warmth and kind 
 liness of your feelings. I could take issue 
 squarely on the principal points you make, but 
 it would make this letter too long, and I do not 
 care to enter into discussion with a personal 
 friend on matters which he has so much at heart. 
 Moreover, I wish to preserve an entirely judicial, 
 and not controversial frame of mind on all that 
 relates to Canadian matters. Let me set you 
 right, however, on one or two points personal to 
 myself. My acquaintance here would smile to 
 hear me declared an advocate of democracy and 
 a lover of the puritans. I have always declared 
 openly my detestation of the unchecked rule of 
 the masses, that is to say, of universal suffrage, 
 and the corruption which is sure to follow in 
 every large and heterogeneous community. I 
 have also always declared a very cordial dislike 
 of puritanism. I recognize some most respecta 
 ble and valuable qualities in the settlers of New 
 England, but do not think them or their system 
 to be praised without great qualifications, and I 
 would not spare criticism, if I had to write about 
 them. Nor am I at all an enthusiast for the nine 
 teenth century, many of the tendencies of which 
 I deplore, while admiring much that it has ac 
 complished. It is too democratic, and too much 
 given to the pursuit of material interests at the 
 
CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 275 
 
 expense of intellectual and moral greatness, 
 which I hold to be the true end, to which 
 material progress should be but a means. 
 
 My political faith lies between two vicious ex 
 tremes, democracy and absolute authority, each 
 of which I detest the more because it tends to 
 react into the other. I do not object to a good 
 constitutional monarchy, but prefer a conserva 
 tive republic, where intelligence and character, 
 and not numbers, hold the reins of power. 
 
 I could also point out a good many other mis 
 takes in your article. You say that I see Cana 
 dian defects through a microscope, and merits 
 through a diminishing glass. The truth is, I have 
 suppressed a considerable number of statements 
 and observations because I thought that while 
 they would give pain, they were not absolutely 
 necessary to the illustration of the subject ; but 
 I have invariably given every favorable testimony 
 I could find in any authentic quarter. . . . 
 Very cordially yours, 
 
 Y PARKMAN. 
 
 SAME TO SAME. 
 
 Nov. 2, 1878. 
 
 Did you get an attack on the sovereign Demos, 
 which I sent you ? It has drawn on me a great 
 deal of barking and growling, and caused me to 
 be branded as " audacious," a " foe to popular 
 government " etc., so you see I am shot at 
 from both sides of the line. The article in ques 
 tion, however, has been very widely read, and 
 has received a great deal of approval as well as 
 denunciation. 
 
276 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 The following extract relates to the degree 
 which his friends sought to obtain for him from 
 Laval University. 
 
 Dec. 10, 1878. 
 
 This outbreak is a very curious one. So far 
 as I myself am concerned, I find it rather amus 
 ing, and am not annoyed by it in the least. But 
 I regret it extremely on account of the trouble 
 it has given you and Mr. Le Moine ; and also on 
 account of the embarrassing position in which I 
 fear that it places the University and the excel 
 lent ecclesiastics by whom it is directed. It was 
 to me extremely gratifying that men like these, 
 while differing profoundly from me and disap 
 proving much that I have written, should recog 
 nize the sincerity of my work by expressing their 
 intention to honor me with a degree of Docteur 
 es Lettres. It was this generous recognition 
 which gave me particular pleasure ; and greatly 
 as I should feel honored by a degree from Laval 
 University, I prize still more the proofs of esteem 
 which its directors have already given me. I 
 trust that they will not feel themselves com 
 mitted to any course which circumstances may 
 have rendered inexpedient, and that they will be 
 guided simply by the interests of the University. 
 
 Thus the correspondence went along, touch 
 ing on Parkman s gleanings in the archives of 
 Paris, on the Abbess antiquarian discoveries, on 
 history, on friends, on other matters unimportant, 
 except in the respect most important of all, evi 
 dence of good hearts and good friendship. Most 
 
CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 277 
 
 of the Abba s letters unfortunately have been 
 lost or destroyed ; Parkman s continue "till the 
 year before his death ; but the last of his that 
 shall be quoted concerns his health, in answer to 
 inquiries of affectionate interest. 
 
 JAMAICA PLAIN, 12 May, 1889. 
 MON CHER ABBE, For the past five years I 
 have done very little historical work, not so 
 much from laziness as from the effects of insom 
 nia. Two or three hours of sleep in the 24 
 which have been until lately my average allow 
 ance for long periods together are not enough 
 to wind up the human machine, especially when 
 exercise is abridged by hereditary gout mixed 
 with rheumatism, produced, according to the 
 doctors, by numerous drenchings in the forests 
 of Maine when I was a collegian (e. g. on one 
 occasion, rain without shelter for three days and 
 nights, just after being wrecked in a rapid of 
 the River Margalloway). Perhaps, however, the 
 rheumatism is a stroke of retributive justice for 
 writing " Montcalm and Wolfe." Though I have 
 slept better in the past year, it is still an open 
 question whether I shall ever manage to supply 
 the missing link between that objectionable work 
 and its predecessor " Count Frontenac." . . . 
 Que Dieu vous aide 
 
 Tout-a-vous. 
 
 We cannot suppose that two historians of di 
 vergent views corresponded on such hotspur top 
 ics as the peasants of Acadia, the rival merits of 
 
278 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Montcalm and Le*vis, or the character of Vau- 
 dreuil, not to mention nationality and religion, 
 without one or the other catching fire and flam 
 ing up till the " rash bavin " cause was burned 
 out, and old friendship returned to its old ways. 
 But certainly there was no trace of jangling 
 towards the end ; the melody of friendship was 
 altogether pleasant. 
 
 CASGRAIN TO PARKMAN [translated]. 
 
 QUEBEC, May 23d, 1892. 
 
 MY DEAR HISTORIAN, I make haste to thank 
 you for the present of your two handsome vol 
 umes, " A Half Century of Conflict," which I 
 have just received. Let me cordially congratu 
 late you upon having set the crown on the great 
 work to which you have consecrated all your life. 
 No one values it more than I do. I am now 
 going to forsake all other reading, in order to 
 plunge headlong into your two volumes. For me 
 they have a double attraction : because of the 
 conscientious researches of which they are the 
 fruit, and because they are written by a person 
 who has always been the object of my admira 
 tion, and for whom I feel an attachment that I 
 cannot well express. . . . Je fais des voeux pour 
 que votre chere sante s ameliore, et je vous prie 
 de croire a une estime qui n a d egale que mon 
 attachement. H. R. CASGRAIN. 
 
 So they parted with French politeness on their 
 lips and kind feelings in their hearts. " Croyez 
 
CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 279 
 
 toujours a ma sincere amitie : la votre m honore 
 infiniment, Casgrain." " Que Dieu vous aide, 
 tout-a-vous, Parkman." 
 
 I must not close this correspondence without 
 a passing allusion my ignorance will not suffer 
 me to do more to two criticisms which the 
 Abbe Casgrain has made upon Parkman s his 
 tory. The first is that Parkman was unjust in 
 his account of the poor peasants banished from 
 Acadia by the English in 1755. 1 Parkman did 
 make a mistake in his reliance upon certain doc 
 uments officially published : " Selections from the 
 Public Documents of the Province of Nova Sco 
 tia ; " these were in fact badly garbled, as the 
 Abbe proved by his diligent researches and dis 
 coveries in the British Museum and the Record 
 Office in London. The Abbe, relying on this 
 fresh evidence, spoke very warmly in favor of 
 the Acadians in his book "Un pelerinage au pays 
 d Evangeline " (1886) ; but other scholars say 
 that the case against the Acadian peasants is 
 not upset by the new documents. 
 
 The second criticism is that Parkman made 
 Montcalm the French hero in the final drama at 
 Quebec, whereas this honor should have been 
 bestowed upon Levis. Several years after Park 
 man s book was published, Count Raimond de 
 Nicolay, great-grandson of Chevalier Levis, 
 1 Montcalm and Wolfe, chap. viii. 
 
280 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 through the good offices of Abbe Casgrain, gave 
 permission to the Province of Quebec to publish 
 the journals and letters of his great-grandfather. 
 To these valuable papers Parknian had not ac 
 cess. They were published between 1889 and 
 1895 under the superintendence of the Abbe, 
 and show that Levis was a very noble, spirited, 
 and capable man, and, if they do not oust Mont- 
 calm from his pedestal, prove that the French 
 had a second hero as well. 
 
 During all the years from the beginning of 
 preparation until the " Half Century of Con 
 flict" was sent to the printer, Parkman made 
 from time to time frequent visits to Canada. 
 As Sir James M. Le Moine says, he used to 
 call Quebec his sunny, health-restoring, holiday 
 home. No wonder the St. Lawrence was a river 
 after his own heart, with its long ancestry of 
 lakes, its great seaward flow, its shifting banks, 
 high and low, soft and rugged, its little lines 
 of white villages, and the romantic citadel of 
 Quebec, at whose feet it flows with all the chiv 
 alry proper to the prince of rivers. He would 
 go about as always, with a little notebook in 
 pocket, jotting down, not with the prodigality 
 of old, but with a frugal pencil, notes and memo 
 randa, so brief that one little book served for 
 years. But the old love of detail is there. 
 
 In Canada, too, after forty lean years of absti- 
 
CANADA AND CANADIAN FRIENDS 281 
 
 nence, he camped out for the last time ; on the 
 banks of the Batiscan River, he spent a month 
 with Mr. Farnham, his biographer. 
 
 TO MISS PARKMAN. 
 
 BATISCAN RIVER, 7 June, [1886]. 
 MY DEAR L., I am well. Fishing good. 
 Flies bad. Farnham very pleasant. Camp fin 
 ished and comfortable. Excellent fare. Family 
 consists of selves and our puppy. ... F. an ex 
 cellent cook. 
 
 F. P. 
 
 Parkman could not do much, hobbled by his 
 lame knee, but he was always interested, patient, 
 and cheerful. He enjoyed the " feel " of a rifle 
 once more, and a shot at a handy mark ; he tried 
 fishing with a fly, the worm of his early days 
 having crawled under the protection of fashion 
 able contempt. He liked to get into his little 
 canoe, in which he could mock his lame leg, 
 and paddle down the river, gazing at the green 
 banks, the high bluffs, the close thickets, all 
 as it were seen in a magic mirror, for he could 
 not enter. This was his last visit to the land he 
 had done so much to honor. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 LATER LIFE 
 
 THERE still remains the duty to chronicle the 
 simple happenings in the life of the scholar in 
 valid, during the thirty years from the war until 
 his death ; they are uneventful, much too undra- 
 matic for a reader, but such as they were they 
 made up his life. Random extracts from his sis 
 ter s diary show the ups and downs over which 
 he passed : 
 
 1862, Jan. 29. F. went to the Baldwins last 
 ev g to a small supper given to Mr. W. Hunt, 
 and to-night was able to go to the Club for a 
 short time. 
 
 June 11. F. has seemed in very good spirits for 
 a day or two. 
 
 Sept. 9. F. is suffering from the most severe 
 attack in his eyes he has had for years. He 
 cannot attend to his gardening at all. Mo 
 ther feels very anxious. 
 
 10th. F., if anything, worse. He seems in very 
 low spirits. 
 
 15th. F. seems better. 
 
 1863, Jan. 24. F. is highly entertained by " Pick 
 wick," as much as if he had never read it be 
 fore. 
 
LATER LIFE 283 
 
 Feb. 11. F. is beginning to work upon his French 
 
 History, though, as he says, at a snail s pace. 
 
 His eyes are very troublesome now. 
 June 27. Rose Show. Grace [his daughter] and 
 
 I drove in with F. and arranged the flowers. 
 
 1st prize, Moss Roses ; 2d, June Roses ; 3d, 
 
 Display. 
 Sept. 20. F. has not slept for some nights, and 
 
 his head is in a bad state. 
 Oct. 1. F. still has very poor nights and seems 
 
 miserably. 
 2d. F. had very little sleep ; head very bad. 
 
 1864, June 25. This is the day of the Rose 
 Show. Grace and I went in to help Frank. 
 We worked steadily for two hours, and barely 
 had time to prepare the great quantity of roses. 
 F. took four 1st prizes and a large " gratuity." 
 
 1865, June 6th. F. went to Washington this 
 morning. 
 
 12th. Frank writes from Washington. He has 
 seen the camps and means to go to Rich 
 mond. 
 
 20th. Letter from F. at Richmond. He is de 
 tained there to collect documents for the Bos 
 ton Athenaeum. 
 
 July 18th. Frank and I have been to a reception 
 at the Lymans to meet Gen. Meade and Staff. 
 
 Nov. 7. Frank came down to breakfast very 
 lame ; thinks the old trouble is all coming 
 back. 
 
 22d. The anxiety about Frank s knee is passing 
 away. 
 
 1866, Aug. 10th. F. started for Quebec. 
 29. F. took the usual prizes at the Hort. 
 
284 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Nov. 16th. F. came in [town] to-day to live. 
 
 1867, April 20th. F. came in to spend Sunday. 
 Grace came to tea. Enthusiasm over cats. 
 
 July 10. Frank is going to the Mississippi River ; 
 he is now writing history connected with its dis 
 covery, and goes on that account. What a good 
 summer he has had so far ; his book ["Jesuits"] 
 out this spring and well received, and his 
 flowers so successful, and he seems so well. 
 
 Aug. 15. Frank arrived none the worse for the 
 5 weeks journey, though he has used head and 
 eyes much. He has brought many photo s of 
 Sioux Indians and of Mississippi scenery. [He 
 saw Henry Chatillon at St. Louis.] 
 
 1868, June 30. Drove in with F. to the Rose 
 Show. F. took 1st prizes. 
 
 July 15. F. goes to Cambridge in all the heat. 
 He is chosen overseer of the college. 
 
 Aug. 1st. F. has gone to Rye to spend Sunday 
 with the children. 
 
 10th. F. left this ev g to spend a fortnight in 
 Canada. 
 
 Sept. 25. Mother is 75 to-day. F. brought in 
 white roses. 
 
 Oct. 29. Frank s head is in a bad state, the first 
 time for a long time. 
 
 Nov. 1. F. s head is very bad, worse than for 
 some time ; he says, years. 
 
 Nov. 27. Frank has determined to go to Paris 
 for the winter. His head seems a little better, 
 but he cannot do much with it, and he would 
 rather be idle there than here. He seems dis 
 posed to go, and in good spirits, so we are very 
 glad to have him, but it leaves a great gap. 
 
LATER LIFE 285 
 
 PARKMAN TO HIS SISTER. 
 
 21 BOULEVARD ST. MICHEL, 
 PARIS, 15 Jan., 1869. 
 
 MY DEAR LIZZIE, I have rec d your letter 
 of 8 Dec., but not till a month after its date. . . . 
 There is a little girl in the house, daughter of 
 the concierge, who collects post-stamps, and would 
 be delighted with five or six American and Ca 
 nadian stamps. Will you inclose them in your 
 next if convenient. I mean to leave here for 
 England early in March, and thence home after 
 a few days in London. . . . 
 
 [Jan. 18.] 
 
 ... I have just rec d all your letters. I am 
 grieved more than I can tell you about mother s 
 accident. Keep me well informed about it. ... 
 Tell Grace that there are girls here who ride on 
 velocipedes with two wheels in the streets, but 
 that their conduct is not at all approved. . . . 
 
 [28 Jan., 69.] 
 
 If I do not hear good news soon I shall set out 
 for home, but I trust that mother is getting bet 
 ter. Remember me most affectionately to her 
 and tell her that I think of her continually. I 
 am doing very well indeed, and am far better in 
 health than when I left Boston. ... I have a 
 good many acquaintances, some of them very 
 pleasant ones, though I refuse dinners, etc. 
 
 [Feb. 1, 69.] 
 
 I have just rec d yours of Jan. 16 with news 
 that mother is better, which is an immense re 
 lief. I am all right bating a cold in the head. 
 
286 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 To-morrow I am going to St. Cloud to breakfast 
 with Count Circourt, a friend of the Ticknors. I 
 see Margry often. He was here the other night, 
 and staid till twelve. ... I made a journey of 2 
 miles and more under Paris, through the sewers, 
 partly in a boat, and partly in a sort of rail-ear. 
 . . . Give my best love to mother and the chil 
 dren, not forgetting Jack. 
 
 [Feb. 24, 69.] 
 
 Have been troubled with want of sleep for five 
 or six nights, but otherwise all right. If I ac 
 cepted invitations, which I do not, I should have 
 the run of the Faubourg St. Germain. I have 
 just declined an invitation from the Prince de 
 feroglie to dine. Yesterday I saw the Marquis de 
 Montcalm, great-grandson of Wolfe s antagonist, 
 who was very civil. The post-stamps were very 
 gratefully received. Don t let the doctor [Dr. 
 Bigelow] think that I am doing anything but 
 amuse myself, for I am not. I meet a few people 
 incidentally, but am very stiff in declining over 
 tures. The Marquis placed his family papers at 
 my disposal. I have not read one of them, but 
 employed a man to copy them, who is now at 
 work. 
 
 MISS PARKMAN S DIARY. 
 
 1869. March 27. F. arrived this ev g. He seems 
 in very good spirits and health. 
 
 April 12. Frank s head is almost as bad as be 
 fore he went away. 
 
 1870. Feb. 17. F. has been very sleepless of 
 late. He had his club last night at the Union 
 Club rooms (mother being ill). 
 
LATER LIFE 287 
 
 March 24. F. is having sleepless nights, and suf 
 fering very much. 
 
 Sept. 16. F. s birthday. He got no sleep last 
 night, and I never saw him more affected by 
 it in health or spirits. It is a year since he 
 has been sleepless, more or less. 
 
 23d. F. did not sleep at all last night. It is 
 wonderful that he can do anything by day, 
 and he does not do much. 
 
 24th. F. slept between 5 and 6 hours. It is such 
 a relief. Yesterday it was mournful enough 
 at breakfast, though he plays with the cats 
 and the children and says nothing. 
 
 25th. Mother is 76 to-day. As I came down to 
 breakfast I saw F. coming in with a bunch of 
 roses already tied, and another of ribbons and 
 daisies. He looked so well I knew he had 
 slept, and found he had had a very good night. 
 That alone made mother happy. 
 
 1871. March 12. Mother feels very happy that 
 F. has just been chosen professor of Horticul 
 ture in the new Bussey Institute of H. C. 
 [Harvard College] . Frank himself likes the 
 appointment, as he thinks he can do the work 
 without giving more time than he can give, 
 and the fact that he can take such a responsi 
 bility is a delight as a proof of how much better 
 he is. [He resigned as overseer of the college 
 on the ground of inconsistency between the 
 two positions.] 
 
 April 2d. Flora s first kittens appeared, but had 
 a brief existence. F. s interest was deep, and 
 his disappointment also. 
 
 June 8th. Mother moved out of town with great 
 
288 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 difficulty (on account of her hip), but at last 
 was safe in her room, rhododendrons and roses 
 of Frank s gathering all about her. 
 
 That summer their mother died, while Park- 
 man was in Canada. It was a terrible blow to 
 him, "poor fellow, how his face looked," 
 and the brother and sister were left alone to go 
 through life together, for their sister Caroline 
 had married and their sister Mary had died sev 
 eral years before, and their brother Jack John 
 Eliot, once Elly died soon afterwards. 
 
 In 1872 they went to Paris, as Parkman wished 
 to relieve his insatiable appetite for more docu 
 ments. Here they saw a good deal of Margry, a 
 person who plays a part in the story of Parkman s 
 difficulties in laying his hands on documents, 
 even on those of which he had definite informa 
 tion. Parkman had known this gentleman for 
 several years, not without forming some opinion 
 of him, as we see from certain phrases in the let 
 ters of 1868 to Abbe Casgrain : 
 
 As for Margry, I am fully of your mind con 
 cerning him. I arn in the midst of La Salle s 
 discoveries. ... I have a great deal that is new 
 relating to his enterprises ; and but for M. Mar 
 gry, should have still more. . . . Margry is very 
 intractable, and I can get nothing from him. 
 
 M. Pierre Athanase Margry, chef adjoint 
 Archiviste au Ministere de la Marine (in later 
 
LATER LIFE 289 
 
 years en retraite) and Chevalier de la Legion 
 d Honneur, had made an immense collection of 
 documents about La Salle, which he had ferreted 
 out of the Public Archives under his charge with 
 great zeal and industry ; these he wished to pub 
 lish himself, but he had not money enough, and 
 was not willing that another should reap the har 
 vest of his sowing, so he denied Parkman access 
 to them. As these documents were of great in 
 terest in the history of the United States, an 
 attempt had been made a year or two before to 
 induce Congress to make an appropriation for the 
 cost of publication, but in vain. In this collection 
 were La Salle s own letters, and these Parkman 
 was most eager to see. This conduct of Margry s 
 has been harshly blamed. Mr. Justin Winsor 
 says : " The keeper of an important department 
 of the French Archives had been so unfaithful to 
 his trust as to reserve for his own private use some 
 of its documentary proofs." Be the blame just 
 or no, a lawyer might find something to say in 
 behalf of a right of lien for labor spent in search 
 and discovery, Parkman freely forgave him. 
 Margry was a man with whom it would have 
 been hard to remain angry, even for a much less 
 generous person than Parkman ; he was a voluble 
 Gallic, kindly, smiling, enthusiastic little person, 
 lively, alert, " sensitive and distrustful," wearing 
 his mustachios and goatee after the fashion of 
 
290 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 the Second Empire. An amiable, infantile look 
 of quizzical cunning on his face, with his silk 
 hat, kid gloves, and loose pantaloons, effectually 
 disqualified him as an object of indignation. He 
 was very friendly, liked to come and sit and chat, 
 and would stay till cockcrow if permitted ; he was 
 full of friendly usages, and on this visit cele 
 brated Parkman s birthday with a poem : 
 
 16. 7 bre - 1823-1872. 
 
 A FRANCIS PARKMAN, AUTEUR DES FRANC.AIS EN 
 AME"RIQUE. 
 
 Dans le monde, ou vous etes ne* 
 Vos Merits disent notre gloire; 
 Nul n a, comme vous, honore 
 Les beaux actes de notre histoire. 
 
 Cependant presque inapergu 
 Vous allez parcourant la France, 
 Et c est par hasard que j ai su 
 La date de votre naissance. 
 
 Aussi je veux pour mon pays 
 
 Feter ce jour, selon 1 usage, 
 
 Par la meme pensde unis 
 
 II m est cher de vous rendre hommage. 
 
 The poem has ten stanzas, is annotated, and 
 altogether breathes patriotism, hatred of Bis 
 marck, and love of Parkman. The friendship 
 thus fostered led to a plan, that Parkman 
 should try to persuade some American bookseller 
 to publish the collection, for Margry, in spite of 
 poetry, firmly declined to sell the documents or 
 
LATER LIFE 291 
 
 the use of them ; but this plan came to nought, 
 as the great fire in Boston made general econ 
 omy necessary. Thereupon Parkmaii pricked on 
 professors, and the professors stuck spurs into 
 historical societies fire, fire, burn stick ; stick, 
 stick, beat pig, and they, in turn, petitioned 
 Congress to make the necessary appropriation 
 of $10,000. Senator Hoar and General Garfield 
 took the matter up ; the act was passed, and the 
 4 Decouvertes et Etablissements des Frangais, 
 dans 1 Ouest et dans le Sud de FAmerique Sep- 
 tentrionale (1614-1754), Memoires et Docu 
 ments originaux," were published in Paris, and 
 did good service for a later edition of " La Salle 
 and the Discovery of the Great West." 
 
 There were other friends in Paris, the Marquis 
 de Montcalm, a nobleman completely indifferent 
 to that ceremonious deportment which we like 
 to think accompanies a coronet, but a kindly 
 little man, always giving full performance in 
 deeds to the pleasant " expression de ma parfaite 
 auntie* et de mes sentiments les plus distingue*s ; " 
 there was M. le Comte de Circourt, and other 
 gentlemen acquainted with Canadian history, 
 either through respect for their fighting ances 
 tors, or, by a prodigious cosmopolitan effort, in 
 teresting themselves in things outside of Paris. 
 
 Parkmaii enjoyed the beautiful city, he was 
 diverted by the happy bearing and gay polite- 
 
292 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 ness of the people, and he liked to stroll, when 
 he could, along the quais, and examine the rows 
 of books, always seasonable bait for the foreign 
 traveler, or see what could be seen from tops of 
 omnibuses. 
 
 There was but one intrusion of unpleasant 
 ness into his French relations : a lady, Mme. la 
 Comtesse de Clermont-Tonnerre, translated into 
 French "The Pioneers," and "The Jesuits," 
 but in such a garbled and wanton manner, as to 
 suppress facts and opinions which in her judgment 
 were not so complimentary to the church as the 
 needs of pious edification required. Mr. Park- 
 man was nettled, and expressed his opinion, but 
 with much less asperity than the lady deserved. 
 
 In contradistinction to this disagreeable im 
 propriety, M. Geffrey delivered an intelligent 
 speech before the Department of Moral and Po 
 litical Sciences of the French Institute, on the 
 occasion of presenting a copy of Parkman s 
 works, and expressed appreciation of the even- 
 handed justice which Parkman had dealt to so 
 partisan a subject. 
 
 After this visit to Paris in 1872, brother and 
 sister returned to their old way of life, dividing 
 the year between Jamaica Plain and 50 Chestnut 
 Street. He had given up his professorship at 
 the Bussey Institute, after one year of service, 
 but he always maintained a deep affection for 
 
LATER LIFE 293 
 
 the college, and in 1875 was elected one of the 
 Fellows of the Corporation. He served for thir 
 teen years, and was regular and punctual in his 
 attendance; sometimes the matters of business 
 were too severe in their claims on his atten 
 tion, and he would get up and walk about, or go 
 out into the fresh air, and then come back to 
 the business. 
 
 In 1880 he made another trip to England and 
 France. This time the archives and the books 
 on the banks of the Seine were not his only mo 
 tives for going ; his younger daughter had married 
 Mr. John Templeman Coolidge, and was living 
 in Paris with her husband. This journey was 
 memorable for the discovery of the letters of 
 Montcalm to his lieutenant Bourlamaque; these 
 letters covered all the time from Montcalm s 
 arrival in Canada to within a few "days before 
 his death, and had long been hidden trealnre, 
 suspected, sought, but undiscovered. For fifteen 
 years Parkman had been on the scent, and now 
 that he was approaching the time to publish 
 "Montcalm and Wolfe," he was doubly eager. 
 The letters had been traced to England; there 
 the scent failed. At last they were found to be 
 a part of a precious collection belonging to Sir 
 Thomas Phillips, a great buyer of manuscripts in 
 his day, and from him they had descended to the 
 Rev. John E. A. Feuwick, and were hid in his 
 
294 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 library at Thirlestaine House, Cheltenham. Let 
 ters passed rapidly concerning the treasure trove, 
 and it was agreed that Mr. Fenwick s son Fitz 
 Roy, who was "fond of deciphering," should copy 
 the MSS. wanted. The Rev. Mr. Fenwick was 
 obliged to move about, and his travels to Redels- 
 ton Hall, Derby, and the Crescent Hotel, Bux- 
 ton, caused several little delays. Then the young 
 gentleman had to hurry back to Oxford for a 
 cram, as he was to be examined for his final 
 " school," and a new copyist had to be found. A 
 lady of Atherfield House, Miles Road, Clifton, 
 could not serve. She, however, suggested two 
 ladies of the Brooklands, Gloster Road, but 
 that house was two miles and a half from Chel 
 tenham ; finally Mr. Fenwick, a very kind and 
 hospitable man, procured the services of a French 
 lady, Miss Marie Ferret, who copied the rest of 
 the documents, " Lettres de Vaudreuil, Lettres 
 de Levis, Lettres Variarum," at the cost of 3d. 
 for 72 words, as a neat little receipt in her hand 
 writing records. These letters were especially 
 valuable, because they were very intimate, full of 
 frank remarks on Vaudreuil, Bigot, and others, 
 with frequent "brulez cette lettre," - orders, 
 like many others given by poor Montcalm, diso 
 beyed. 
 
 The expenses for copying were often very 
 heavy ; the little notebooks record : 
 
LATER LIFE 295 
 
 Cost of copying, etc. 
 
 Montcalm papers, leave to copy . . 20 
 Facsimile to map of Ticoiideroga . . 15s. 
 
 Book, Conduct of Shirley 2 
 
 T. Fitzroy Fenwick, copying .... 13 2 6 
 J. E. A. Fenwick, copying (for Miss 
 
 Ferret) 12 
 
 Montcalm picture, 60 francs. 
 
 Wolfe " 10s. 
 
 Imbry, copying 15 3 
 
 Mrs. Bullen, copying 15 1 
 
 These expenses obliged Parkman to practice 
 economy, not on a petty scale, but after the man 
 ner of a prudent, unostentatious gentleman. 
 
 Perhaps it was on this visit that one day he 
 was sitting upon a bench in St. James s Park, 
 somewhat forlorn, missing unconsciously the care 
 he always got at 50 Chestnut Street, .when up 
 came friendly aid in the person of Mr. Henry 
 James, who put him down at the Athenaeum 
 Club, and gave him a pleasant sense of sym 
 pathy, admiration, and fellowship, in the felici 
 tous, evasive way that Parkman liked so much. 
 Mr. James and the Athenaeum took off what for 
 Parkman was a rather cold, raw edge in London 
 atmosphere. 
 
 There was another visit to Paris the next 
 year; and at divers times there were journeys to 
 Florida, to Acadia,to Canada, which interrupted 
 for a few weeks at a stretch the peaceful life at 
 
296 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 Jamaica Pond. His health continued as before, 
 but the lack of sleep grew worse. 
 
 PARKMAN TO DR. WEIR MITCHELL. 
 
 JAMAICA PLAIN, 5 Nov., 1885. 
 
 MY DEAR DR. MITCHELL, I regret to bother 
 you again with my troubles, but as you have done 
 more for me than anybody else, I am tempted to 
 do so. 
 
 For about two years I have observed an in 
 creasing tendency to insomnia. This autumn, 
 within about two months, it has become ex 
 tremely troublesome. Sometimes I do not sleep 
 at all. Often I sleep only from one to three 
 hours. The week before last, the average for 
 seven days was about two hours. Last night I 
 heard every clock but those of eleven and twelve. 
 The preceding night, however, I slept at in 
 tervals and not continuously to the amount 
 of more than five hours, which was rather rare 
 good luck. 
 
 Bromide, etc., produce no effect. . . . Bating 
 sleeplessness and its effects, I have been better 
 than before, with the exception of palpitation of 
 the heart, which is sometimes very troublesome. 
 Throbbing in the ear at night is also annoying 
 at times. The old distress in the head continues, 
 but has been less distressing within the last few 
 years than before I took your advice. Within the 
 last year I have done a very moderate amount 
 of work, and recently none at all. . . . Muscu 
 lar strength is not exhausted, but nerves are set 
 on edge, and the condition of the head entirely 
 precludes brain-work. I have occasionally had 
 
LATER LIFE 297 
 
 attacks as severe, or more so, once four suc 
 cessive nights absolutely without sleep, but this 
 is more persistent than any before, and is aggra 
 vated by the palpitation of the heart, which 
 I have reason to believe is not from organic 
 causes. Yours very truly, 
 
 F. PARKMAN. 
 
 The skillful physician could do little or no 
 thing. I must not let myself be betrayed into 
 too much of malady and medicine. Parkman s 
 body might be hampered and harassed; there 
 was no sickness in his spirit. No one who ad 
 mitted to himself that he was an invalid could 
 have written so much like a man, belted and 
 booted, with hand on saddle-bow, as he does in 
 all his histories. 
 
 Neither did he admit that he was cut off from 
 indoor pleasures. He always enjoyed the meet 
 ings of the " Saturday Club," a company of Bos 
 ton gentlemen, some of great note, the most 
 famous club of its kind in America. The club 
 used to meet at the end of the month to dine to 
 gether, and pronounce salvation or condemnation, 
 it was said, upon the intellectual work of Boston. 
 Parkman was always essentially a sociable per 
 son ; a man with opinions interesting to hear ; a 
 taker of sides ; a man full of likes and dislikes ; 
 a lover of old ways, with delightful variety of 
 expression between quiet, refined acquiescence 
 
298 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 and heady opposition ; a charming companion, 
 a distinguished presence. John Fiske, who was 
 a member of the club, and a pretty constant 
 attendant, never knew that he was an invalid ; 
 always found him alert, extremely gentle ; and 
 when he was absent, supposed that a prudence 
 for digestion or early hours kept him away. " He 
 never made the slightest allusion to his ill health ; 
 he would probably have deemed it inconsistent 
 with good breeding to intrude upon his friends 
 with such topics, and his appearance was always 
 most cheerful." 
 
 His life had its pleasures, its happiness, its gay- 
 etres, the tenderness of deep affection, the cheer 
 of friendship, the amusement of little comic hap 
 penings ; it was a good life, a hundred times 
 worth the living, if it had been only for the plea 
 sure of daily fight and daily victory ; but there 
 were history, fame, roses, and a dozen things, 
 each enough to make him hold life rich. All 
 these found their way into his daily uneventful 
 existence, and the years passed on far too quick. 
 
 In July, 1886, after his experiment at camp 
 ing out with Mr. Farnham, he went to the Range- 
 ley Lakes in Maine, where he lived at Bemis 
 Camps, "F. C. Barker, Prop r." He had not 
 much to do there, and after a time ill health 
 obliged him to give up even the moderate dis 
 comforts of Mr. Barker s proprietorship. 
 
LATER LIFE 299 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS TO MISS PARKMAN. 
 
 [Aug., 1886.] 
 
 As I am forbidden to take any but the feeblest 
 exercise, and as the light is very strong here, my 
 resources for passing the time are limited. . . . 
 
 Aug. 26. Tell Mike I wrote to him to pot the 
 chrysanthemums about Sept. 1, and to order 
 what pots are wanted. ... I think a little of 
 building a log cabin here, with two small rooms 
 for you, if you should want to come for a week, 
 month, or more. It will cost little, and be inde 
 pendent of the rest. Board at Barker s. No 
 servants needed. Barker will gladly do the job. 
 How does it strike you? all my affair, of 
 course. 
 
 This was a delightful plan, and the log cabin 
 was begun with the happiest expectations, but 
 the grim hand of disease laid hold of him, and 
 the log cabin, half built, was abandoned for 
 ever. 
 
 The next year he made a visit to Spain and 
 France, in company with Dr. Algernon Coolidge. 
 
 The trip was cut short by Parkman s ill health, 
 and he went back to the flowers on the banks of 
 Jamaica Pond, and to the winter life in Boston, 
 where his attendance at the dinners of the Satur 
 day Club, and at the meetings of the St. Botolph 
 Club, became gradually less and less. 
 
 In the last summers of his life he used to go 
 to Little Harbour, near Portsmouth, to pay a visit 
 
300 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 to his son and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Coolidge, 
 and their children. Mr. Coolidge lived in the 
 Wentworth mansion, which stands on a point of 
 land where the Piscataqua runs into the sea. It 
 is an old house, built in the reign of George II, 
 with a rambling roof and a quaint, romantic 
 aspect, telling stories of ancient days. Round 
 the house are old lilac bushes ; on one side is one 
 outlet of the river, on the other a creek, both at 
 low tide almost dry, laying bare sandbank, mus 
 sel-bed, seaweed, rocks, and glistening, gleam 
 ing mud-flats, strangely beloved by delicate 
 colors that come as soon as the sea goes and 
 linger till it drives them off again. Here Park- 
 man liked to go a-fishing, not with the fly of 
 the Canadian camp, but with the homely worm 
 or a vexed grasshopper ; on better days he got 
 to the shore with a cane, on worse days with a 
 crutch, but once safely in the little rowboat, he 
 grasped the oars with the comfort of mastery, and 
 rowed for hours at a smartish pace even when 
 against the tide, or sometimes he would throw 
 out his anchor and fish for cod and perch. He 
 enjoyed his grandchildren very much, and his 
 friends ; sometimes he had a chat with Mr. Bar 
 rett Wendell over Cotton Mather, or with Mr. 
 Howells over that more modern New Englander, 
 Silas Lapham, or, perhaps, in default of other 
 society, he would play with the cat. 
 
LATER LIFE 301 
 
 PARKMAN TO HIS SISTER EXTRACTS. 
 
 Things are here as usual, all the worse for 
 your absence; I row every day and fish occa 
 sionally. The cat had a temporary seizure, in 
 the nature of a mal de mer, in consequence of 
 imprudent indulgence in lobster. The rest of 
 the family are well. My eyes are less sensitive. 
 Knees about as when I last wrote. I sometimes 
 get to the wharf without the one horse shay ; but 
 do not like to try it often. Have not slept well 
 for two or three nights. Otherwise well enough. 
 Want very much to see you. . . . 
 
 Things go on here as usual. The afternoon 
 of Tuesday was extremely hot, and the night 
 still worse, so that sleep was out of the question. 
 I made up for it last night. All well. I miss 
 you extremely, though Katy [Mrs. Coolidge] 
 has taken her lessons from you very well. . . . 
 
 I have received from you a card, a note, and 
 the bundle, of which the last two came yester 
 day. All were most welcome. I should be a very 
 discreet young man if I were as thoughtful for 
 myself as you are for me. You are the beau 
 ideal of sisterhood ; of which I am always affec 
 tionately conscious, though I do not say much. 
 I slept last night with the help of "pisen." 
 Eyes better. Miriam [cat] has been suffering, 
 as Molly [his granddaughter] conjectures, from 
 the bite of a spider which she was munching 
 in the grass ; but she seems convalescent. Rest 
 of the family well. The shoes were as welcome 
 as unexpected. . . . 
 
302 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 It was a great disappointment to learn that 
 you wer*e not coming. Can you not come after 
 your stay with T. ? I took Molly out fishing on 
 Monday. She caught a sculpin and a pollock, 
 which last was served up at tea, and pronounced 
 by her to be one of the best fish she ever tasted. 
 She was delighted with her success. Sleep very 
 uncertain. . . . 
 
 After having been able to get about more than 
 for several years past, I was suddenly attacked, 
 three days ago, by a greatly increased lameness 
 of the old knee, and to-day can scarcely get out 
 of the house at all, especially as a severe lum 
 bago is added, which makes my attempts at 
 locomotion rather ridiculous. No cause that I 
 can see. . . . 
 
 All right here. The circus came off with eclat, 
 and Molly was conspicuous in gymnastics. A 
 goat race took place with applause. Louise 
 [granddaughter] had a profusion of gifts, to 
 which I made the contribution of an india rubber 
 ball, chosen by her mother as of a safe nature. 
 
 Things go as well here as the extreme heat 
 will permit. I have got about more freely, and 
 missing my crutches this morning, sent Molly to 
 look for them. She found them in my room, as 
 I had inadvertently come down without them, 
 which causes me to pass for a bit of a humbug. 
 
 Crock [a cat] has caused some moderated sor 
 row ; but I cannot wear crape as my hat is not 
 adapted to it. Visitors come and go constantly. 
 I am reasonably well and very glad to hear from 
 you. 
 
LATER LIFE 303 
 
 Thus the simple chronicle of the last years 
 runs away. The " Half Century of Conflict " 
 was published in the spring of 1892 ; and it is 
 amusing to find the old difficulty about a name 
 that had bothered him with " Pontiac." First 
 he thought of the " Rivals," a dramatic name, 
 then of the " Irrepressible Conflict," a political 
 name, and then at last, the sister, upon whom 
 he had gradually come to depend to a degree 
 that even his strong, independent spirit at last 
 understood, helped him with the happy solution. 
 
 His work was then done ; there was no rea 
 son why he should tarry. After his visit to the 
 Wentworth mansion in the summer of 1893, he 
 returned to Jamaica Plain ; he went rowing on 
 a Sunday, came back to the house, felt sick, 
 and went to bed. His life had run its course, 
 and after a brief illness, borne, like all his ills, 
 with dignity, gentleness, and serenity, he died on 
 November 8, 1893. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 
 
 A MAN in his innermost core may be a unity, a 
 homogeneous something, which remains always 
 the same ; or if it change, changes with a uni 
 form movement, the whole being altering at once. 
 Perhaps by " other eyes than ours " this inmost 
 personality may be seen ; but in this world it 
 is invisible, or else appears in such an endless 
 variety of ways that we, guided by a practical 
 philosophy, must face it in an agnostic attitude. 
 Even the outer being shifts with the sun, with 
 the air, with breakfast coffee, with this man s 
 presence or that girl s absence, with hope, te 
 dium, prosperity. A man appears to his acquaint 
 ance this, to his neighbors that, to his friends 
 thus and so, to his family different, and per 
 haps to the woman whom he loves different still. 
 Therefore a biographer but goes a-fishing, seek 
 ing which of the many semblances appearing to 
 one or another come in his judgment closer to 
 that inmost self which, though the moving force 
 within, he cannot touch. lie must catch, as best 
 
CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 305 
 
 he can, the traits, dispositions, manners, that 
 have left their imprint here and there and put 
 them together in some consistent fashion, so 
 that they shall indicate, if possible, the move 
 ments of what he believes is the mainspring 
 within. This makeshift is likely, at best, to be 
 a botch. An honest purpose is the only excuse. 
 
 The Parkmans, though Boston bred, and an- 
 cestored by masters in theology, hailed from 
 Devon, and among their family possessions had 
 what need never be inquired about too curiously, 
 a coat-of-arms. On this there is a chevron, 
 a field azure, a coronet, a helmet, and various 
 heraldic appendages ; but for us the significant 
 emblem lies in the crest, which depicts a " horse 
 hurrant." Here we have the true device for 
 Francis Parkman. Busy with little things, busy 
 with big things, as a boy in Medford Fells and 
 in his chemical laboratory, as a lad in the gym 
 nasium and on the banks of the Margalloway, 
 as a man in his flower-garden and in his library, 
 in his quick opinions, in his vigorous speech, in 
 his wheeled chair or limping on canes, always in 
 his heart there galloped or chafed the "horse 
 hurrant." 
 
 At Paris, once, on one of the visits made in 
 later years in pursuit of documents, his friend 
 M. Margry came to dine with him and his sis 
 ter. The fete was in honor of his birthday, 
 
306 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 that memorable one crowned by the poem, 
 for Margry had wished to celebrate it, and the 
 readiest way to forestall his gay proposals was 
 to invite him to the hotel. The voluble little 
 Frenchman talked and stayed, stayed and talked, 
 till Parkman had to betake himself, cane in hand, 
 upstairs for a few minutes rest ; he dashed up 
 stairs with his youthful ardor. Margry caught 
 sight of him, and nicknamed him "le cerf- volant," 
 which is, I take it, a graceful French rendering 
 of " horse hurrant." Thus it was always. Park- 
 man s ardor hurled him on, obstacles stuck spurs 
 into him, difficulties whipped and stung him ; 
 onward he dashed, the hot spirit always bullying 
 the body, and the poor body always paying the 
 scot. To his daughter he was a " passionate Puri 
 tan," the phrase is just. Under his stoicism, 
 under his reserve, under his gentleness, all cast 
 in the Puritan mould, was this passionate spirit. 
 Chi non arde non risplende, as the Umbrian 
 proverb says. When he was lying on his sick 
 bed, ill and helpless, a lady came to see him ; 
 eager to be of comfort, she said, " Oh, think of 
 what you have done." "Done!" he cried, his 
 head rising from the pillow, " done ! there is 
 much more still for me to do !" 
 
 The Puritan inheritance mingles with its stead 
 fastness a certain sternness not unbecoming a 
 man. The soldier must be stern ; and there are 
 
CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 307 
 
 certain photographs of Parkman that throw into 
 prominence his fine jaw, and reveal a latent 
 sternness needful for a lifelong battle with phy 
 sical ills, and by him well put to use in resistance 
 to the unseen enemy that robbed him of his eyes, 
 his legs, and the use of his brain. That stern 
 ness was but his coat of mail ; when he came 
 forth unarmed from his dark chamber, and was 
 left at ease to enjoy his friends, then, even in 
 later years when the gifts of youth had left him, 
 women young and old found him charming, 
 younger men admired his refined, scholarly face, 
 his gentle manners, and recognized too his "boy 
 ish freshness of feeling and nature." To men of 
 his own age he was " a most entertaining com 
 panion." When some gentlemen in Boston, in 
 terested in art and letters, organized the St. 
 Botolph Club, he was chosen president, not 
 merely because he was a distinguished man of 
 letters, but because he was a good fellow and 
 delightful company. 
 
 He belonged to the generation that in creed 
 represented the reaction against Puritanism ; he 
 could remember the pinch of the vanishing Pu 
 ritan oppression, and was not born late enough 
 to look at it with the eyes of the succeeding gen 
 eration, those eyes to which that generation 
 modestly ascribes such perfect vision. He was 
 strongly averse to the Puritan creed, to their 
 
308 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 theocracy, their narrowness, their injustice, and 
 perhaps did not see how closely their virtues 
 resembled his own, courage, fortitude, love 
 of truth as they saw it, and a passionate ardor 
 in pursuing their ends. Like them, he went un 
 troubled by doubts ; he made up his mind and 
 was indifferent to disagreement. Like them, he 
 was immensely conservative: the inheritance from 
 the past must be held to; the dreams of men, 
 discontented with the lot meted to them and 
 their fellows, dreams of new forms of society, 
 new conceptions of social order, were to him 
 delusions of vanity rigidly to be pushed away. 
 He deemed New England of a generation or 
 more ago " perhaps the most successful demo 
 cracy on earth," but the growth and development 
 of modern democracy filled him with detesta 
 tion ; he beheld in it " organized ignorance, led 
 by unscrupulous craft, and marching, amid the 
 applause of fools, under the flag of equal rights." 
 He felt strongly on new theories, just as his an 
 cestors the Cottons, or their friends the Mathers, 
 would have felt, and he spoke forcibly just as 
 they would have done. " Out of the wholesome 
 fruits of the earth, and the staff of life itself, 
 the perverse chemistry of man distills delirious 
 vapors, which, condensed and bottled, exalt his 
 brain with glorious fantasies, and then leave 
 him in the mud." So it is (for example), he 
 
CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 309 
 
 says, with those deluded people who are in favor 
 of woman suffrage. 
 
 Not that he did not admire and respect wo 
 men, he did, for cause passing common, but 
 he did not like the notion of woman suffrage. 
 On a loose sheet shut into a notebook kept in 
 Bemis Camps in 1886 is this entry : " The first 
 and fundamental requisites of women, as of men, 
 are physical, moral, and mental health. It is for 
 men to rear the political superstructure ; it is 
 for women to lay its foundation. God rules the 
 world by fixed laws, moral and physical; and 
 according as men and women observe or violate 
 these laws will be the destinies of communities 
 and individuals for this world and the next. 
 The higher education is necessary to the higher 
 order of women to the end that they may dis 
 charge their function of civilizing agent ; but it 
 should be cautiously limited to the methods and 
 degree that consist with the discharge of their 
 functions of maternity. Health of body and mind 
 is the one great essential. In America men 
 are belittled and cramped by the competition of 
 business, from which women are, or ought to be, 
 free. Hence they have opportunities of moral 
 and mental growth better in some respects than 
 those of men." 
 
 There was a grim vigor in his speech on these 
 distasteful subjects, that betrayed the Puritan 
 
310 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 character. Perhaps this masculine vigor, this 
 rude iinmalleability, make a special charm to a 
 younger generation bred upon a somewhat milk 
 and water skepticism for principles and theories, 
 whether old or new. He was masculine in his 
 outlook on life and on all its chief matters. He 
 despised effeminacy, self-coddling, comfort-lov 
 ing ; hardly less also he disliked the coddling of 
 others, the " effusive humanitarianism " of New 
 England " melting into sentimentality at a tale 
 of woe," as he called it, that tended to concen 
 trate interest and sympathy on the feeble rather 
 than on the strong and self-sustaining. He liked 
 a masculine judgment, readiness not un tempered 
 by a heady vigor, but devoid of sentimental sur 
 charge ; he could not tolerate fanaticism. There 
 fore in the slavery days he was out of patience 
 with the abolitionists of Massachusetts, men, as 
 he thought, of a feminine intemperance, of un- 
 masculine mawkishness, who neglected the real 
 ideals of the country for the benefit of a few 
 scattered fugitives of an inferior race, which 
 had not the pluck to strike a blow for itself. 
 
 It was this belief that men should be mascu 
 line that led him to the natural corollary that 
 women should be feminine. Like other men of 
 a male temper, he enjoyed the distinctive fem 
 inine traits, unreasoning sympathy, instinctive 
 comprehension, absolute self-abnegation, delicate 
 
CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 311 
 
 sensibility. He took great pleasure in the soci 
 ety of women, and in their company was wont 
 to drop most freely the outer semblance of the 
 warrior, that blending of sternness and determi 
 nation, which others sometimes found in him. 
 This wish always to keep the two types, mu 
 tually complementary, separate and apart, lay 
 at the bottom of his putting Washington so 
 much higher than Lincoln as a hero ; for the 
 womanly tenderness of Lincoln seemed to him 
 out of place. He liked a man who could get 
 angry in time of need, and vent his anger in 
 blunt, rough words. 
 
 By his creed and by his practice he belonged 
 to the sect of the Stoics, a disciple worthy of 
 the sect s happiest days ; his favorite virtue was 
 fortitude, and of all men of philosophic mind, 
 Marcus Aurelius was his accepted pattern. In 
 his youth he jotted down in his private diary 
 his resistance to the strongest temptation that 
 assails the body ; and his manhood was a con 
 stant obedience to self-restraint, in order that he 
 might fulfill his work. In spirit he was always 
 mindful of the noble emperor s words, "Take 
 care always to remember that you are a man and 
 a Roman ; and let every action be done with 
 perfect and unaffected gravity, humanity, free 
 dom, and justice." His friends bear witness that 
 again and again he had to restrain his vehement 
 
312 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 impulses to rash speech or action; again and 
 a^ain with a calm exterior batten the hatches on 
 
 O 
 
 a mutinous mood. This antique Puritan, with 
 fire fetched from Devon burning within him, 
 took care to remember that he was a man and 
 a gentleman, and bore himself with gentleness 
 and justice. 
 
 Perhaps his aristocratic bent helped him to 
 self-control. In this bent there was no touch of 
 vainglory, no trace of a willingness to live upon 
 the good report of ancestors ; but a notion, in 
 part begotten no doubt from the general social 
 theories prevalent in the stately old house in 
 Bowdoin Square, in part based on reasoning, 
 and justified by his purpose to prove that his 
 place was beside the best. We may perceive his 
 views of men, when he speaks of the rose : 
 
 Like all things living, in the world of mind 
 or of matter, the rose is beautified, enlarged, and 
 strengthened by a course of judicious and per 
 severing culture, continued through successive 
 generations. The art of horticulture is no lev- 
 eler. Its triumphs are achieved by rigid systems 
 of selection and rejection, founded always on the 
 broad basis of intrinsic worth. The good culti 
 vator propagates no plants but the best. He 
 carefully chooses those marked out by conspicu 
 ous merit ; protects them from the pollen of in 
 ferior sorts; intermarries them, perhaps, with 
 other varieties of equal vigor and beauty ; saves 
 
CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 313 
 
 their seed, and raises from it another generation. 
 From the new plants thus obtained he again 
 chooses the best, and repeats with them the same 
 process. Thus the rose and other plants are 
 brought slowly to their perfect development. It 
 is in vain to look for much improvement by 
 merely cultivating one individual. We cultivate 
 the parent, and look for our reward in the off- 
 
 Such was his theory, and if we meet with a 
 little lift of the eyebrows, a little look askant, 
 when he regards nouveaux riches, we know that 
 the movement was due not to snobbery, but to 
 what he deemed personal and inherited experi 
 ence. In a notebook kept while he was overseer 
 of Harvard College, there are memoranda of 
 notes of opinions gathered from the older pro 
 fessors ; and among other opinions is this, which 
 evidently squared satisfactorily with his own 
 conclusions, " The best class of students are 
 those of families of inherited wealth or easy 
 means, sons of nouveaux riches do not make 
 scholars." But such a feeling never degener 
 ated into a class spirit. Speaking on a subject 
 in which he took a deep interest, he says : 
 
 The public schools, moreover, are democratic 
 institutions in the best sense of the words ; and, 
 on a broader and more comprehensive scale, 
 they produce the effects which are said to be the 
 peculiar advantages of the great English en- 
 
314 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 dowed schools. They bring together children of 
 different walks in life, and weaken mutual pre 
 judices by force of mutual contact, teach the rich 
 to know the poor, and the poor to know the rich, 
 and so sap the foundations of class jealousies 
 and animosities. The common schools are cru 
 cibles in which races, nationalities, and creeds 
 are fused together till all alike become Ameri 
 can. 
 
 But his books reveal his character better than 
 I can suggest it, not only by their obvious admi 
 rations, but by their reticence. The historian 
 never mentions himself except to point a foot 
 note ; he wears the dignified ermine of historic 
 impartiality, but a generous heart cannot hide 
 itself. By his loves he shall be known. Nobody 
 can read the pages on Champlain, on La Salle, 
 Brebeuf, or Wolfe, and not know that these are 
 the heroes whose high deeds quickened a kin 
 dred soul. 
 
 Yet the reader would not know, nor would an 
 acquaintance in life have guessed, that this stu 
 dious gentleman, with his firm jaw and his schol 
 arly brow, of decided views and occasional bursts 
 of vigorous speech, was tenderly sensitive to sym 
 pathy. The show of unwarranted compassion or 
 officious pity from some person outside the inner 
 circle of those that loved him was coldly pushed 
 aside ; but real sympathy, offered as one manly 
 man may offer it to another, or tendered by a 
 
CHARACTER AND OPINIONS 315 
 
 woman who had the right to tender it, when ex 
 pressed with reticence and restraint, or indicated 
 in action rather than speech, went straight to his 
 heart. It was more acceptable to him even than 
 fame, and he was very ambitious. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTER 
 
 THE story of a scholar is uneventful ; it is made 
 up of travels, rummagings, notes, dictation, and 
 printing; it lies far from the madding crowd, 
 remote from the bustle of politics and the creak 
 ing machinery of national life. Parkman s infirm 
 ities intensified this seclusion ; they forced him 
 to sport his oak against all except extreme inti 
 macy, and intimacy is shy of the chronicler ; but 
 a biography with no allusion to intimacy is but 
 a shell, a case, a cover, and lets the reader carry 
 away an impression that the man had none of 
 those close affections that reveal themselves in 
 trifling commerce, in looks, in smiles, and silence. 
 This intimacy of Parkman s needs a pen plucked 
 u from an angel s wing," for his deepest feelings 
 radiated from his presence, and no one could say 
 just how they had been expressed ; and part of 
 it should be told by Robin Goodfellow, for his 
 playfulness, his fun, his fondness for nonsense, 
 pass in the telling. 
 
 He spent his life between the town house 
 
A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTER 317 
 
 his mother s during her life, then his sister s 
 and his country house at Jamaica Plain; they 
 were his guests in summer, he theirs in winter. 
 At 50 Chestnut Street he had the top floor as his 
 apartment, his bedroom to the south, his study 
 to the north. The stairs that lead thither have a 
 half-fulfilled inclination to wind ; in later years, a 
 little elevator for his private use spared him the 
 stairs he often could not climb. The study was 
 his home, for illness prevented him from taking 
 an ordinary part in family life. He came down 
 to breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but was gen 
 erally silent, and went up again directly after 
 the meal was finished. In the study he spent 
 his time, working when he could. One winter 
 he employed a young woman, a public school 
 teacher, as his amanuensis ; she was wholly ig 
 norant of French, and read the copied archives 
 with a pure Yankee pronunciation. But all the 
 rest of the time, his sister or some member of 
 his family wrote for him while he dictated. In 
 somnia kept him awake at night, and during 
 these wakeful hours, and also in the long periods 
 of repose during the day, he would think of his 
 writing, and put sentence to sentence and para 
 graph to paragraph, so that when he began to 
 dictate he proceeded in orderly progress as if he 
 were reading from a book. Thus, barring the 
 interruptions of illness, he proceeded day by day, 
 
318 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 until chapter was added to chapter, volume to 
 volume, and the whole at last finished. 
 
 The " gridirons " were used in earlier years, at 
 times from 1850 to 1860. There were three of 
 these in all, very much alike, the later ones hav 
 ing being made to improve on the earlier model. 
 The last is a little metal frame twelve inches by 
 eight, with wire bars running across like lines 
 on ruled paper, some sixteen in all. Underneath 
 this grill the sheet of paper was slipped in, with 
 a metal back to write on. With this contrivance, 
 following the wire by touch, he could write in 
 the dark without looking. It is an eloquent wit 
 ness, 
 
 " Stone walls do not a prison make 
 Nor iron bars a cage," 
 
 nor blindness, nor pain, nor manifold privations 
 to the man of heroic temper. 
 
 In the evening Miss Parkman would read 
 aloud to him books of various kinds, novels often. 
 He liked a good, strong story, like "Monte 
 Cristo " or " The Wandering Jew," or some 
 Classic like Miss Austen s novels or " Evelina ; " 
 just as in early days he had loved Cooper and 
 Scott. Poetry he liked, but not all. Wordsworth 
 he could not bear, Byron he enjoyed ; but he al 
 most always had a volume of Shakespeare on his 
 table, often open ; sometimes he was able to read 
 a few lines, but commonly the silent presence was 
 
A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTER 319 
 
 enough. One of his last gifts to his wife was a 
 fine copy of Milton. 
 
 After his mother died, two nieces, the daugh 
 ters of his sister Caroline, Mrs. Cordner, were 
 frequent inmates of the house, and they, with 
 Miss Parkman, were the only confidantes of his 
 wilder nonsense. To his friends he passed as a 
 man rather lacking in humor, rather inclined to 
 take statements au pied de la lettre ; but in the 
 summer time, the tap of the cane coming down 
 stairs was the reveille for jokes and nonsense. 
 The audience was on tiptoe with expectation, 
 and the performance was always received with 
 fullest appreciation ; and even if brother and 
 sister were alone, the humor, if less boisterous, 
 was gay. The cheer was no counterfeit, but born 
 of an honest gratitude for the happy things in 
 life ; it also served to hide his pain from the 
 others, and even from himself, for he could not 
 take part in ordinary conversation, and silence 
 had a painful physical effect on him. 
 
 As it was with his nonsense, so too it was with 
 his intimate tenderness, only those who lived 
 under the same roof with him realized it to the 
 full. His daughters and his little nieces used to 
 make him visits twice a year, two months in 
 the spring and two in the autumn ; they used to 
 be at that breakfast-table, giggling for the non 
 sense to come, and they knew how to read the 
 
320 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 tenderness in his eye, and did not need to wait 
 for words, for they knew that the " horse hur- 
 raut " had great difficulty with those most clumsy 
 instruments for expressing tenderness English 
 monosyllables. The visits were always at Jamaica 
 Pond, and one of them would row with him in 
 the boat, or go a-visiting the roses and the lilies ; 
 or he would help them to disentangle the fish- 
 line and bait the hook, or, it might be, arrange 
 the aquatic flora and fauna in their little aqua 
 rium ; or when they said good-by, he would go 
 to the greenhouse to choose a plant for them ; 
 and here they found that the language of flowers 
 was also far better than that of the dictionary. 
 These nieces, too, bear witness to his triumphant 
 self-mastery ; during all the years from their 
 childhood to womanhood, in town, when they 
 were not staying in the same house, they lived 
 across the street and ran in daily, during all 
 these years they never once heard an impatient 
 word fall from his lips, they never once saw an 
 impatient look; they merely could divine that 
 he would not let them be troubled by his pain. 
 This is the triumph of stoicism, of the sweet 
 stoicism of Marcus Aurelius, mingled in no 
 small measure with the teachings of the Gali 
 lean fisherman. 
 
 Thus I come to the end of this uneventful 
 story ; but there are a few more pages to com- 
 
A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTER 321 
 
 plete this little picture of his later life and its 
 intimacies. At Jamaica Plain, in those latter 
 days, when gardening and horticultural prizes 
 were things of the past, every morning he and 
 his sister went rowing. This pond is not very 
 big, and does not afford a great variety of scene 
 nor of incident, and the dreary repetition had to 
 be enriched by art. Here Parkman gave loose 
 rein to his boyish imagination. Every afternoon 
 they went for a drive, with Michael, the gardener, 
 known to his intimates as Mike, driving. 
 Parkman had no natural love for a carriage ; the 
 "horse hurrant" despised the slow and tedious 
 monotony of the inevitable road, but his fancy 
 filled the borders of the way with historic scenes, 
 and would not permit his helplessness to darken 
 their horizon. 
 
 Parkman was very fond of cats, and though 
 they were rigidly excluded from the library, in 
 the evening there was always a cat Peter or 
 Sarah or Molly who sat on his lap, or curled 
 on the rug and purred its thoughts into a most 
 sympathetic ear. He had always had a weakness 
 for them. Once when Miss Parkman was in 
 Paris, we find him writing, 1872, a year or two 
 after the siege of Paris, " You are also to be 
 congratulated on the discovery of two Angoras, 
 which I trust were favorable specimens. There 
 used to be a good one in the lodge of the con- 
 
322 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 cierge at No. 123 Av. de Champs Elysees, but 
 the accidents of war may have removed her from 
 the sphere which she adorned and consigned her 
 to the frying-pan." 
 
 He makes a point of the Angora blood here, 
 but that is an affectation ; good cats, bad cats, 
 lean cats, fat cats, well-bred or wayfarers, ears 
 torn, tailless, young and old, had some claim 
 on his interest. He liked nothing better than to 
 sit in summer time on the veranda festooned 
 with wisteria, and stroke a little cat, and listen 
 to its purring, and help it to make itself per 
 fectly comfortable on his lap. Not only cats, 
 but pictures of cats, photographs of cats, effigies 
 of cats abounded. In especial there was one 
 flannel likeness, whiskered with red silk, eyed 
 with green beads, and featured pathetically with 
 cotton thread, presented to him by his little 
 granddaughter. When he went to Portsmouth 
 to pay her his summer visit, he tucked this flan 
 nel slander of a cat under his coat and brought 
 it forth triumphantly, she believing that it had 
 been cherished next his waistcoat all the winter. 
 He had played the same comedy with the child s 
 mother when she was a little girl. 
 
 MY DEAR KATY, Me and Creem are wel. 
 We send u our luv. We do not fite now. We 
 have milk every day. One day, when i was play 
 ing under the evergreens, Creem would not lap 
 
A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTER 323 
 
 her milk till she had come out and told me that 
 it was reddy, and we both went and lapped it 
 together. Papa holds me every night to keep 
 me tame. . . . Yors till deth, 
 
 FLORA, her m x ark [mark]. 
 
 (I struggled so, my paw has not made a good 
 mark.) 
 
 P. S. Plese bring me a skulpin. 
 
 P. P. S. Papa says to thank Grace for her 
 letter, and he is glad she is having such a good 
 time. 
 
 N. B. This is a lok of my fer, with best luv 
 of Yors in haste, Puss. [Lock of fur fastened 
 on.] 
 
 The cats returned his affection, and loved to 
 curl their backs, and rub up against his legs. 
 
 His own children, after their mother s death, 
 had gone to live with their aunt, Miss Bigelow, 
 who brought them up as if they had been her 
 own, so that Parkman was spared the care he 
 could not give and yet had the pleasure of see 
 ing them constantly, for Dr. Bigelow s house was 
 hard by. In the early summer and again in the 
 autumn they made him a visit at Jamaica Plain. 
 The elder daughter, Grace, took her chief plea 
 sure in the pond and the boat, but the younger, 
 Katy, liked the garden best, and every morn 
 ing trudged after her father, basket in hand, as 
 he walked down the paths with his campstool 
 under his arm on the matinal expedition to cut 
 
324 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 flowers for the house or to send to his friends. 
 Whatever different occupations the three might 
 find during the day, at dusk they met at his sofa 
 in the " ante-room," where he narrated story after 
 story with Grace sitting beside him, and Katy 
 perched on the back of the sofa. He inspired 
 them with deep respect, affection, and admira 
 tion. 
 
 In later years, after his daughters were mar 
 ried, when on the whole he suffered less and had 
 the sustaining sense that his work was substan 
 tially finished, he enjoyed his grandchildren very 
 much, letting them see, perhaps, more of his 
 tender, playful side than he had been able to 
 show to their parents. So his life went by, loved 
 by his cats, his family, his friends, his kindred, 
 and his fellow historians ; and it was cheered 
 and brightened by kind and generous expressions 
 of affection, on such occasions as when he re 
 signed from the presidency of the St. Botolph 
 Club, or attained his seventieth year. 
 
 I am not sure that I have spoken enough of 
 his gentleness, and I have said too little of his 
 modesty. John Fiske was once delivering a lec 
 ture on " America s Place in History," at Haw 
 thorne Hall, in Boston; he alluded to Pontiac 
 and his conspiracy, and said that it was memo 
 rable as " the theme of one of the most brilliant 
 and fascinating books that have ever been writ- 
 
A MORE INTIMATE CHAPTER 325 
 
 ten by any historian since the days of Herodotus." 
 The words were hardly out of his mouth when 
 he caught sight of Parkman in the audience. He 
 says, " I shall never forget the sudden start which 
 he gave, and the heightened color of his noble 
 face, with its curious look of surprise and plea 
 sure, an expression as honest and simple as one 
 might witness in a rather shy schoolboy sud 
 denly singled out for praise. I was so glad that 
 I had said what I did without thinking of his 
 hearing me." 
 
 Parkman s memory is linked forever with the 
 first great epoch in American history; and a 
 memorial in stone is to be placed near the edge 
 of Jamaica Pond hard by the dock from which 
 he used to push his little boat when he and his 
 sister went for their daily row around the pond. 
 Two great monoliths will stand, one on each 
 side of a stone seat ; in one the sculptor has 
 carved the figure of an Indian, in the other an 
 image of the Spirit of the Woods, the com 
 rades of Parkman s boyhood. 
 
 After this it was noised abroad that Mr. Val- 
 iant-for- Truth was taken with a summons. . . . 
 When he understood it, he called for his friends, 
 and told them of it. Then said he, ..." though 
 with great difficulty I have got hither, yet now 
 I do not repent me of all the trouble I have been 
 at to arrive where I am. My sword I give to 
 
326 FRANCIS PARKMAN 
 
 him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and 
 my courage and skill to him that can get it. My 
 marks and scars I carry with me." . . . 
 
 When the day that he must go hence was 
 come, many accompanied him to the river-side, 
 into which as he went he said, " Death, where 
 is thy sting?" And as he went down deeper, 
 he said, " Grave, where is thy victory ? " So 
 he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded 
 on the other side. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 LETTER written to Mr. Martin Brimmer in 1886, 
 with instructions to be kept until after Park- 
 man s death, and then to be given to the Mas 
 sachusetts Historical Society : 
 
 MY DEAR BRIMMER, I once told you that I 
 should give you some account of the circumstances 
 under which my books were written. Here it is, with 
 some preliminary pages to explain the rest. I am 
 sorry there is so much of it : 
 
 Causes antedating my birth gave me constitutional 
 liabilities to which I largely ascribe the mischief that 
 ensued. As a child I was sensitive and restless, rarely 
 ill, but never robust. At eight years I was sent to a 
 farm belonging to my maternal grandfather on the 
 outskirts of the extensive tract of wild and rough 
 woodland now called Middlesex Fells. I walked 
 twice a day to a school of high but undeserved repu 
 tation about a mile distant, in the town of Medford. 
 Here I learned very little, and spent the intervals of 
 schooling more profitably in collecting eggs, insects, 
 and reptiles, trapping squirrels and woodchucks, and 
 making persistent though rarely fortunate attempts 
 
328 APPENDIX 
 
 to kill birds with arrows. After four years of this 
 rustication I was brought back to Boston, when I was 
 unhappily seized with a mania for experiments in 
 chemistry involving a lonely, confined, unwholesome 
 sort of life, baneful to body and mind. This lasted 
 till the critical age of fifteen, when a complete change 
 came over me I renounced crucibles and retorts 
 and took to books; read poetry and fancied for a 
 while that I could write it ; conceived literary ambi 
 tions, and, at the same time, began to despise a liter 
 ary life and to become enamored of the backwoods. 
 This new passion which proved permanent was 
 no doubt traceable in part to fond recollections of the 
 Middlesex Fells, as well as to one or two journeys 
 which I was permitted to make into some of the 
 wilder parts of New England. It soon got full pos 
 session of me, and mixed itself with all my literary 
 aspirations. In this state of mind I went to college, 
 where I divided my time about equally between books 
 and active exercises, of which last I grew inordinately 
 fond, and in which I was ambitious beyond measure 
 to excel. 
 
 My favorite backwoods were always in my thoughts. 
 At first I tried to persuade myself that I could woo 
 this new mistress in verse ; then I came down to fic 
 tion, and at last reached the sage though not flattering 
 conclusion that if I wanted to build in her honor any 
 monument that would stand, I must found on solid 
 fact. Before the end of the sophomore year my vari 
 ous schemes had crystallized into a plan of writing 
 the story of what was thus known as the " Old French 
 
APPENDIX 329 
 
 War ; " that is, the war that ended in the conquest 
 of Canada ; for here, as it seemed to me, the forest 
 drama was more stirring and the forest stage more 
 thronged with appropriate actors than in any other 
 passage of our history. It was not till some years 
 later that I enlarged the plan to include the whole 
 course of the American conflict between France and 
 England ; or, in other words, the history of the Amer 
 ican forest ; for this was the light in which I regarded 
 it. My theme fascinated me, and I was haunted with 
 wilderness images day and night. 
 
 From this time forward, two ideas possessed me. 
 One was to paint the forest and its tenants in true 
 and vivid colors ; the other was to realize a certain 
 ideal of manhood, a little mediaeval, but nevertheless 
 good. Feeling that I fell far short of it, I proceeded 
 in extreme dissatisfaction to apply heroic remedies. 
 I held the creed that the more hard knocks a man 
 gets, whether in mind or body, the better for him, 
 provided always that he takes them without flinching ; 
 and as the means of forcing myself up to the required 
 standard, I put my faith in persistent violence which 
 I thought energy. I held that the true aim of life 
 was not happiness but achievement ; had profound re 
 spect for physical strength and hardihood when joined 
 with corresponding qualities of character ; took plea 
 sure in any moderate hardship, scorned invalidism of 
 all kinds, and was full of the notion, common enough 
 with boys of a certain sort, that the body will always 
 harden and toughen with exercise and exposure. I 
 remember to have had a special aversion for the Rev. 
 
330 APPENDIX 
 
 Dr. Charming, not for his heresies, ^>ut for his meager 
 proportions, sedentary habits, environment of close 
 air and female parishioners, and his preachments of 
 the superiority of mind over matter ; for, while I had 
 no disposition to gainsay his proposition in the ab 
 stract, it was a cardinal point with me that while the 
 mind remains a habitant of earth, it cannot dispense 
 with a sound material basis, and that to neglect and 
 decry the corporeal part in the imagined interest of 
 the spiritual is proof of a nature either emasculate 
 or fanatical. For my own part, instead of neglect 
 ing, I fell to lashing and spurring it into vigor and 
 prosperity. 
 
 Meanwhile I diligently pursued my literary scheme. 
 While not exaggerating the importance of my sub 
 ject, I felt that it had a peculiar life of its own, of 
 which I caught tantalizing glimpses, to me irresistibly 
 attractive. I felt far from sure that I was equal to 
 the task of rekindling it, calling out of the dust the 
 soul and body of it and making it a breathing reality. 
 I was like some smitten youth plagued with harrow 
 ing doubts as to whether he can win the mistress of 
 his fancy. I tried to gauge my own faculties, and was 
 displeased with the result. Nevertheless, I resolved 
 that if my steed was not a thoroughbred, I would at 
 least get his best paces out of him, and I set myself 
 to a strenuous course of training for the end in view. 
 A prime condition of success was an unwearied delv 
 ing into dusty books and papers, a kind of work 
 which I detested ; and I came to the agreeable yet 
 correct conclusion that the time for this drudgery was 
 
APPENDIX 331 
 
 not come ; that my present business was, so to speak, 
 to impregnate myself with my theme, fill my mind 
 with impressions from real life, range the woods, mix 
 with Indians and frontiersmen, visit the scenes of the 
 events I meant to describe, and so bring myself as 
 near as might be to the times with which I was to 
 deal. Accordingly, I spent all my summer vacations 
 in the woods or in Canada, at the same time reading 
 such books as I thought suited, in a general way, to 
 help me towards my object. I pursued these lucubra 
 tions with a pernicious intensity, keeping my plans 
 and purposes to myself, while passing among my com 
 panions as an outspoken fellow. 
 
 The danger into which I was drifting rose from the 
 excessive stimulus applied to nerves which had too 
 much stimulus of their own. I was not, however, at 
 all nervous in the sense in which that term is com 
 monly understood, and I regarded nervous people 
 with more pity than esteem. The mischief was work 
 ing underground. If it had come to the surface, the 
 effects would probably have been less injurious. I 
 flattered myself I was living wisely because I avoided 
 the more usual excesses, but I fell into others quite 
 as baneful, riding my hobbies with unintermitting 
 vehemence, and carrying bodily exercise to a point 
 where it fatigues instead of strengthening. In short, 
 I burned the candle at both ends. 
 
 The first hint that my method of life was not to 
 prove a success occurred in my junior year, in the 
 shape of a serious disturbance in the action of the 
 heart, of which the immediate cause was too violent 
 
a-52 APPENDIX 
 
 exercise in the gymnasium. I was thereupon ordered 
 to Europe, where I spent the greater part of a year, 
 never losing sight of my plans and learning much 
 that helped to forward them. Returning in time to 
 graduate with my class, I was confronted with the 
 inevitable question, What next ? The strong wish of 
 my father that I should adopt one of the so-called regu 
 lar professions determined me to enter the Harvard 
 Law School. 
 
 Here, while following the prescribed courses at a 
 quiet pace, I entered in earnest on two other courses, 
 one of general history, the other of Indian history and 
 ethnology, and at the same time studied diligently the 
 models of English style ; which various pursuits were 
 far from excluding the pleasures of society. In the 
 way of preparation and preliminary to my principal 
 undertaking, I now resolved to write the history of 
 the Indian War under Pontiac, as offering peculiar 
 opportunities for exhibiting forest life and Indian 
 character ; and to this end I began to collect mate 
 rials by travel and correspondence. The labor was not 
 slight, for the documents were widely scattered on 
 both sides of the Atlantic ; but at the beginning of 
 1846 the collection was nearly complete. 
 
 I had been conscious for some time of an over- 
 stimulated condition of the brain. While constantly 
 reminding myself that the task before me was a long 
 one, that haste was folly, and that the slow way was 
 the surer and better one, I felt myself spurred for 
 ward irresistibly. It was like a rider whose horse has 
 got the bit between his teeth, and who, while seeing 
 
APPENDIX 333 
 
 his danger, cannot stop. As the mischief gave no 
 outward sign, nobody was aware of it but myself. At 
 last, however, a weakness of the eyes, which was one 
 of its symptoms, increased so fast that I was forced 
 to work with the eyes of others. I now resolved to 
 execute a scheme which I had long meditated. This 
 was to visit the wild tribes of the far West, and live 
 among them for a time, as a necessary part of train 
 ing for my work. I hoped by exchanging books and 
 documents for horse and rifle to gain three objects at 
 once health, use of sight, and personal knowledge 
 of savage life. The attempt did not prosper. I was 
 attacked on the plains by a wasting and dangerous 
 disorder, which had not ceased when I returned to 
 the frontier five months later. In the interval I was 
 for some weeks encamped with a roving band of Sioux 
 at the Rocky Mountains, with one rough though not 
 unfaithful attendant. It would have been suicidal 
 to accept the part of an invalid, and I was sometimes 
 all day in the saddle, when in civilized life complete 
 rest would have been thought indispensable. I lived 
 like my red companions, and sometimes joined them 
 in their hunting, with the fatiguing necessity of being 
 always armed and on the watch. To one often giddy 
 with the exhaustion of disease, the strain on the sys 
 tem was great. After going back to civilization, the 
 malady gradually subsided, after setting in action a 
 train of other disorders which continued its work. In 
 a year or more I was brought to a state of nervous 
 prostration that debarred all mental effort, and was 
 attended with a weakness of sight that for a time 
 
334 APPENDIX 
 
 threatened blindness. Before reaching this pass I 
 wrote the " Oregon Trail " by dictation. Complete 
 repose, to me the most detestable of prescriptions, was 
 enjoined upon me, and from intense activity I found 
 myself doomed to helpless inaction. Such chance of 
 success as was left lay in time, patience, and a studied 
 tranquillity of spirit ; and I felt, with extreme disgust, 
 that there was nothing for it but to renounce past 
 maxims and habits and embrace others precisely the 
 opposite. An impulse seized me to return to the 
 Rocky Mountains, try a hair of the dog that bit me, 
 and settle squarely the question to be or not to be. It 
 was the time of the Mexican War, and I well remem 
 ber with what envious bitterness I looked at a col 
 ored print in a shop window, representing officers 
 and men carrying a field battery into action at the 
 battle of Buena Vista. I believe that I would will 
 ingly have borne any amount of bodily pain, pro 
 vided only I could have brought with it the power 
 of action. 
 
 After a while as anything was better than idle 
 ness I resolved on cautiously attempting to make 
 use of the documents already collected for the " Con 
 spiracy of Pontiac." They were read to me by friends 
 and relatives at times when the brain was least rebel 
 lious, and I wrote without use of sight, by means of 
 a sort of literary gridiron or frame of parallel wires, 
 laid on the page to guide the hand. For some months 
 the average rate of progress did not exceed three or 
 four lines a day, and the chapters thus composed were 
 afterwards rewritten. If, as I was told, brain work 
 
APPENDIX 335 
 
 was poison, the dose was homeopathic and the effect 
 was good, for within a year I could generally work, 
 with the eyes of others, two hours or more a day, and 
 in about three years the book was finished. 
 
 I then began to gather materials for the earlier 
 volumes of the series of France and England in North 
 America, though, as I was prevented from traveling 
 by an extreme sensitiveness of the retina which made 
 sunlight insupportable, the task of collection seemed 
 hopeless. I began, however, an extensive correspond 
 ence, and was flattering myself that I might succeed 
 at last, when I was attacked with an effusion of water 
 on the knee, which subsided in two or three months, 
 then returned, kept me a prisoner for two years, and 
 deprived me of necessary exercise for several years 
 more. The consequence was that the devil which had 
 been partially exorcised returned triumphant. The 
 evil now centred in the head, producing cerebral 
 symptoms of such a nature that, in 1853, the physi 
 cian who attended me at the time, after cautious cir 
 cumlocution, said in a low and solemn voice that his 
 duty required him to warn me that death would prob 
 ably follow within six months, and stood amazed at 
 the smile of incredulity with which the announcement 
 was received. I had known my enemy longer than 
 he, and learned that its mission was not death, but 
 only torment. Five years later another physician 
 an eminent physiologist of Paris, where I then was 
 tried during the whole winter to discover the par 
 ticular manifestations of the insanity which he was 
 convinced must needs attend the symptoms he had 
 
336 APPENDIX 
 
 observed, and told me at last what he had been about. 
 " What conclusion have you reached ? " I asked. 
 "That I never knew a saner man in my life." 
 " But," said I, " what is the chance that this brain of 
 mine will ever get into working order again ? " He 
 shook his head and replied, " It is not impossible " 
 with which I was forced to content myself. 
 
 Between 1852 and 1860 this cerebral rebellion 
 passed through great and seemingly capricious fluctu 
 ations. It had its ebbs and floods. Slight and some 
 times imperceptible causes would produce an access 
 which sometimes lasted with little respite for months. 
 When it was in its milder moods I used the opportu 
 nity to collect material and prepare ground for future 
 work, should work ever become practicable. When it 
 was at its worst the condition was not enviable. I could 
 neither listen to reading nor engage in conversation, 
 even of the lightest. Sleep was difficult and was often 
 banished entirely for one or two nights, during which 
 the brain was apt to be in a state of abnormal activ 
 ity, which had to be repressed at any cost, since 
 thought produced the intensest torture. The effort 
 required to keep the irritated organ quiet was so fa 
 tiguing that I occasionally rose and spent hours in the 
 open air, where I found distraction and relief in 
 watching the policemen and the tramps on the malls 
 of Boston Common, at the risk of passing for a tramp 
 myself. Towards the end of the night this cerebral 
 excitation would seem to tire itself out, and gave 
 place to a condition of weight and oppression much 
 easier to bear. 
 
APPENDIX 337 
 
 Having been inclined to look with slight esteem on 
 invalidism, the plight in which I found myself was 
 mortifying ; but I may fairly say that I never called 
 on others to bear the burden of it, and always kept 
 up a show of equanimity and good humor. The worst 
 strain on these was when the Civil War broke out and 
 I was doomed to sit an idle looker on. 
 
 After it became clear that literary work must be 
 indefinitely suspended, I found a substitute in horticul 
 ture ; and am confident that I owe it in good measure 
 to the kindly influence of that gracious pursuit that 
 the demon in the brain was gradually soothed into 
 comparative quiet. In 1861 I was able, with frequent 
 interruptions, to take up my work again. At the same 
 time there was such amendment as regards sight that 
 I could bear the sunlight without blinking, and read 
 for several minutes at once without stopping to rest 
 the eyes, though my chief dependence was still in 
 those of others. In 1865 " The Pioneers " was fin 
 ished, and the capacity of work both of brain and eye 
 had much increased. " The Jesuits " was finished in 
 1867 ; " The Discovery of the Great West," in 1869 ; 
 " The Old Regime," in 1874 ; and " Frontenac," in 
 1877. " Montcalm and Wolfe," which involved more 
 labor, was not ready till 1884. 
 
 While engaged on these books I made many jour 
 neys in the United States and Canada in search of 
 material, and went four times to Europe with a simi 
 lar object. The task of exploring archives and col 
 lecting documents, to me repulsive at the best, was, 
 under the circumstances, difficult, and would have 
 
338 APPENDIX 
 
 been impossible but for the aid of competent assistants 
 working under my direction. 
 
 Taking the last forty years as a whole, the capacity 
 of literary work which during that time has fallen to 
 my share has, I am confident, been considerably less 
 than a fourth part of what it would have been under 
 normal conditions. Whether the historical series in 
 hand will ever be finished I do not know, but I shall 
 finish it if I can. Yours faithfully, 
 
 F. PARKMAN. 
 
 JAMAICA PLAIN, 28 Oct., 1886. 
 
APPENDIX 339 
 
 POEM BY DR. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
 
 Read at the Special Meeting of the Massachusetts Historical 
 Society in Memory of Francis Parkman, November 21, 1893. 
 
 He rests from toil ; the portals of the tomb 
 Close on the last of those unwearying hands 
 
 That wove their pictured webs in History s loom, 
 Rich with the memories of three mighty lands. 
 
 One wrought the record of the Royal Pair 
 Who saw the great Discoverer s sail unfurled, 
 
 Happy his more than regal prize to share, 
 The spoils, the wonders of the sunset world. 
 
 There, too, he found his theme ; upreared anew, 
 Our eyes beheld the vanished Aztec shrines, 
 
 And all the silver splendors of Peru 
 
 That lured the conqueror to her fatal mines. 
 
 No less remembered he who told the tale 
 Of empire wrested from the strangling sea ; 
 
 Of Leyden s woe, that turned his readers pale, 
 The price of unborn freedom yet to be ; 
 
 Who taught the New World what the Old could teach ; 
 
 Whose silent hero, peerless as our own, 
 By deeds that mocked the feeble breath of speech 
 
 Called up to life a State without a Throne. 
 
 As year by year his tapestry unrolled, 
 
 What varied wealth its growing length displayed ! 
 
 What long processions flamed in cloth of gold ! 
 What stately forms their flowing robes arrayed ! 
 
 Not such the scenes our later craftsman drew ; 
 Not such the shapes his darker pattern held ; 
 
40 APPENDIX 
 
 A deeper shadow lent its sober hue, 
 A sadder tale his tragic task compelled. 
 
 He told the red man s story ; far and wide 
 
 He searched the unwritten records of his race ; 
 
 He sat a listener at the Sachem s side, 
 
 He tracked the hunter through his wildwood chase. 
 
 High o er his head the soaring eagle screamed ; 
 
 The wolf s long howl rang nightly ; through the vale 
 Tramped the lone bear ; the panther s eyeballs gleamed ; 
 
 The bison s gallop thundered on the gale. 
 
 Soon o er the horizon rose the cloud of strife, 
 Two proud, strong nations battling for the prize, 
 
 Which swarming host should mould a nation s life ; 
 Which royal banner flout the western skies. 
 
 Long raged the conflict ; on the crimson sod 
 Native and alien joined their hosts in vain ; 
 
 The lilies withered where the Lion trod, 
 Till Peace lay panting on the ravaged plain. 
 
 A nobler task was theirs who strove to win 
 
 The blood-stained heathen to the Christian fold, 
 
 To free from Satan s clutch the slaves of sin ; 
 Their labors, too, with loving grace he told. 
 
 Halting with feeble step, or bending o er 
 
 The sweet-breathed roses which he loved so well, 
 
 While through long years his burdening cross he bore, 
 From those firm lips no coward accents fell. 
 
 A brave, bright memory ! his the stainless shield 
 
 No shame defaces and no envy mars ! 
 When our far future s record is unsealed, 
 
 His name will shine among its morning stars. 
 
INDEX 
 
INDEX 
 
 ABBOTSFORD, 114. 
 
 Adams, Henry, letter to Parkman, 
 
 255. 
 Angler, John, school of, 20, 21. 
 
 Bancroft, George, letter to Park 
 man, 258. 
 
 Batiscan River, 281. 
 
 Bentley, Richard, 226. 
 
 Big Crow, Indian chief, 175 et seq. 
 
 Bigelow, Catherine Scollay, 216. 
 See also Parkman, Mrs. 
 
 Book of Roses, 236, 240. 
 
 Bowdoin Square, No. 5, 25. 
 
 Brimmer, Martin, autobiographical 
 letter to, 327-338. 
 
 Brown-Se"quard, Dr., 232. . 
 
 Canada, Parkman s first visit to, 
 42 ; second visit, 59 ; friends in, 
 263-280. 
 
 Carver, Capt. Jonathan, nom de 
 plume of Parkman, 133, 134. 
 
 Cary, George B., letter from Park 
 man, 130. 
 
 Casgrain, Abbe", 267-280. 
 
 Cats, Parkman s fondness for, 322. 
 
 Chatillon, Henry, 150, 163. 
 
 Chestnut St., No. 50, 252, 317. 
 
 Child, F. J., letters to Parkman, 
 229, 230. 
 
 Clark, L. Gaylord, editor of Knick 
 erbocker Magazine, 133, 134, 202. 
 
 Clermont-Tonnerre, Comtesse de, 
 292. 
 
 Convent, Roman, 96-103. 
 
 Coolidge, Dr. Algernon, 299. 
 
 Coolidge, J. Templeman, 293, 300. 
 
 Curtis, G. W., 228. 
 
 Dionne, M. N. E., quoted, 266. 
 Dwight, Edmund, letters to Park 
 man, 208-211. 
 
 Elliott, Dr. Samuel M., 193. 
 Ellis, Dr. G. E., autobiographical 
 letter to, 246. 
 
 Farnham, C. H., 281. 
 
 Fenwick, Rev. John E. A., 293,294. 
 
 Fiske, John, 3, 4, 226, 298, 324. 
 
 Fort William Henry, 34. 
 
 Fourierites, 122. 
 
 Frontenac and New France, 248. 
 
 Garrison, William Lloyd, 220. 
 
 Gibraltar, 69. 
 
 Godkin, E. L., letter to Parkman, 
 
 256. 
 Gould, Dr. G. M., 247. 
 
 Hale, George S., 56 ; letters from 
 
 Parkman, 126, 129, 135 ; letters to 
 
 Parkman, 127, 128. 
 Half Century of Conflict, 248, 278, 
 
 303. 
 
 Hall, Nathaniel, 20, 21. 
 Hansen, Mr., second mate of the 
 
 Nautilus, 64 et seq. 
 Harper & Brother, 223, 224. 
 Hart, Albert Bushnell, 4. 
 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, poem by, 
 
 339. 
 
 Indians, 160-192. 
 Italy, visit to, 75-108. 
 
 Jamaica Pond, 234. 
 James, Henry, 295 ; letter to Park 
 man, 256. 
 
 Japanese lilies, 239. 
 Jesuits in North America, 248, 249. 
 
 Keene, N. H., 56. 
 
 Knickerbocker Magazine, 29, 134, 
 201. 
 
 La Salle and the Discovery of the 
 Great West, 248, 249. 
 
 Lake George, 32. 
 
 Le Moine, Sir James M., 265, 280. 
 
 Lilies, Parkman s experiments with, 
 239, 240. 
 
 Lodge, Henry Cabot, letter to Park 
 man, 259. 
 
344 
 
 INDEX 
 
 London, 110-113. 
 
 Lowell, J. R., letter to Parkman, 
 257. 
 
 Malta, 73. 
 
 Margalloway River, 45-5T). 
 
 Margry, P. A., 288-290, 305, 306. 
 
 Massachusetts Historical Society, 
 250. 
 
 Messina, 76. 
 
 Middlesex Fells, school and play 
 ground for Parkman, 21, 22, 28. 
 
 Mitchell, Dr. Weir, letter from 
 Parkman, 290. 
 
 Montcalm and Wolfe, 248, 249, 254, 
 255. 
 
 Montcalm s letters, 293-295. 
 
 Naples, 90. 
 
 Norton, C. E., letters to Parkman, 
 
 212-214 ; letters from Parkman, 
 
 218-221. 
 
 Ogillallah Indians, 160. 
 
 Old Regime, 248. 
 
 Oregon visited by Parkman, 148- 
 
 159. 
 Oregon Trail, The, 201-204, 213. 
 
 Paris, 109, 231, 288. 
 
 Parker, Theodore, 90, 92, 93. 
 
 Parkman, Breck, 17. 
 
 Parkman, Caroline (Mrs. Cordner), 
 letters to Parkman, 13-17, 145, 
 146, 194-199. 
 
 Parkman, Rev. Ebenezer, 12, 25 ; 
 his diary, 282-2H4, 286-288. 
 
 Parkman, Eliza W. 8., 19, 140, 233, 
 252, 282-2H8, 303. 
 
 Parkman, Rev. Francis, 17, 18, 25 ; 
 letters to Parkman, 199, 201, 202, 
 204. 
 
 Parkman, Mrs. Francis, mother of 
 Francis, 18, 19 ; her death, 288. 
 
 Parkman, Francis, ancestry, 12 ; 
 birth and boyhood, 20 ; school, 20, 
 25 ; college, 27 ; explorations, 32 ; 
 Margalloway, 45 ; Keene, 56 ; voy 
 age to Europe, 62 ; Gibraltar, 69; 
 Malta, 73 ; Sicily, 75, 80, ft seq. ; 
 Naples, 90; Rome, 93; Roman 
 convent, 97; Florence, 105; Mi 
 lan, 106 ; Paris, 109, 110 ; London, 
 110-113; Scotland, 113-115; Ab- 
 botsford, 1 14 ; Berkshire County, 
 119; the law school, 125; social 
 pleasures, 129, 130; The Knicker 
 bocker Magazine, 29, 134; Capt. 
 Jonathan Carver, 133, 134; The 
 
 Hanger s Adventure, 132; The 
 Scalp - Hunter, 132; travels to 
 Pennsylvania, 136, 137 ; Detroit, 
 137 ; the Oregon trail, 148 ; the 
 start, 148 ; emigrant train, 151 ; 
 buffalo hunt, 154; The Whirlwind, 
 162; Fort Laramie, 160; the rough 
 journey, 168 ; Indian life, 181 ; 
 journey home, 191 ; Dr. Elliott s 
 care, 193 ; preparation for Pon- 
 tiac, 205 ; marriage, 216 ; publica 
 tion of Pontiac, 222 ; life at Mil 
 ton, 218; Vassall Morton, 227; 
 death of sou, 229 ; death of wife, 
 229 ; trip to Paris, 229 ; Jamaica 
 Pond, 234; gardening, 235-240; 
 hybridization of lilies, 239 ; Book 
 of Roses, 240 ; Civil War, 243 ; The 
 Pioneers, 246 ; The Jesuits, 248 ; 
 La Salle, 248 ; The Old Regime, 
 248 ; Frontenac, 248 ; Montcalm 
 and Wolfe, 248 ; A Half Century 
 of Conflict, 248; 50 "Chestnut 
 Street, 252 ; letters of praise, 255- 
 261; Canada, 263-281; Quebec, 
 265, 206 ; Abbe Casgrain, 267-280 ; 
 camping at Batiscan River, 281 ; 
 trip to Paris, 288; M. Margry, 288- 
 290 ; Montcalm s letters to Bour- 
 lamaque, 293 - 295 ; Wentworth 
 mansion, 300 ; death, 303; his 
 character, 304 el seq. ; his opin 
 ions, 304 et seq. ; woman suffrage, 
 309 ; aristocrat, 312 ; intimacies, 
 316 ; nonsense, 319; love of cats, 
 322. 
 
 Parkman, Francis, letters of: to 
 George S. Hale, 126, 129, 135; to 
 George B. Gary, 130 ; to his 
 mother, 104, 136, 144 ; to E. Geo. 
 Squier, 215; to C. E. Norton, 218, 
 219, 221 ; to Miss Mary Parkman, 
 231-233; to Miss Eliza Park 
 man, 233, 285, 286, 299, 301, 302 ; 
 to Mrs. Sam. Parkman, 238 ; to 
 Dr. Weir Mitchell, 296, 297 ; to 
 his daughter Katherine (Mrs. J. 
 T. Coolidpe), 322, 323 ; to Martin 
 Brimmer, 245, 327-338. 
 
 Parkman, Mrs., wife of Francis, 217 ; 
 her death, 229. 
 
 Parkman, Grace, 323, 324. 
 
 Parkman, John Eliot, 1!>, 203. 
 
 Parkman, Katherine (Mrs. J. T. 
 Coolidge). 300, 322-324. 
 
 Parkman, Mary E., letters to, 231- 
 233. 
 
 Parkman, Samuel, 17, 25. 
 
 Parkman, William, 17. 
 
INDEX 
 
 345 
 
 Peabody, Joseph, 128, 129. 
 Phillips, Sir Thomas, 293. 
 Pioneers of France in the New 
 , The, 246, 
 
 World, 
 
 248. 
 
 Pontiac, Conspiracy of, prepara 
 tions for, 205 ; published, 222. 
 
 Rome, 93-104. 
 
 Roosevelt, Theodore, letter to Park- 
 
 man, 259, 260. 
 Roses, 235-237. 
 Russell, G. R.,225. 
 Russell, William, teacher of Park- 
 
 man, 26. 
 
 St. Botolph Club, 307. 
 
 St. Paul s, London, 112. 
 
 Salem, 128, 129. 
 
 Saturday Club, 297. 
 
 Scotland, 113-115. 
 
 Shaw, J. Coolidge, letter to Park- 
 
 man, 141, 142. 
 Shaw, Quincy A., 143, 147-167, 190, 
 
 191. 
 
 Sicily, 75, 80-89. 
 Slade, Daniel Den i son, 29. 
 
 Smith, Goldwin, 4. 
 
 Smith, William, History of Canada, 
 263. 
 
 Snow, Charles A. B., letter to Park- 
 man, 61. 
 
 Snow, Jonathan, of the barque Nau 
 tilus, 64 et seq. 
 
 Sparks, Jared, 222, 225. 
 
 Squier, E. George, 214, 215. 
 
 Stanstead, Canada, 43. 
 
 Switzerland, 108, 109. 
 
 Thayer, Gideon, teacher of Park- 
 man, 25. 
 Ticonderoga, 40. 
 
 Vassall Morton, 227, 228. 
 
 Wentworth mansion, 300. 
 Whirlwind, The, Ogillallah chief, 
 
 162-167. 
 
 White, Henry Orne, 32. 
 Williams, Col. Ephraim, 34, 119. 
 Winsor, Justin, letter to Parkman, 
 
 260 ; on M. Margry, 289. 
 Woman suffrage, 309. 
 
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