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RAMBLING 
 RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 AH AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
 
 BY 
 
 A. D. ROCKWELL, M.D. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 PAUL B. HOEBER 
 1920 
 
Sljf-l&-f3Z)2> 
 
 -ort 
 
 Copyright 1920 
 By PAUL B. HOEBER 
 
 Published January, 1920 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
CD 
 O 
 
 I . 
 
 THESE RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 
 TO MY WIFE AND CHILDREN 
 
My thanks are due to my friend 
 Mr. Charles Hardy Meigs, to whom 
 I am indebted for many valuable sug' 
 gestions and much helpful aid in the 
 preparation of these pages. 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 The sun nears the western sky, and sitting by my peaceful 
 fireside, memories come trooping on to cheer and comfort me. 
 One has said "in the circle of life the nearer we are to the end, 
 the closer are we to the beginning," and so in the following 
 pages I have lingered long, perhaps too long, over my boy- 
 hood days. They have ever brought pleasant thoughts to me 
 — my only apology for their prominence in these recollec- 
 tions. Written originally for the perusal of my children only, 
 this story of my life has unwittingly crept between these two 
 covers. If any other readers can find a grain of pleasure 
 herein in whiling away a few hours, I shall be doubly repaid 
 for my efforts. 
 
 A. D. R. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK PAGE 
 
 I. — Childhood and Early Youth .... 13 
 
 Earliest Remembrances — The New Canaan Seminary — 
 My Father's School — Boyish Escapades — The Country 
 Doctor — Summer Excursions and Winter Sports — Visits 
 to My Grandparents — "Old Sarah's" Cave — The Boys' 
 Parlor — Church Going — Comstock's Pond— First At- 
 tempts at Composition — The Coming of the Bishop — 
 Visits to My Aunt in Cherry Time — My Uncle and His 
 Country Store. 
 
 II. — Youth and Early Manhood .... 63 
 
 Enter the Employ of Ball, Black & Company, N. Y. — 
 New York in the Fifties — Henry Ward Beecher and 
 Plymouth Church — Return to New Canaan — Teach in 
 My Father's School — Enter Kenyon College — Descrip- 
 tion of College Days and College Friends — Begin the 
 Study of Medicine — Teach in a Country School — First 
 Army Experiences, Guarding Prisoners at Camp Chase — 
 Enter the Medical Department of the University of 
 Michigan — Final Course of Lectures at the Bellevue 
 Hospital Medical College, N. Y. — Description of the 
 Faculty — Graduation — Again Enter the Army as Assist- 
 ant Surgeon of the Sixth Ohio Volunteer Cavalry. 
 
 III. — A Ride with Sheridan 137 
 
 General Sheridan — The Crossing of the Rapidan — 
 Battle of the Wilderness — Sheridan's Raid — A Surprise 
 Attack — Battles of Yellow Tavern — Hawes' Shop — 
 Cold Harbor — Trevilian Station — St. Mary's Church 
 — Capture of the Weldon Railroad — The Siege of Rich- 
 mond and Petersburg — The Fall of These Cities— Pur- 
 suit of the Confederate Army — Appomattox. 
 
 IV. — Civil Life and Practice 177 
 
 Begin Practice in New York City — Dr. George M. 
 Beard — His Early Life and Characteristics — Become 
 Interested in the Relation of Electricity to Medicine — 
 Form Partnership with Dr. Beard for the Purpose of Its 
 Development — Our Early Work — My Marriage — Old 
 St. James' — Dr. Beard and I Dissolve Partnership — Dr. 
 Beard's Experience as a Popular Lecturer — Professorship 
 in the New York Post Graduate Medical School. 
 
io CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK PAGE 
 
 V. — Electro Execution 221 
 
 My Official Connection With It — Experiments at Edi- 
 son's Laboratory and the Prisons of the State to Deter- 
 mine the Best Method of Procedure — Opposition to the 
 New Law by the Westinghouse Company — Experiences 
 as a Witness for the State. 
 
 VI. — A Trip Abroad 233 
 
 The Bromide of Sodium as an Antidote for Sea Sickness 
 — Ex-Secretary of the Treasury Bristow and Boss Shep- 
 herd — A Cycling Trip Through the Valley of the Wye 
 — Studies of Characteristics in the Tap-Rooms of Eng- 
 lish Inns — An Accident — London, Paris and Home. 
 
 VII. — Personal Sketches 253 
 
 Chief Justice Salmon P. Chase — Edwin M. Stanton — 
 Rutherford B. Hayes — Theodore Roosevelt — General 
 Wm. T. Sherman — Commodore Vanderbilt — Henry 
 Ward Beecher — Benjamin F. Tracy — Senator Grimes — 
 The Potters — Moses Taylor — David Hoadly — Wm. E. 
 Dodge — Peter Stuyvesant — General Niven — George 
 Francis Train — Burroughs Lewis — Simon Sterne — 
 Charles Scribner — E. Delafield Smith— Albert Bierstadt 
 — General S. Wylie Crawford — Mark Twain — Wm. 
 M. Tweed — Rev. Stephen H. Tyng, Jr. — Judge Henry 
 E. Davies — Wm. S. Mayo — Dr. Gilbert — Frederick 
 Loeser — Benj. Altman — John Jay — Captain Zalinski — 
 Rev. Thos. B. Slicer — Moncure Conway — William 
 Astor — J. K. Emmet — Isaac K. Funk — Robert Mc- 
 Curdy — Alex. Graham Bell — Adrian Iselin — George 
 Kemp — James B. Haggin — J. Hooker Hamersley — The 
 Colgates — Asa Packer — Lieutenant General Adna H. 
 Chaffee — Major General Wm. H. Carter — Stewart L. 
 Woodford — Dr. John T. Metcalfe — General Thos. B. 
 Sweeny — Joseph Cook — Rev. Wm. H. H. Murray — 
 Governor Daniel Henry Chamberlain — Marc Klaw — 
 Captain Frederick Hobart. 
 
 Epilogue 324 
 
 Index 327 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 The Birthplace of the Author, then 
 
 Known as the New Canaan Seminary . . Frontispiece 
 
 The Old Rockwell Home, Ridgefield, Con- 
 necticut, Built in 1800 Facing Page 42 
 
 Lake Waccabuc 46 
 
 Kenyon College, Built in 1828 .... 84 
 
 A. D. Rockwell, M.D., Surgeon and Major 
 in the Sixth Ohio Cavalry, U. S. V., 1864 " 136 
 
 A. D. Rockwell " "176 
 
 George M. Beard " 182 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 
 
 WAS born in New Canaan, Conn., May 18th, 
 1840, and was christened Alphonso David 
 Rockwell. This, however, was not the name 
 by which I was first known. My parents 
 evidently had a strong Biblical tendency, for 
 the Prophet Elias came near being perpetu- 
 ated through me. Alphonso Elias was the 
 name with which I started on this earthly pilgrimage, and 
 indicated my identity for the first six years of my life. One 
 day my father called me to him and said he was thinking of 
 changing my middle name from Elias to David. This was my 
 father's name, and he wished me to share it with him. To 
 this I strenuously objected, but he pacified me by saying that 
 we would "just call it so." This, I remember, satisfied me; 
 since "calling it so" would not in reality make it so, I thought, 
 and so I made no further objection. On the following Sun- 
 day, however, with my four brothers, I was christened in 
 church, and in my case "David" substituted for "Elias." I 
 do not remember that I was much disturbed about it. 
 
 One's earlier remembrances are scattered and few. It is 
 my idea that all mental impressions are permanently retained. 
 The brain cells are innumerable, millions of them, and each 
 one capable of storing away for future use the imprint of 
 every event and thought. Some cells are active, others dor- 
 mant, and as the years go by the active cells become relatively 
 less, so that the mind can, at will, call to light but an infini- 
 tesimal number of the happenings of the past. But, just as in 
 the physical world no particle of matter is lost, so also in the 
 realm of mind and spirit. The brain may be compared to an 
 old garret, where are stored away in its musty recesses things 
 of the past. In the case of the mind, only some few events 
 as memories remain permanently with us; and a few others 
 
 13 
 
i 4 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 are revivified only through some fitting association of ideas. 
 The vast overwhelming majority of the occurrences of life 
 remain dormant and consciously will never more exist. 
 
 My earliest recollection relates to the latter part of my 
 third year. I remember one pleasant spring morning march- 
 ing around the house with a book under my arm, and singing 
 out "Four years old next May!" One other event only do 
 my brain cells liberate. I am conscious of a cloudy morning. 
 I am alone in the yard in front of the dwelling-house with a 
 kite flying high in air, very high it seems to me, for it is above 
 the house. The string breaks and away it goes to regions 
 unknown. At this time my father was, I believe, out of busi- 
 ness. He was a teacher, and after following his profession 
 in a number of places, — Reading, Conn., being one of them — 
 he bought this New Canaan place and established his school 
 there. Two or three years previous to the time I am writ- 
 ing about, however, he had given up the school and had gone 
 into the business of a general country store with my mother's 
 brother, Seymour Comstock. As neither of them was a very 
 good business man, the enterprise came to naught. My father 
 desired to return to his regular business, for which he was by 
 nature well fitted, but the lease of his property would not ex- 
 pire for two years and he must needs look about for another 
 place. He decided on Ridgefield, his ancestral home, and 
 my next recollection is that of playing with a ball in the yard 
 of the house on the beautiful old village street where he had 
 domiciled his family. The ball rolled into a cistern, and the 
 scene closes. I remember also trying to go alone up the street 
 to my grandfather's, about a quarter of a mile away. As we 
 stayed in Ridgefield less than two weeks, the memory of these 
 two incidents indicates that the mind was growing in retentive 
 strength. For some reason it was decided that Ridgefield was 
 not a desirable place for the school, and we therefore moved 
 ten miles further on to Danbury. 
 
 How peaceful and primitive the little town of Ridgefield 
 must have been in those early days ! Some seven hundred feet 
 above the level of the sea and fifteen miles from the waters 
 of the Sound, it was indeed isolated and far from the mad- 
 ding crowd. Few of its industrious inhabitants had ever 
 seen the great metropolis. There were no railroads in that 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 15 
 
 section of the country ( 1845 )> an ^ to g et t0 New York meant 
 a long drive to Norwalk or Stamford, and thence by sloop 
 or steamboat to the City. Everything was quiet and serene. 
 If it cannot be said that nobody worried, as it cannot be said 
 of any people, it can be said with approximate truth that no- 
 body hurried. But more of Ridgefield anon. 
 
 Danbury, too, was not much of a town, but compared to 
 Ridgefield it was a busy place. There was a hat factory there 
 and a half a dozen stores, more or less. One actually saw 
 people on the streets sometimes, and in going into a store it 
 was not an occasion for surprise if one saw a customer or two 
 buying goods. It was not necessary to wait until Sunday, as 
 in Ridgefield, to see the people. In that town very few were 
 ever seen on the village street, excepting on Sundays, when 
 everybody went to church. 
 
 I have some pleasant recollections of the year that we 
 spent at Danbury. How the boys of the school came from 
 and went to New York I do not remember, but I suppose they 
 must have come by steamboat to Norwalk, and by some sort 
 of conveyance to Danbury. Although then but five years old, 
 I distinctly remember the house, the grounds, the road and 
 the general aspect of the surrounding country. We were on 
 what is still called Deer Hill, directly overlooking the village 
 street, down which we coasted during the winter. Evidently 
 it was called Deer Hill because of some association with that 
 animal, but the name has always seemed appropriate to me 
 because of the cute little fawn that some of the boys had 
 caught on the "mountain" — a high hill about a mile away. 
 He was a beautiful little thing, still needing a mother's care, 
 yet he thrived and seemed altogether contented with his en- 
 vironment. He never wandered away, but became a uni- 
 versal pet. One day some of the mischievous boys began to 
 tease him, and, when the annoyance became unbearable, the 
 deer, with one venturesome bound, vaulted over the high 
 fence, fled down the road towards the "mountain" and soon 
 disappeared from view. It was the "call of the wild," instinc- 
 tive, stimulated to action by the teasing of human captors. I 
 say we never saw him more, but one day on one of our ex- 
 cursions to the "mountain" we saw, not far away, quietly 
 gazing at us, what all declared to be the very same animal. 
 
1 6 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 We tried to lure him to us, but he turned tail, pushed into 
 the woods, and so far as we were concerned that was the last 
 of our little pet. 
 
 Many, many years after, a friend of mine, by name Dr. 
 William C. Wile, amassed a fortune in Danbury. He grad- 
 ually withdrew from the practice of medicine and engaged in 
 the manufacture and sale of proprietary medicines. Up the 
 side of this great mountain of my childish mind he built, in 
 the midst of his domain of two hundred acres or so, a beauti- 
 ful house overlooking the home of my early boyhood. Fur- 
 ther up on the very summit of the "mountain" another man- 
 sion now stands, and between these two is the very spot, I 
 fancy, where this deer was caught, and where afterwards we 
 saw it quietly grazing in its newly found freedom. 
 
 Being but five years old when we migrated to Danbury, I 
 do not recall much about the interior of the house ; none of the 
 rooms where we slept or studied or dined are visualized. But 
 the large square house, with its yard and enclosing white 
 picket fence, the outhouses, and especially the outlook to the 
 Southern hills and over the little village nestling to the East 
 and below us, have never been forgotten. 
 
 My father had been brought up in the faith of the Metho- 
 dist church, my mother in that of the Episcopalian. It was 
 here in Danbury that he transferred his allegiance to the 
 latter. The Methodists at that time were not quite so dec- 
 orous in their worship as at the present day. In their prayer 
 meetings especially, noise was the predominating feature. 
 The noisier they were, the greater the religion ! The Indians 
 of old, when they wished to exorcise the evil spirits, danced, 
 howled, and beat their drums. It was good exercise and good 
 fun, too. Similarly, our forefathers, in order to propitiate 
 the Good Spirit, often did the same thing in a different way. 
 They did not beat the drum nor dance, but they did a great 
 deal of groaning, and with quite as good success for the time 
 as their ruder brethren. But that these irrational and violent 
 methods of procedure assisted very much in elevating the 
 moral nature may well be doubted. 
 
 Emerson says, "To aim to convert a man by miracles is a 
 profanation of the soul. A true conversion, a true Christ, is 
 now, as always, to be made by the reception of beautiful senti- 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 17 
 
 ments." Some such conception as this must have entered my 
 father's mind and discouraged him from further attendance 
 at these noisy, yet evidently sincere, gatherings. He retained 
 his orthodoxy to the end, but preferred worship that was 
 orderly and quiet. He therefore joined the Episcopal church, 
 and I well remember my first attendance at one of its services. 
 The surplice of the minister I mistook for a nightgown, and 
 in a far-reaching whisper to my mother, expressed my aston- 
 ishment that he had not dressed himself before coming to 
 church. 
 
 About three miles from the town there was a beautiful 
 sheet of water, called Mill Plane Pond, now called Lake 
 Kenosha, or some more euphonious Indian name. To this 
 pond all the school occasionally went for an excursion and to 
 sport in its waters. How my mind reverts to the peaceful 
 quietude of those times. A lovely lake undefiled by an en- 
 croaching population, solitary and alone, with human habita- 
 tions scattered along the road only here and there, just suffi- 
 cient to keep one in touch with one's kind. Very few of the 
 care-free boys that used to tramp so cheerily to the Pond still 
 live. What commingled joys, sorrows, successes, failures, 
 and even tragedies, may have been illustrated in their lives. 
 
 It is a cool October early morning. Looking out of the 
 window before breakfast, I see three boys jumping up and 
 down a bending board. My father sees them and appears 
 not altogether pleased. He is about to call to them with some 
 impatience when my mother, who is always ready to take the 
 part of the boys, interferes, points out what a good time they 
 are having and that they are doing no harm. Two of these 
 boys were the brothers William and Edward Browning, after- 
 wards heads of the great clothing house of the name, who 
 amassed millions of money. Both are now dead. Edward, 
 the younger, became blind and helpless. I have seen him, old 
 and sightless, led through the streets by his attendant, and 
 the two pictures of the extremes of life, — one the joyous, 
 vigorous boy, the other the sad, helpless veteran at the end 
 of his course, — were altogether pathetic. 
 
 In 1846, having resided but one year in Danbury, we 
 moved to Greenwich. Why we moved again so soon, I do not 
 remember, but probably because the town was so far away 
 
1 8 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 from New York where most of the pupils lived. Greenwich 
 was much nearer, directly on the Sound, and there was no long 
 land transportation. Although I remember so many events 
 connected with our stay in Danbury, I recall absolutely noth- 
 ing about our leaving, as I remember nothing about our go- 
 ing there. Like Danbury, Greenwich was an exceedingly 
 quiet, primitive village, with its plain country residents of 
 small means, very different from the ambitious place of to-day, 
 with its palatial mansions occupying every commanding height, 
 and the home of wealth almost incalculable. Our house was 
 situated on the main street, just south of the street that led 
 down to the steamboat landing, about a mile away. In those 
 days there were sister steamboats, named the Cricket and 
 the Catiline, that made daily trips to and from New York. 
 They were small boats, but how enormous and grand they 
 seemed to me then. One was commanded by Alphonso Peck, 
 for whom I was named. The house in which we lived is, I 
 think, still standing, and was well fitted for school work, be- 
 ing large and square and with many rooms. Singularly 
 enough, illustrating how capricious is memory, I cannot recall 
 the name of a single one of the boys that were pupils at 
 Greenwich, while I remember quite a number of those with 
 us earlier at Danbury, and yet I was a year older, and a year 
 in the first half decade of life is a long time. 
 
 About Greenwich itself, however, its streets, its houses, its 
 people, I remember much more. I made my first acquaint- 
 ance with the full moon at this time. I see myself standing 
 on the back porch gazing, gazing, and wondering. To me there 
 never was, nor ever can be, a man in the moon. I saw no face 
 there, only a river bank with an overhanging tree, and that 
 is what I see to this day when looking at the full moon. 
 I was told by one of the boys that if, under the full moon, I 
 looked at anything with sufficient intentness with my face 
 turned towards my left shoulder, and wished for it, I should 
 get it. Over the fence was a neighbor's yard that was for- 
 bidden ground. There were some fine large apples there, 
 and I longed for one. I climbed on the fence and put the 
 principle in practice one moonlight night, and waited longingly 
 with some confidence that the apple would come to me. No 
 apple came. I believe I was not entirely disillusioned at that 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 19 
 
 time, since it was explained that one could not always expect 
 to be successful on the first trial. On another occasion, one 
 frosty morning in autumn, a boy told me that if we walked on 
 the top of a broad stone fence nearby, we should be more 
 comfortable, since we should be nearer the sun. We tried it, 
 but whether our imaginations helped us to get warmer, I do 
 not remember. So it would seem that, as a child I was ordi- 
 narily credulous, ready to believe the thing that was told me; 
 while as a man, I am more than ordinarily incredulous. It is 
 difficult for me to believe anything that does not commend 
 itself to my judgment; anything that is not in accordance with 
 things known and understood, or that is beyond the pale of 
 ordinary experience and understanding, must be weighed and 
 well considered, and a reason given. 
 
 My father at this time joined the Episcopal church. The 
 whole school every Sunday morning marched two by two in a 
 long line to the church, situated half-way down Putnam's Hill. 
 During the Revolution, when the British invaded this quiet 
 hamlet, they found some Continentals there under Putnam. 
 These retreated across a swamp at the foot of the hill, while 
 Putnam made his way on horseback down some steps used by 
 the people coming to church. I have an idea that some of 
 these steps were pointed out to me in my boyhood time. If 
 Putnam really did ride his horse down those steps, in all 
 probability he went gingerly enough, but the popular represen- 
 tation was that of the general on a horse, wild with excite- 
 ment, dashing down the stone steps at perilous speed, while 
 from behind, the enemy were firing ineffective volleys. 
 
 This swamp through which our forces escaped became 
 quite a pond in winter, and many were the fine times we en- 
 joyed skating there. New Canaan was fourteen miles away 
 and the steeple of the Congregational church near our old 
 home was quite easily seen on a clear day. I well remember 
 calling attention to it. It was a day of surpassing beauty, a 
 clear blue sky, without cloud, mist or haze. We were on our 
 way to church, and from the crest of the hill I espied the lone 
 spire in the dim distance. I pointed it out to my father with 
 some excitement, and I well remember with what interest and 
 awe I gazed upon the familiar steeple, now a mere thread, so 
 far away. 
 
20 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Th rector of the church was a Mr. Yarrington, and he and 
 my father became fast friends. The rector was a good old- 
 fashioned churchman, and my father being a new recruit, a 
 convert, as it were, the minister took a special interest in 
 fanning to a good fervent heat the churchly tendency in his 
 parishioner. Mr. Yarrington was a finely bred man, a 
 gentleman in every sense, and years after, when, with my wife 
 and children, I was returning from my summer sojourn at 
 New Canaan, I met him on the New Haven train. He was 
 then an old man, so old that he was in possession of a cane 
 that was and still is, I suppose, handed over to the oldest rec- 
 tor in the diocese. I found him the same interesting, genial 
 man as of old, and an earnest advocate of church unity, to 
 accomplish which, however, all other churches should be swal- 
 lowed up by the only true church, — the little Protestant Epis- 
 copal Church. The good rector was sincere and meant well. 
 
 At this time the only way of getting to ,'New York, was by 
 steamboat or stage, but the New York and New Haven Rail- 
 road was in process of construction. Just to the east of the 
 Greenwich station is a rocky cut, and I well remember, as a 
 boy of six, sitting high up on the rocks, watching the workmen 
 as they blasted through. More than seventy years have rolled 
 away since then, and yet I never pass that spot on the train 
 without recalling the little lad sitting high up on the rocks, 
 watching the blasting and the busy running to and fro of the 
 dirt cars on their temporary tracks. The New Haven road 
 gradually developed into one of the most profitable carriers 
 of human freight in the country. Its dividends were so large 
 that in order not to pay over to the State all above ten per 
 cent, of profit, it projected all manner of improvements, in 
 the matter especially of straightening and shortening the 
 tracks. Its bonds and stocks were gilt-edge and no invest- 
 ment was more to be desired than one in it. 
 
 We stayed but a year in Greenwich, the school being profit- 
 able and successful, I believe, but the lease of the New Ca- 
 naan place having expired, we moved to the old home for a 
 long stay. This was about the year 1846, and I remember 
 just one and only one event of that removal. My father 
 bought a large load of young apple-trees and I had the inex- 
 pressible delight of going along with the one who drove, who- 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 21 
 
 ever he was. He has faded out of my memory, but the trees 
 are forever green. These trees were set out in a good-sized 
 lot in the rear of the Congregational church and our school 
 house. I saw them develop to maturity. Every, spring for 
 years I watched for the budding of the apple blossoms, and 
 then for the ripening of the apples. 
 
 Who can adequately describe the charm of an apple tree 
 in full bloom, or the cherry tree, either, for that matter? 
 Apples flanked our house on the right, and cherries on the 
 left, these latter having been set out also by my father. In- 
 deed on every side, there are great elms and maples yet 
 flourishing, mute evidences of the good work of the long-stilled 
 hand that placed them there. It has been said that he who 
 causes two blades of grass to grow where one grew before 
 becomes a benefactor of his race. How much more he who 
 makes possible great century-living trees, lending their beauty 
 to the landscape for generations, and others that give every 
 season, not only their beauty, but also their delicious fruit. 
 The apple orchard is still there, but the few trees remaining 
 are old, decrepit, gnarled, with few apples to be seen as the 
 summer and autumn come around. Many years after, when 
 we were living in another house and the old place was in the 
 possession of the distinguished surgeon Dr. Willard Parker, 
 he did a kindly and graceful act. Remembering that my 
 father planted the orchard, he gathered a bushel of the finest 
 apples and brought them to us as a gift. A little thing, you 
 say. Yes, truly, but it is only large and hospitable minds that 
 do these gracious, graceful little things.* 
 
 With the exception of a few months' sojourn in New York 
 City, my days from that time, 1 846-1 857, were spent in New 
 Canaan. What happy days they were ! Unhappy he who 
 cannot recall the experiences of his childhood and feel the 
 
 *In his time Dr. Parker was both respected and beloved by the towns- 
 people and yet he did not hesitate to rebuke vigorously if occasion demanded. 
 An old resident of the village, who was a most disagreeable grumbler, com- 
 plained to the doctor about the unequal distribution of wealth. "Here am 
 I," he said, "worth only $5,000, while you, Dr. Parker, are worth $200,000." 
 "You never knew me," quickly replied the doctor, "to measure the worth 
 of any man in this town by his money. But you complain that I am worth 
 $200,000, while you are worth only $5,000 — forty times more than you are 
 worth — I will tell you why I am worth forty times more than you — it is 
 because I am worth forty such men as you." 
 
22 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 glow of fond recollections and the half sad yet sweet regret 
 that such joys have forever passed away. Not that our 
 youthful days, even in the most favored cases, are unassociated 
 with many trying and humiliating things. In this respect na- 
 ture is very kind to us. We speedily forget the bad, and re- 
 member only the good. The taunts of our fellows, the dreary 
 hours of work along perhaps uncongenial lines, the misunder- 
 standings and lack of sympathy, all these kindly Time in 
 great part effaces. But who ever forgets the romance of 
 youth? Given a perfect October day and the freedom of the 
 fields and woods, what in life can surpass it? The bodily 
 activities are in unison, so that one experiences not only a per- 
 fect physical life, but the spirits, too, are acting along the 
 high-water mark. We roam the fields and the woods, climb 
 to the topmost branches of the highest trees and rejoice in the 
 free, wild life around — birds, squirrels, rabbits, and if we 
 find a woodchuck's hole, what excitement in smoking the fel- 
 low out ! It must be admitted that youth in its thoughtlessness 
 is oft times cruel, and the average boy is the enemy, rather 
 than the friend, of these companions of the woods. Barring 
 these defects, boy life is pretty straightforward and honest. 
 It is only in after life that the art of dissimulation and con- 
 cealment is acquired. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 ABOVE my desk in my house in Flushing hang three 
 pictures which are very dear to my heart. The first is 
 of my grandfather's house in Ridgefield; the second of 
 my father's house and school in New Canaan in the late for- 
 ties, and the third of the same house in the early fifties of the 
 past century. The picture here represented is the earlier of 
 the two. New Canaan people will all recognize the dwelling 
 house, lately occupied by the late Reverend Doctor Grosvenor, 
 formerly Dean of St. John's Cathedral. Before that it was 
 for many years the residence of Doctor Willard Parker, of 
 whom I have spoken. The school-house and the connecting 
 part are beyond the remembrance of the present generation, 
 and I myself have but a faint recollection of the place with 
 its picket fence and the old-fashioned coach which brought 
 the boys of my father's school from the steamboat landing in 
 Norwalk or Stamford before the days of the New Haven 
 Railroad. The school as here seen was called the "New 
 Canaan Seminary." Later my father changed it to the less 
 high-sounding title of "Boarding School for Boys," and later 
 still, because of the two churches, one on either side, it arose 
 to the dignity of "Church-Hill Institute." What a view we 
 had from what was termed the "Green" in front of the school- 
 house. The trees did not at the time obstruct the vision. The 
 Sound and the Long Island shore were distinctly visible for a 
 long stretch, and I remember to have heard one of our house- 
 hold say that, when the steamboat Lexington burned in mid- 
 winter with such terrible loss of life, the conflagration was 
 distinctly visible. The New Canaan of that time was not the 
 New Canaan of to-day, yet the village proper was in general 
 effect very much the same. The greatest change is in the 
 country around. Where the boys roamed is now in many 
 places restricted ground. So many fine houses have gone up 
 where once were sterile farms, and smart automobiles have 
 replaced the one-horse shay. 
 
 We had a man of all work, named Patrick, a horse named 
 Peter, and a cow who was simply "Boss." I remember Pat- 
 
 23 
 
24 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 rick as a faithful man. We became great friends, and noth- 
 ing pleased me better than to be with him when he worked, 
 and especially to go to the barn and chat with him while he 
 curried and fed the horse and milked the cow. Evidently he 
 was but a young fellow, but I think of him as a mature man. 
 I have often wondered what ever became of him. For Peter, 
 the horse, I entertained a real affection, and when Patrick left 
 us, it fell to my lot to care for the horse. I recall the genuine 
 interest I felt in doing this, and because of this care I was 
 given special liberty with him. He was at his best under the 
 saddle, and many a glorious ride did I have along the roads 
 over the hills of that sightly region, and the equestrian famili- 
 arity gained then stood me in good stead years after in my 
 army life. 
 
 In addition to the care of the horse, when we had no hired 
 man, I even fed the pigs. But the most trying thing that I 
 had to do was to get up early, on cold winter mornings, to 
 sweep the schoolroom and to make the fire in the big stove. 
 It was necessary to get out of my warm bed long before day- 
 light and I recall how I inwardly rebelled against the stern 
 necessity. I did this for only one winter, when much to my 
 relief other arrangements were made. 
 
 One of the boys in the school at this time was a psycho- 
 logical study. His name was Charlie Goin, and if submission 
 and good nature were ever carried to greater extremes than 
 by him, I have yet to know it. Charlie was the butt of the 
 school. He was long and lean, with sharp features, red eyes 
 and moist nose. He was obedient to the whims of anyone 
 who had the notion to boss him, and he seldom balked. Now 
 Charlie took quite a fancy to me, perhaps because I was the 
 son of the autocrat of the school and was endowed with special 
 privileges. One of these privileges was that of getting out of 
 bed long before dawn, with the thermometer at zero, to sweep 
 the schoolroom and build the fire in the big stove, as I have 
 said. What peculiarity of ratiocination prompted Charlie to 
 covet this job I never divined. True it was, however, that he 
 was never happier than when I graciously allowed him to get 
 up and help me in this work. He was always ready and on 
 time and on the principle of the willing horse, I let him do 
 much of it. He enjoyed it, and so my conscience acquitted me; 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 25 
 
 but in the light of a better-regulated conscience I am inclined 
 to think that I carried things with too high a hand. I said to 
 him one morning, "Charlie, you get up and make the fire, 
 and I will come down later." But even the submissive Charlie 
 seemed to think that this was going too far, and he demurred. 
 However, he was quickly brought to terms when I replied, 
 "Very well, then, you can't get up any more in the morning 
 and help me at all." 
 
 I wonder what ever became of Charlie Goin? It is three- 
 score years and more since I last saw him. His school days 
 were then over. He was working in a cooper's shop on the 
 East side in lower New York. In school he had been a boy 
 of strange habits and queer little tricks; but at this time I 
 noted a new peculiarity. Between every sentence, as he told 
 of what fine work he was doing and of his hopes for the 
 future, he would punctuate his remarks by spitting expressively 
 through his teeth, with an uncanny dexterity as to range and 
 accuracy of aim that would have won him the admiration and 
 envy of his schoolmates in the old days. 
 
 The method of teaching and the management of boys dif- 
 fered greatly in that period from those of the present time. 
 They would now be called little less than crude and uncouth, 
 and yet they served their purpose, for many of the boys, if 
 not the majority, went from my father's tutelage into business 
 and became successful men. This was illustrated at a dinner 
 given by the old pupils to their old teacher, years after, when 
 he was on the brink of the grave. In the year 1886, twenty- 
 five years after my father had given up his school, one of the 
 former pupils, by name Marvin Pearsall, met me one day on 
 the street, and said that a number of them would like to give 
 a complimentary dinner to their old teacher, who was then 
 seventy-five years of age and in feeble health. This invita- 
 tion pleased my father very much, and it was accepted, and 
 the dinner was given at Mazzetti's, where some forty of his 
 old boys met to do him honor. It was an unusual and memo- 
 rable occasion. Many years had elapsed since those men, as 
 boys, had met together, and few of them had seen their for- 
 mer teacher again until this night. They were no longer 
 young. Their ages ranged from forty to fifty or thereabouts. 
 Some had been eminently successful as men of affairs, and as 
 
26 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 the world measures success, while few, if any, could be counted 
 failures. All of them had, of course, grown out of their 
 teacher's recollection, but as one by one they came forward 
 and were introduced by their last name, in no instance did he 
 hesitate a moment in calling them by their first name, George, 
 Tom, Harry, as the case might be. Good fellowship reigned. 
 In a playful spirit hands were raised as of old, and, "Mr. 
 Rockwell, may I go out?" or "Mr. Rockwell, John is tick- 
 ling me, etc." Warm and sincere tributes to my father's 
 faithfulness and efficiency as teacher and guardian were not 
 wanting, and my mother, too, although absent, was praised 
 with many expressions of affectionate remembrance. 
 
 She had ministered to them in their hours of pain, sym- 
 pathized with them in their boyish griefs, and, on occasion, 
 tactfully stood between them and punishment, even though 
 deserved. 
 
 The old establishment consisted of a dwelling house, a 
 large old-fashioned square building, and the schoolhouse with 
 a steeple or cupola, and these two were joined together by a 
 long two-story connection. The house had a long wide hall 
 running through the centre, with spacious rooms on either 
 side. The second floor was like unto it, and only when the 
 school was filled to overflowing were any of the boys brought 
 into the main house to sleep. The schoolhouse on the first 
 floor was made up of a large room for study and recitation, 
 a wash-room, and at the rear a good-sized room with boxes 
 or little cupboards ranged about the walls. Each boy had 
 a box in which he kept his extra boots, his slippers, blacking 
 and brush, and whatever else pleased him. In the vacation 
 time of October when all the boys had gone to their homes 
 for the month, my cousin Steve Comstock and I were accus- 
 tomed to keep in these boxes nuts that we had gathered. The 
 nuts seemed to disappear with unnatural rapidity, and we 
 wondered who could be the culprit. One morning when at 
 breakfast, I heard my name called in great excitement. Rush- 
 ing out I found Steve with a huge rat held tight in both hands 
 with the blood dripping down. Suddenly opening the door, 
 he had espied this rat and without hesitation grabbed him 
 about the middle, whereupon the rat sank his sharp teeth deep 
 into the flesh. Nothing, however, could loosen the grip of 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 27 
 
 the indignant proprietor of the stolen nuts, and the rat was 
 crushed under the feet of his captor. 
 
 In the wash-room each boy had his bowl and stand where 
 he kept all utensils of the toilet, and was expected to wash 
 himself and brush his hair before each meal. Saturday even- 
 ing occurred the general and more thorough wash-up, and at 
 this function my father presided. Each boy was passed in 
 review to be pronounced clean, or the reverse, and I well 
 remember that the localities of special interest were the ears. 
 These were examined thoroughly and I can hear my father 
 say, "John, go back and clean your ears." In the school- 
 room each boy had his individual desk with its revolving 
 seat, the iron frame being screwed to the floor. In the desks 
 we kept our books, and almost everything else under the sun. 
 It required the utmost diligence on the teacher's part to keep 
 these desks in any semblance of order. To this end there 
 was every little while a general inspection, which resulted in a 
 big pile of trash, such as only boys can find any interest in 
 collecting. The dining-room and kitchen occupied the first 
 floor of the long connecting link between the two houses. 
 Here some thirty-five boys were seated on either side of a 
 long table, while my father at one end served the food, and 
 my mother at the other end, the tea or coffee. 
 
 I can appreciate now what a task it was to serve twoscore 
 hungry boys. Each boy was in turn asked what he would 
 have, and the answer would be something like this, "Meat, 
 potato and gravy, if you please" — or "meat, potato, and 
 turnips and gravy," or "meat, potatoes, turnips and no gravy," 
 as the case might be. Butter, bread and often cheese were 
 on the table, and these were passed from boy to boy on re- 
 quest. 
 
 The boys were kept in pretty good order, for my father 
 was an excellent disciplinarian, but they would have their fun. 
 One boy was named Edward Pease, and with great gravity of 
 countenance another boy would say, 'I will thank you for the 
 cheese, Edward Pease, if you please." This afforded so 
 much amusement and chuckling that it had to be interdicted, 
 but always new ways were found here and there. We had 
 pancakes, too. Not daintily served, one at a time, just off 
 the griddle. They were brought in a great pile a foot high, 
 
28 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 more or less, and the way those cakes disappeared was mar- 
 vellous. Bob Leonard boasted of having eaten nineteen, 
 which beat the record. Evidently they were kept on no star- 
 vation diet, even if the food was not quite so dainty as that 
 served at Delmonico's. All boys are fond of sweets, and a 
 little trick was played on my mother. In pouring tea or 
 coffee for the boys, her habit was to put in the sugar first and 
 then pour the tea. As soon as the sugar was in, the watchful 
 boy, for whom the cup was intended, would say, "Only half 
 a cup, Mrs. Rockwell." The tea was, of course, twice as 
 sweet as ordinarily, and he would again work the trick, for 
 the boys were allowed two cups if they wished it. This eva- 
 sion was, however, soon discovered and discountenanced. If 
 a boy asked for only half a cup, no more was forthcoming. 
 
 The school terms were five months each, the vacation 
 months being April and October, and the tuition, as I first re- 
 member, was $180 a year, or $90 a term. By steps this was 
 finally increased to $250 a year, and it must be remembered 
 that this amount included board, tuition, washing and mend- 
 ing. It seems incredibly low as measured by present-day 
 charges, and yet all school bills were paid and some money 
 saved. During one of the most prosperous years, I remem- 
 ber my father saying that he had saved $2,000. But the price 
 of everything was low. Servants, for example, $6.00 a month, 
 and other things in proportion. And then again, we had our 
 little farm of seven acres, and raised not a few things for 
 home consumption. For this home my father paid $6,000. 
 When he sold it in 186 1, to a Mr. Gilder, a connection of the 
 poet, he realized about $1,500 profit. A few years later Mr. 
 Gilder sold the property to Dr. Willard Parker for some 
 $12,000. 
 
 Both the coming and the going of the boys were great days. 
 As the time when the school was to close drew near, every- 
 body was in an excited and expectant state of mind. The 
 month at home and freedom from study seemed a long time, 
 and I can yet hear the earnest discussions carried on between 
 various ones as to where they would meet and what they would 
 do. Occasionally some boy friend of mine would invite me to 
 spend a few days at his home. In this way I had the oppor- 
 tunity of seeing a little of life beyond the boundaries of a 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 29 
 
 country village, in such places as New York, Brooklyn and 
 New Haven. A boy named Charlie Owen was a very in- 
 timate friend, and we were very fond of each other. He was 
 delicately nurtured, finely fibred, and distinctly clean in word 
 and action. His father, Thomas Owen, was a merchant in 
 South Street, New York, and his business entirely with Cuba. 
 When the Cuban planters wished to send their sons to this 
 country Mr. Owens was often consulted, and through his 
 recommendation a good many Cuban boys came to our school. 
 Two boys especially I remember, Emilio and Antonio Luaces. 
 In after years they studied medicine, graduating from the 
 Bellevue Hospital Medical College. Subsequently in the 
 long-drawn-out Cuban Rebellion, these two became officers 
 and one of them a general. Antonio, the younger, I remem- 
 ber as an exceedingly handsome fellow. His fate was sad. 
 Taken prisoner by the Spaniards, he was ruthlessly executed. 
 My friend Owen lived in Henry Street, which, with East 
 Broadway and other streets in the Seventh Ward, was then 
 very respectable. It was, however, beginning to wane. Some 
 of the old residents had already migrated further uptown, 
 and the transition from staid respectability, and even fashion 
 and social ambition, to its present low state had fairly begun. 
 When I think of the quiet, old-fashioned charm in that sec- 
 tion of the city in those far-away days, and contrast it with 
 what it is now, the thought is saddening. Not a few of my 
 father's pupils came from this section, from good substantial 
 families. Going to their businesses, the men would take the 
 lumbering omnibuses which by devious routes transported 
 them to their offices in Front, South and Wall Streets, or 
 wherever they might be in the lower downtown district. 
 Owen and I would wander about the streets of that part of 
 the city. In the afternoon, we often enjoyed a matinee per- 
 formance at Barnum's old Museum, corner of Broadway and 
 Ann Street, and we especially enjoyed Christy's Minstrels, 
 then all the rage. 
 
 In this reference to Barnum's Museum, I am reminded that 
 on my first visit to this famous resort I was greatly dis- 
 appointed not to see Mr. Barnum, and inquired of my father 
 where he was. As we were about to leave, we saw the famil- 
 iar face of the great showman, when my father introduced 
 
3 o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 me, adding that I had inquired several times for Mr. Barnum 
 and seemed more interested in him than in his curiosities. 
 Whereupon Mr. Barnum patted me on the shoulder and said, 
 "That's right, my lad. You think I am the greatest curiosity 
 in the lot." 
 
 When the vacation ended and it was time for the boys to 
 come back, the air was equally vibrant with excitement and 
 expectation. Two or three large stages brought the boys from 
 the station at Darien. Out they would scramble and seem 
 about as pleased to get back as they had been to go. They 
 would be assigned to their rooms, room-mates chosen, and 
 soon the wheels of school life were revolving as smoothly as 
 of old. 
 
 No more delightful time of my life can I recall than these 
 vacation months of April and October, especially the latter. 
 October was the nutting month, and it was our ambition to 
 secure an ample supply of both hickory nuts and chestnuts for 
 the winter. Great as was our appetite for these toothsome tree 
 fruits, the greatest joy was in the search for them, and 
 our tramps over field and through wood, climbing the high 
 trees, shaking them, and gathering the nuts in great heaps, 
 putting them in bag and basket, and then trudging home, are 
 never-to-be-forgotten incidents. We would spread the nuts 
 on the roof to dry, and the sense of possession as we looked 
 them over was very gratifying. 
 
 I am reminded here of a pretty episode relating to my 
 father and two of my own sons. One October the two boys 
 went on their annual fall trip to New Canaan to get nuts from 
 the trees on their grandfather's farm. It so happened that 
 it had been a bad season and there were no nuts. Their 
 grandfather hated to have the boys disappointed and so very 
 early in the morning before they were up, he took a pailful 
 of nuts and scattered them broadcast under one of the trees 
 not far from the house. The boys got up eager for their quest 
 and rushed out. What a delight ! The ground was covered 
 with nuts, which they joyously gathered, doubting nothing. 
 They returned home laden with their precious find and never 
 knew of this affectionate kindly deception until told of it years 
 after. How many grandfathers would have been so thought- 
 ful? 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 31 
 
 Comstock's pond, some two and a half miles to the north, 
 was one of our loved resorts. Starting in the morning with 
 Steve, my cousin, and sometimes with others, away we would 
 go. Just to be alive and out in the open was enough. Along 
 the so-called ridge, then with few habitations, but now lined 
 with the beautiful residences of the city people, we would 
 trudge. At Hanford Davenport we turned to the left, and 
 every foot of ground traversed became in time familiar 
 ground. As we neared the pond we became more and more 
 eager, and when at last we arrived at the top of the long hill, 
 where we first caught a glimpse of the pond, away we went 
 at a run. It seems to me that we never walked down that 
 hill. Our walking was reserved for the return trip, when 
 tired, yet satisfied and happy, we pushed homeward. There 
 was an island or two in the pond, and in order to get to them 
 we hired an old tub of a boat for sixpence. With our lunch 
 and some potatoes which we would bake in a roaring fire, 
 and an appetite that was never wanting, who could ask for 
 more? 
 
 In boyhood and in manhood friendships are determined not 
 more perhaps by similarity of disposition and common likes 
 and dislikes than by propinquity and accidental association. 
 Among the boys of the school there were a number with whom 
 I became very friendly, but association with them was more 
 or less transient; but with my cousin the situation was very 
 different. We were the same age, and from our sixth to six- 
 teenth years we were constantly together. Hardly a day 
 passed without our seeing each other. Our houses were 
 hardly more than a stone's throw apart, and we frequently 
 slept together either at the one house or the other. We were 
 congenial in that we both loved to play, to tramp the fields and 
 woods, and to fish the streams. In all adventuresome at- 
 tempts, however, Steve was without a rival. He could throw 
 a stone farther and more accurately than any of the other 
 boys. He was a venturesome swimmer. And when winter 
 came he was always the first boy on the hill in the morning 
 with his sled, and the last to leave it at night. He was a 
 robust boy, with a constitution much hardier than mine; and 
 yet he has been dead some years, while I live on, in a fair 
 degree of health. 
 
32 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 As boys, Steve and I had many escapades, and running 
 away from home was one of them. Inquiring of my own boys, 
 I find that this idea never suggested itself. It would seem as 
 if the country lad was more inclined to this sort of thing than 
 the city bred. This may be due not only to the freer life led 
 in the country, its greater amplitude of vision leading to ad- 
 venture, but to less varied and interesting social relations. 
 Be that as it may, we not infrequently talked of this matter, 
 and on several occasions took steps to put it into execution. 
 Our first vision of freedom was that of hunters. There was 
 an old shotgun in our garret, and we conceived the delectable 
 idea of starting for the wilds, wherever they were, and sub- 
 sisting mainly on the proceeds of the chase. So we burnished 
 up the gun and bought a pound of powder and a quantity of 
 shot. We found an old powderhorn, and in the evening 
 went to my room with a lighted candle, placed it on the soft, 
 well-rounded feather bed — about as insecure a foundation 
 for a candlestick as could well be found — and within a foot 
 of the flame proceeded to fill our powderhorn. Could any 
 boy do a more senseless thing than this? It is a wonder that 
 we were not both blown up, and that we were not is strong 
 evidence of a special Providence that protects the weak, fool- 
 ish, and ignorant. 
 
 We were to start on our adventure about midnight, going 
 due north, where, after a few days' journey, we expected to 
 find a far more sparsely settled region. Long before mid- 
 night the wind began to rise, the sky darkened, the moon was 
 hidden. Conditions had changed and our courage began to 
 ooze out at our finger ends. At least mine did. As before 
 remarked, Steve was always more adventurous than I. It was 
 I, therefore, who first called attention to the unfavorable con- 
 dition of the weather. To this Steve assented, but thought 
 we ought to go. "It's awful dark," I suggested, "and it's go- 
 ing to rain." "Yes," he assented, "it is dark, and perhaps it 
 will rain." He was weakening, too, and we both agreed that 
 for the time being it was better to call the adventure off. 
 There must be no telltale evidences, however, of our attempt. 
 So we arose, took our powderhorn, and scattered our powder 
 among the growing cabbages in the garden, and disposed of 
 the shot elsewhere. 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 33 
 
 Another attempt, although failing miserably, had the merit 
 or demerit of advancing a step further. This time we selected 
 the rolling deep for our adventure. Our idea was to take 
 the train at Norwalk for Boston, where we would ship as 
 able-bodied sailors on some merchant vessel. I had in my 
 possession two dollars in silver, which I regret to say I had 
 purloined from time to time from the drawer where my 
 mother kept her loose change. It took a little time to do this, 
 because it would not be safe to take such an amount at once 
 for fear of detection. Whether my companion contributed 
 anything to the common pool, I do not remember, but two 
 dollars seemed to be the minimum amount necessary to get 
 to Boston. It was arranged that I was to get permission to 
 stay with Steve that night, while he would ask to stay with 
 me. In this way neither would be missed until some time the 
 next day, which would find us in Boston. In the meantime we 
 had taken our best suits, throwing them out of our windows 
 after dark, and then had hidden them in holes in the broad 
 stone fence on my uncle's place, where we had agreed to meet. 
 Donning the new, leaving the old, we started on our way with 
 no regrets or misgivings. On arriving at the South Norwalk 
 Station, we found there would be no train for the East until 
 the next morning. Here was a dilemma, and after consulta- 
 tion we decided to pass the night in an old barn nearby; but 
 the barking of a dog frightened us away. Our enthusiasm 
 again abated and after still further consultation, we decided 
 to return home. I remember what a beautiful night it was. 
 The moon was at its full and we were in decidely good spirits, 
 since our faces were homeward turned, and if we had failed 
 to carry out our intentions we were rather exultant in doing 
 something out of the ordinary. When about half way home, 
 hearing men's voices coming from the opposite direction, we 
 jumped over a stone fence, hiding behind it until the strangers 
 had passed. After all these years I can place almost the 
 exact spot, and never pass it without recalling the event. We 
 reached home about two o'clock in the morning, so tired that 
 we could hardly move. 
 
 I cannot but linger here to note the temperamental differ- 
 ences in families. Of the sons of my uncle, not one seemed 
 to pattern after the other. The elder was a cautious, careful 
 
34 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 man of business. His chief interest was in making money, 
 and he seemed to desire money not so much for present uses 
 and comforts, as for accumulation. I do not say he was mean, 
 for he did many generous things in after life with his money; 
 but in the making of his money he was distressingly eco- 
 nomical. On the contrary, his brother had absolutely no idea 
 of economy. He was deficient in what Emerson calls "the 
 simplest expedient of private prudence." No money could 
 cling to his hands. He wanted, and would always have, the 
 best, and spent money with lack of proper forethought that 
 sadly interfered with his expectations of wealth. A supreme 
 optimism possessed him, while I gravitated to the other ex- 
 treme. And yet he was endowed with a certain thoughtful- 
 ness. He became, not a great reader, but when he did read 
 he liked solid and substantial food. Fiction he knew little of 
 and cared little for, but of Matthew Arnold, Huxley, and 
 writers of that type he never tired. And so in after life as 
 we saw each other occasionally, we were still congenial because 
 we could find a common interest along some lines of bookish 
 tendencies and old memories. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 OLD Doctor Noyes was our family physician. He had in- 
 deed been the family physician of my grandfather Corn- 
 stock for many years and presided at the birth of my 
 mother. My grandfather paid him not by the visit, but twenty- 
 five dollars a year, sick or well. He went around on horseback 
 with his old-fashioned medicine cases balanced behind across 
 his horse's back. I can see the kindly old doctor now as he rides 
 up to the house, hitches his horse, and with saddlebags over 
 his arm makes his way to the front door. The sick boy, 
 whoever he was, dreaded the doctor's visit, for he knew 
 that it meant a stiff dose of something dreadful. Unlike the 
 doctor of to-day, he never was in a hurry. Every movement 
 was deliberate and he had time to talk over the news of the 
 day. If castor oil was called for it was given with little at- 
 tempt at disguise, and as a small boy I see myself crying and 
 hesitating over the dose, and my father standing over me, 
 half amused and half angry at my hesitation. Ipecac was an 
 awful dose ! It was mixed in cold water and a more atrocious 
 tasting substance never insulted a boy's palate. Powdered 
 rhubarb was bad enough, but not to be compared with the 
 other indescribable mixture. The most interesting perform- 
 ance, however, was the making of pills. Blue pill was called 
 blue mass, and it came literally in a mass, and from it the 
 doctor would take piece after piece and roll them into little 
 pills, between thumb and first finger. 
 
 Dr. Richards was the rival doctor, and I recall that the two 
 did not love each other any too well. Dr. Richards was the 
 queerest man of the town. He had but one eye and talked in 
 a high falsetto tone, which was very amusing and frequently 
 imitated. Whenever he saw a stone in the middle of the 
 street he would invariably and at considerable inconvenience 
 dismount and throw it to one side, and so one of the favorite 
 amusements of the boys was to place stones at different 
 points and watch him get off his horse and toss them aside. 
 But if these two old doctors felt some antipathy for each 
 other, it was as nothing compared with their contempt and 
 
 35 
 
36 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 dislike of young Dr. Roberts, a homeopath. To these two 
 a homeopath was either a knave or a fool. He could be con- 
 signed to no halfway place, and to tell the truth this was the 
 opinion of the profession generally. Intolerance held abso- 
 lute sway. Little did these old doctors appreciate the fact 
 that they were blind leaders of the blind, and in their bungling 
 attempts they often did far more harm than good by inter- 
 fering with Nature's kindly intent. The following fact bears 
 on this point. One of the pupils, a boy by the name of Daniel 
 Smith, had lately died. It was probably a case of appendi- 
 citis, name then unknown, but we called it inflammation of 
 the bowels. It was suggested that the disease was caused by 
 sliding down hill "belly-whoppers," and I remember that for 
 a time the boys were afraid of that time-honored method of 
 coasting. 
 
 Of course the sick boy was incessantly drugged, and although 
 he might not have lived, yet perhaps gentler and better- 
 directed methods would have had better results. When the 
 next boy was sick my mother called in the youthful homeopath. 
 He expressed some surprise when my mother in explanation 
 said, "Well, doctor, I thought you might let the patient live." 
 
 Soon after this temporary conversion to homeopathy, my 
 father bought a case of homeopathic pellets for home treat- 
 ment. A younger brother got at them one day, and swallowed 
 the greater part of the contents of the bottles. Dr. Roberts 
 was called in great haste, but quieted the alarm of the house- 
 hold by the assurance that he "guessed they wouldn't hurt 
 him." 
 
 The recollection of this incident recalls one like unto it, 
 where the physician was of the other school. Our genial 
 friend, Colonel William Pinckney, was given a prescription 
 that called for a dose of a teaspoonful three times a day. In- 
 stead he took it all at once, for the Colonel was an odd man 
 in some ways. His wife, when she saw the empty bottle, gave 
 him an emetic and sent for the family physician. The emetic 
 made the Colonel very sick and he thought he was about to 
 die. When the doctor arrived, he assured the family that the 
 medicine would have done no harm, even if no emetic had 
 been given. The next day the Colonel, as he sat on the piazza 
 of his pleasant home overlooking the Hudson at Nyack, re- 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 37 
 
 marked to his wife: "If I had died from the effects of the 
 medicine I took yesterday, the most appropriate inscription 
 for my tombstone would have been, 'He died because he was 
 
 a d fool.' " 
 
 Oh ! the delights of being a boy, or at least the remembrance 
 of boyhood days. In the backward glance all its inconven- 
 iences and restrictions inward and outward, turmoils and 
 griefs, are forgotten and only the real charm that attends 
 the happy days of childhood remains. We forget the evil and 
 distasteful and remember only the good. How often we hear 
 it said that our climate is changing. Men yet young will say 
 that the winters of to-day are not as the winters of their day 
 a score of years ago. Then the winters were longer and more 
 severe, the snowfall greater, with ice and skating the whole 
 season through. They are mistaken. The seasons have not 
 changed in any great degree, since many years before their 
 time. Great snowfalls such as Whittier writes of in "Snow- 
 bound," the broad ice ponds with their crowds of merry 
 skaters, the delights of the long coasting hills, with the full 
 moon and starry heavens above, are never forgotten; but we 
 do forget the murky days with wet and soggy ground that 
 would forbid any outdoor fun at all to any but the irrepres- 
 sible boy. In retrospection we dwell mostly on those days 
 which greatly impressed us, and from which we derived the 
 greatest pleasure. In the winter of 1888 there was the same 
 refrain that our climate was changing, and then in the early 
 spring came the great blizzard, exceeding in severity any that 
 had occurred for years. That winter everyone remembers, 
 but who can recall what the preceding or succeeding winters 
 were? And so the man in retrospection remembers not the 
 humdrum things, the punishments and humiliations of school 
 days, but only the free day in the fields and woods, the glorious 
 swimming pools, the day he went fishing, the nutting days, and 
 those days of summer or spring when the early strawberries 
 were ripe and he returned home from his day's outing with a 
 great basket of the luscious fruit. To eat them was well 
 enough, but to pick them was the real pleasure. We all 
 looked forward to strawberry time. The horse was harnessed 
 to the old wagon, into which about ten boys could crowd, and 
 the other twenty or more would follow on behind, or even go 
 
3 8 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 ahead, for the horse with such a load was allowed to take his 
 time. In about a mile ten other boys would take the place of 
 the first batch and at the beginning of the third mile still an- 
 other ten. Another mile would bring us to the famous wild 
 strawberry field, where we wandered at will and when the time 
 came to start for home, few baskets or pails remained unfilled. 
 How balmy was the breeze, how genial the warmth of the 
 sun ! There were birds to see and bees busy gathering honey, 
 and not infrequently a rabbit crossed our path. Occasionally 
 we saw a woodchuck. A woodchuck's hole was a great find, 
 and if any boy had a match, the first thought was to smoke out 
 the animal. There was a stream that widened and deepened 
 near one of our outing places, where we were allowed to go 
 in for a swim or a splash on our way home. When the word 
 was given by the teacher, only about one minute was required 
 for every boy to get rid of all of his clothes and plunge into 
 the water. It was a refreshment, it was a lark, and joy un- 
 speakable to get thus near to Nature's heart, and the only 
 drawback was that we had to come out so soon. On rare 
 occasions when we could have our own way, free from super- 
 vision, an hour, even longer, was all too short a time for this 
 fine fun. 
 
 As I write, a fierce snowstorm is raging, as if to confirm 
 my recent assertion that our climate is not changing. This is 
 the second blizzard of the month. How beautiful and won- 
 derful are these raging elements ! Early this morning, when 
 the storm of snow was just beginning, and as if to emphasize 
 the vagaries of Nature, there was a flash of lightning, fol- 
 lowed almost immediately by the roll of thunder. Let not 
 the coming generation be disheartened. There is for them in 
 prospect the same alternations of the seasons as gave zest and 
 cheer to their forbears. The rain and sunshine, forerunners 
 of the fruits of the season, will come as before, and the soft 
 snow will clothe hill and valley for the delectation of the boy 
 with his sled, and the pond will be covered with its coating of 
 ice as often as of old, for the merry skater. 
 
 How like a dream it all seems, the child life and the boy 
 life of those first years of human existence. Some of the 
 boys I recall but dimly, while others are well remembered. 
 Not long ago at a meeting of the Military Order of the 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 39 
 
 Loyal Legion, I came across one of these old boys. He was 
 a Colonel. He had fought in the Civil War and had been one 
 of the volunteers for the forlorn hope in the proposed storm- 
 ing of Port Hudson. He had served also in Cuba and in the 
 Philippines. Although much more than half a century had 
 elapsed since we had played together on the "Hill," I had in- 
 stantly for him the same old greeting of "Hello Bob." I see 
 my father behind his desk on the platform in the big school- 
 room calling the school to order. Every boy must read in 
 his turn a verse from the Bible. What a labor it was to some 
 of them. Peter was a dull boy at study, although lively 
 enough at play. I can hear Peter as he laboriously spelled 
 out the text, following each word with his finger. The verse 
 was "He strained at a gnat and swallowed a camel." Peter 
 read it, "He strained at a gate and swallowed a canal!" 
 
 In winter the schoolroom was heated by a big stove which 
 stood in the center of the room. In the early morning the 
 boys would gather around it several deep, with much pushing 
 and shoving, but in summer happy was the boy whose seat was 
 near the open window, where he could get the first breath of 
 air that stirred. Those were golden days. I can even now 
 hear the buzz of the flies, the hum of the bees and the chirp- 
 ing of the birds, and if it were not that Whately denies that 
 there can be any definite conception of smell, I should say, too, 
 that the odors wafted into the open window from flower and 
 shrub, or new-mown hay, come fresh to my senses now. And 
 in winter what joys were ours in the snow, on the ice with our 
 skates, or with our sleds on the hill down its long incline to the 
 village. Why, sometimes, with a first-class sled and a free 
 and slippery hill, one might get to the village and beyond, if 
 not actually to the next hill which went down to the "big 
 pond." Our bodily activities were in perfect condition, which 
 is to say they were the activities of the perfectly healthy boy 
 animal. If there be any greater purely physical exhilaration 
 than coasting with your felows in the moonlight down a long 
 stretch of hill under such conditions, I have yet to know it. 
 
 And so each season had its special pleasures in those far- 
 away days. In the summer the berrying season, of which I 
 have tried to tell a little, with all manner of outdoor games. 
 
 But as I remember now, no outing quite equalled the two 
 
4 o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 or three excursions to the "Sound." These were always 
 looked forward to with joyous anticipation. When the day 
 arrived, what activity and eager expectation took hold of the 
 boys and pervaded that part of the household that was to 
 prepare the huge luncheon. To get ready the food and drink 
 for twoscore hungry boys was no small matter and, as usual, 
 my mother was the directing spirit. I see them now, quietly 
 resting on the schoolhouse steps, two bushel-baskets, the white 
 towels peeping from beneath the protecting covering, care- 
 fully guarded, and to be transported to the impatiently ex- 
 pected wagons by several boys detailed for the purpose. 
 Finally someone shouts, "Here it comes," and dashing down 
 the street, the long wagon drawn by two horses comes quickly 
 to the front. Soon the other conveyance arrives and every- 
 thing is ready. The boys pile in pell-mell, helter-skelter, with 
 much shouting and shoving, special friends and chums all ex- 
 citement to get seats together. The driver cracks his whip 
 and we are off down the hill to and through the village. The 
 town turns out to see us, for the boys so make the welkin ring 
 with their shouts and hurrahs that the sleepy old town is 
 bound to awaken for the passing moment. Six miles, perhaps 
 seven, was the distance, but every mile of the country road 
 was full of interest to us, and we excited interest in all the 
 rustic observers. Everybody knew it was "Rockwell's school" 
 out on a picnic. Think not that we kept up the good gait with 
 which we started. The loads were heavy and the horses were 
 no great shakes, and so, after the village was left behind, the 
 walk or slow trot was substituted for the ambitious gallop. 
 Every down grade was taken advantage of, however, and we 
 greatly enjoyed the swifter movement as the horses were put 
 to the test. One never forgets the pleasurable sensation in- 
 duced by the first whiff of the salt sea air. As we approached 
 the shore, we soon began to get it, and when the wheels were 
 actually plowing the soft sands which led to the distant pines 
 and the water, in an instant the wagons were emptied. Too 
 impatient to wait on the slow progress of the faithful horses, 
 every boy made it a point to get there first, and in a trice 
 clothes were off and the little bay-like indentation was full of 
 happy bathers. The boys were allowed to go in twice, once 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 41 
 
 immediately on our arrival and again in the middle of the 
 forenoon just before the starting for home. Hard as life 
 often becomes with its labors, disappointments, and sorrows, 
 yet it is well to have lived, if only to have experienced season 
 after season these youthful excursions into the realm of ro- 
 mance and a larger liberty. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 VISITS to my grandparents' home in Ridgefield, ten miles 
 away, were warmly appreciated. My grandfather built 
 this home in 1801 when but a young man of twenty-five, 
 and just before his marriage. The three elms before the house 
 he himself set out as saplings, and watched them as they grew 
 into great trees. As he saw them slowly grow in size and 
 strength so he saw the beginnings of decay. Now but one 
 of the three remains. My grandparents lived happily together 
 in the old homestead for sixty-five years. There I always had 
 a welcome and a freedom even greater than in my own home. 
 The ride to Ridgefield was somewhat over an hour, and I be- 
 came familiar in time with every house, barn, or turn in the 
 road, in the gradual ascent from New Canaan into the older, 
 more dignified, and more aristocratic town of Ridgefield. The 
 people were plain enough in the latter place, and hard-work- 
 ing, but they were people, many of them, whose ancestors had 
 lived there since before the Revolution, and a few families, as 
 the Kings and Hawleys, had achieved wealth and a certain 
 social standing in the great world. 
 
 It is a bright October morning. I remember well the occa- 
 sion of one of these trips. The horse and carriage is at the 
 door and I am already seated. My father comes out, un- 
 hitches Peter and we are off. No automobile ride in after 
 years was ever attended with the exhilaration of this one. 
 What air, what freedom, what visions of beauty, were the 
 common possession of us both as we sped along. To the 
 right, to the left, for a mile or two were familiar places. To 
 the right in the valley below was the pond, the scene of my 
 boating fiasco, — to the right "Giant's Grave," where we 
 gathered berries, and further on, "Indian Rock," one of our 
 most fascinating resorts. The thoughts of these places, the 
 scenes of so many tranquil delights in the past and of more to 
 come, but heightened the delicious feeling of present enjoy- 
 ment. There was an old-fashioned courtesy of the road in 
 those days, but little seen in these times. For every traveler 
 going in the opposite direction, whether on foot or in carriage, 
 
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CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 43 
 
 driving an ox-cart, or working by the way, my father had a 
 word or bow of greeting. We did not talk very much. He 
 was too busy with his thoughts and I with mine, as well as 
 with my eyes. Nothing in nature escapes a boy and especially 
 the chattering squirrels and the frisky chipmunks. How I 
 loved to watch the antics of the little fellows, so different from 
 the gray squirrels around the house here in Flushing to-day. 
 The stone walls were their favorite running places, and in 
 and out they would go with marvelous agility. 
 
 Within two miles of the town we catch sight of its first 
 building, near the head of the long village street, and I always 
 looked for it as a sort of beacon. Grandfather's house was 
 at the other end of the street, a mile away. As we went along 
 we began to appreciate what true solitude meant. On our 
 way it is true we had passed through no town, but there were 
 farms all along. An occasional man could be seen at work 
 in the fields bordering the highway, an ox-cart would rumble 
 along, or there was a boy picking berries ; so in a way we felt 
 in touch with our kind. But as we drove through the broad, 
 beautiful old Ridgefield street, one could but think of the 
 "Deserted Village." If a man was seen on the street or a 
 woman in a doorway, it was an event. Whatever other day 
 it might be, we knew it could not be Sunday, for the Sabbath 
 was the only live day in the town. 
 
 Every time I went to Ridgefield and passed along its silent 
 street I thought of the next Sunday, and was glad that it was 
 a week day. On several occasions I had spent Sundays at my 
 grandfather's, and according to universal custom had accom- 
 panied him to the services. For those long prayers, long 
 Scripture lessons, and still longer sermons, boylike, I had a 
 strong aversion, and so I preferred Ridgefield's week days to 
 its Sundays. 
 
 My grandfather's place was a part of the battlefield of the 
 "Battle of Ridgefield" so called. Some three hundred feet 
 down the road is pointed out the spot where Arnold shot a 
 Tory named Coon. Across the summit of the road near by 
 was the barricade, at which the patriots resisted the march of 
 the British, and into the old Stebbins house on the right the 
 wounded were taken. I remember as a boy the dark stains 
 on the broad board floor, and to have been told that they were 
 
44 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 the stains left by the blood of the wounded. Almost every 
 time we came to Ridgefield, especially if any stranger was 
 with us, we would go to the other end of the street and see the 
 British cannon ball still imbedded in the beam of an old house. 
 I suppose the cannon may have carried half a mile, but it 
 was a cause of unceasing wonder to us how anything could 
 shoot so far. 
 
 In justice to Ridgefield it must be said that in the time I 
 write about she was not absolutely asleep, but just somnolent, 
 a condition from which even now she has not wholly emerged. 
 Ridgefield, like New Canaan, is the home of wealth and style, 
 too, with an admixture, perhaps, of less pretense and shoddy 
 than country resorts in general. It is a lovely old nest, and 
 as far from the madding crowd as one can well get and yet 
 be surrounded by evidences of refinement and substantial and 
 rational luxury. 
 
 Finally we get to the house and either my grandfather or 
 Uncle John comes out to open the gate. We drive in, and there 
 is my grandmother, as usual sitting by the living-room window, 
 looking so kind and venerable in her simple dress and white 
 cap. She certainly was always real glad to see me. How do 
 I know it? Because she showed it, and because, unanswerable 
 argument, I have now grandchildren of my own. 
 
 Once, if not twice, my cousin and I were permitted to walk 
 to Ridgefield, and spend a few days with my grandparents. 
 It was rather a long walk for boys of ten, but I can well re- 
 member the high enjoyment of it all, and the usual cordial 
 welcome of the old people, and I especially recall the excursion 
 we made in search of Old Sarah's cave. Old Sarah is more 
 than a tradition; she is a fact of history. It is said that during 
 the Revolution her father's house on Long Island was burned 
 by the British. She came to Connecticut and to Ridgefield, 
 and made for herself a home in the woods overlooking a 
 beautiful lake some few miles from the village. Hers was 
 not much of a house, simply a cleft in the rock, rounded out by 
 piled-up stones and a covering of boards. In this miserable 
 habitation she lived alone for years, gathering berries in sum- 
 mer, fishing, and doing odd jobs. It is rumored that she made 
 friends with all manner of wild life, even snakes. Occasion- 
 ally she would walk to the village to buy or beg, but always 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 45 
 
 returned to her hut at nightfall. She was looked upon with 
 fear by the small boy, and with pity, mingled perhaps with 
 disdain, by grown people. There was a spring of water near 
 her hut, and beside this spring she was one day found dead. 
 Old Sarah's character and personality assumed a new and 
 vital interest for me when I found that my grandmother knew 
 her well, and I drank in eagerly every word she had to say. 
 I do not remember much in detail, but grandmother told me a 
 great deal about her and her periodical visits. She used to 
 stop and talk and rest a while at grandmother's house on her 
 way home. My grandmother described her as old and bent, 
 and with a wild and haggard look not reassuring to the youth- 
 ful imagination. When she resumed her homeward way, it 
 was not without some substantial evidence of the goodness of 
 my old grandmother's heart. We finally found the cave, but 
 what a disappointment! We were looking for a real cave, 
 but all that we found were a few loosely piled stones, like a 
 section of a ruinous stone fence, guarding a triangular slit in 
 the great rock. That any human being could have lived 
 through a rigorous winter in such a habitation is almost be- 
 yond belief. 
 
 This visit of ours to Ridgefield was made in early April, 
 one of our two vacation months. The day arrived for us to 
 return by the same method of locomotion as we had come. The 
 old shop that had been used by my grandfather as a cabinet- 
 maker had been turned into a tinshop, and before we set out 
 my uncle, with kind forethought, had fashioned out of thick 
 wire two hoops, which he gave us to roll on our homeward 
 way. We started joyously rolling our hoops, but before we 
 turned into the New Canaan road the clouds began to gather 
 and it grew cold. Soon the air was filled with circling snow- 
 flakes, and we thought it rare fun, but it kept on snowing; 
 deeper and deeper it covered the ground until finally progress 
 became more difficult. Still we struggled onward with the 
 snow halfway to our knees. Finally we gave it up and stopped 
 at a friendly house by the wayside. The good woman bade 
 us welcome, gave us seats by a warm fire, having taken off 
 our wet stockings, and better still, comforted us by something 
 warm to eat and to drink. She insisted that we stay all night 
 and sleep with her boy, Abraham. We did not say that we 
 
46 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 would not stay, but in an hour or so when our shoes and stock- 
 ings were thoroughly dry, instead of thanking our kind hostess 
 and departing decently, we stole out into the shed, seized our 
 hoops, and departed without a word of farewell. As I think 
 of it now, the only inadequate excuse that I can give is that 
 we thought she might insist still further on our staying all 
 night, and stupidly could think of no other way to get out 
 of it. 
 
 Lake Waccabuc, but two or three miles as the crow flies 
 from my grandfather's house, was a loved resort, the memory 
 of which is still green. The lakes are indeed, three of them, 
 as seen in the illustration — three jewels in a charming setting. 
 All are connected by streams, overhung by drooping trees, 
 through which the voyager pushes his boat, from one to the 
 other, until he gets into the last and the smallest. In these 
 early years when with my cousin and later with my own chil- 
 dren I frequented these lakes — this little sheet of water, the 
 last of this chain of beauty spots — seemed the most romantic in 
 all that region. I recall a delightful visit to these lakelets in 
 the company of General Chaffee, then Major Chaffee, a few 
 years after the close of our Civil War. I told him the story 
 of "Old Sarah" and her cave to which I have referred and 
 said it could not be far away. He suggested that we scale the 
 steep and wooded heights and find it. It was a fruitless quest, 
 however, for no cave rewarded our search on that day. 
 
 Another relative with whom I enjoyed many hours of pleas- 
 ant companionship in my visits to Ridgefield was my cousin, 
 Charles Lee Rockwell, now president of the First National 
 Bank at Meriden, Conn. His mother was a Lee, and a cousin 
 of the Countess Waldersee, wife of Count Waldersee, for- 
 merly chief of staff of the Germany army. For generations 
 the Lees had been highly respected and prosperous farmers 
 in Ridgefield, of excellent mentality and calm judgment. My 
 aunt's uncle could not content himself with farm life, and so 
 went to New York and accumulated a fortune. While abroad 
 his daughter married an English prince, and after his death 
 she married Count Waldersee. Although thus highly placed, 
 her inherited good American common sense was never im- 
 paired, and her interest in Ridgefield and her relatives here 
 remained always keen. It is a matter of history that when 
 

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CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 47 
 
 General Chaffee commanded the American forces in China, 
 Count Waldersee being commander-in-chief of the allied 
 forces, sharp letters were exchanged, because of Chaffee's 
 blunt and rather undiplomatic arraignment of the brutal ac- 
 tions of the Germans. 
 
 In the amicable settlement of the matter by the two com- 
 manders "over a cup of tea," mention was made of their "but- 
 tonhole" relationship, the wife of the general being a Rock- 
 well and a cousin of the cousin of the Countess. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 A PLEASING recollection of those old days is connected 
 with the boys' parlor. The room was in the second 
 story of that part of the building connected with the 
 schoolhouse and the main or family house. It was a plain 
 room, uncarpeted, with permanent seats along three of its 
 sides. The other side was reserved for my father's desk and 
 chair and a small bookcase filled with books, to which the 
 boys had access. I remember the Rollo books, the Fran- 
 conia stories, and "Masterman Ready," among others, and 
 it seems to me that in after years no books ever gave me more 
 delight than these of my childhood. 
 
 What simplicity and what good sense characterized these 
 tales of Jacob Abbott. They, with the others, but they espe- 
 cially, left an eternal aureole and intangible charm, an in- 
 definable something that remained through all the years a 
 part of my very existence. It is, of course, explained by the 
 fact that these tales recall to me, as do no other, the tranquil 
 scenes and impressions of childhood. In that Franconia vil- 
 lage where the simple, primitive scenes were laid, the children 
 in imagination had their little pleasures and pains. They de- 
 lighted in every phase of nature, the great storms of snow, 
 the skating on the thick ice, the snowballing and romping in 
 the deep snow in winter. In the spring the melting of the 
 snow and the rains brought the freshets, and these I see now 
 as in the quaint illustrations I saw them as a boy. In the 
 summer these imaginary boys and girls — to this day real to 
 me — roamed the fields for the red strawberry, climbed the 
 mountain in quest of the blueberry, and fished the little 
 streams. Phonny, the hero of the Franconia stories, had his 
 guide and mentor in the person of Beechnut, while Rollo, the 
 hero of the Rollo stories, had in Jonas his guide and faithful 
 friend. "Old-fashioned and stilted" these old stories, say 
 some, and the characters priggish. Be it so, yet they have sur- 
 vived through three-quarters of a century, and are still read 
 while the more artificial and exciting stories which followed 
 had their little day and are dead. When my boys were little 
 
 48 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 49 
 
 I bought the books for them, and then again a generation 
 later for my grandchildren. Those that I bought for my chil- 
 dren are here within reach as I write. I have only to stretch 
 out my hand, as I often do, and take one. I turn over its 
 pages, read a few lines here and there, glance at its well- 
 remembered old-fashioned illustrations, and get again the 
 elusive but ever real aroma of the happy days of childhood. 
 And then again how we reveled in those great classics, "Robin- 
 son Crusoe" and "Two Years Before the Mast." These two, 
 it seems to me, are worth all the modern popular books for 
 boys, and can be read time and again with ever increasing 
 profit and delight. 
 
 To return to the boys' parlor and its associations. It was 
 a very plain room as I have said. It had to be for the use of 
 so many boisterous boys. Indeed it was so plain that when 
 Josh. Albro, a new boy and a very odd one, was first intro- 
 duced to it, he said with vigorous scorn, "Boys' parlor, is it? 
 Humph ! I should call it the boys' kitchen." In this "Boys' 
 Parlor" the boys assembled after the study and play of the 
 day, and my father would read or talk to them. Sometimes 
 he would call upon some boy to read, and this was considered 
 a great honor. Those who thought they could read pretty 
 well coveted it. This excited ambition among them, and each 
 boy that was called did his very best in clearness of enuncia- 
 tion and emphasis. If any of the listeners wished to comment 
 or to ask a question, he would hold up his hand. The reader 
 would be silenced for the time, and whoever wished could 
 have his say. Original composition was encouraged, and one 
 of the boys wrote a story of several hundred pages entitled 
 "The Robbers." The author duly read it to us in the course 
 of several evenings, and thereby gained great local fame. He 
 was encouraged to publish it, and gain both fame and money. 
 But to this there seemed insuperable obstacles, even in those 
 days of few periodicals and few aspirants for literary reputa- 
 tion. The young author is dead long ago, but I wonder if 
 that boy's story, to which we all listened with breathless inter- 
 est, still exists ! I would like to read it again. 
 
 After the reading, and sometimes instead of the reading, 
 my father would talk to the boys, and they would talk to him. 
 It would be something like a conversational prayer meeting, 
 
5 o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 questions and answers, such as they would have in old Ply- 
 mouth Church with Mr. Beecher presiding. I remember that 
 on one occasion the talk drifted to the money question, on 
 which my father gave the boys some good, sound advice re- 
 garding expenditures and economy, and what constituted a 
 competency in life. One of the boys asked him what he con- 
 sidered a competency. My father said that if he had twenty 
 thousand dollars, he would feel like a rich man. On that he 
 could live comfortably, have a little for charity, and something 
 left for travel and amusement. 
 
 When the clock struck nine, a few verses from the Bible 
 were read, after that a prayer, and then to bed. Each 
 boy, when his name was called, would get up, walk to the 
 door, face about, say, "Good night, Mr. Rockwell," and the 
 teacher would reply with a "Good night, John" or "George" 
 as the case might be. 
 
 These friendly and informal talks and readings were un- 
 doubtedly of value in the moral and educational sense. Old 
 scholars have often spoken of them with appreciation and de- 
 light. My father liked boys then and always, and this liking 
 was reciprocal, for no one more than a boy appreciates friends 
 and knows who are his friends. 
 
 Sundays, as I remember them, were by no means tedious 
 days. We went to church twice, both morning and afternoon. 
 We formed in line two by two, and at a given word the proces- 
 sion moved across the green to the Episcopal Church near by. 
 The school filled five or six seats, and my father sat in the 
 rear seat where he could see everything that went on among 
 the boys, or at least where he thought he could. A watchful 
 eye was necessary, for the boys became restless at times, and 
 what wonder. On one occasion there was quite an alterca- 
 tion, during the Litany, between two boys on the front seat. 
 It was difficult to get to them, and I well remember our aston- 
 ishment when my father threw his Prayer Book as an admoni- 
 tion. He was impelled certainly by a thoroughly unconven- 
 tional impulse, and the incident was observed by few, since 
 heads were mostly bowed. The book struck one of the of- 
 fending parties, whose astonishment was as great as the re- 
 minder was effectual. The long service was often somewhat 
 tedious, and I remember how we inwardly applauded and ap- 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 51 
 
 proved on one occasion, when the visiting clergyman, halfway 
 up the pulpit steps, paused and said he would have to dismiss 
 the congregation, as he had unfortunately left his sermon at 
 home. 
 
 The first rector of the church was a Mr. Short, and he was 
 followed by a Mr. Long, but Short was long, and Long was 
 short, reminding me of "Mr. Knott and Mr. Shott," where 
 "Knott was shot and Shott was not." Occasionally, for a 
 change, we were allowed to go to the Congregational church, 
 where we sat in one of the galleries and so had a good view 
 of the people below. The bearing and the features of many 
 of them come to me as distinctly as if the event were yes- 
 terday. There was Mr. Bradley, still comparatively young, 
 portly, with eyes that half closed when he smiled, and whose 
 daughter married my brother. Mrs. Silliman comes in with 
 her two boys, Joseph and Justice. Mary Crissy sweeps up 
 the aisle to her place in one of the cross seats. She was very 
 lively and pretty, and a great favorite. She married Mr. 
 Wheeler of the firm of Wheeler & Wilson of sewing machine 
 fame, and for many years lived in a beautiful house at Bridge- 
 port, quite different from her humble New Canaan home. 
 Near Mr. Bradley sits Edgar Raymond, one of the pillars 
 of the church, and jolly Sam Comstock with his wife and 
 three daughters make their way to a pew on the other side 
 aisle. He was a second cousin of my mother's, and in the 
 interval between the two services they, with the children, fre- 
 quently came into our house and were served with pie and 
 cheese. Besides being jolly, he was jolly fat. He was not 
 one with Bacon, whose advice was "to read, not to confute, 
 but to weigh and consider." Sam's one idea was not to weigh, 
 but to dispute and confute. No sermon suited him, and it 
 was great fun to hear him pick it to pieces. After working 
 on his farm all the week, it was a recreation for him to get to 
 church and dissect the sermon. How well I remember his 
 portly form, florid face, and drooping muscles, as he sat 
 in argumentative mood, eating his pumpkin pie. His wife, 
 a warm friend of my mother's, was a gentle, quiet woman, 
 quite the opposite of her somewhat boisterous, assertive hus- 
 band. She was soft-voiced and gentle, and would sometimes 
 seem disturbed at the loud tone in which her good-natured 
 
52 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 spouse gave utterance to his oracular sayings, and the loud 
 laughter which accompanied them. 
 
 The Comstocks lived four miles from town on the way to 
 Ridgefield. They lived in one of those spacious, old-fashioned 
 farmhouses so characteristic of the fast-disappearing New 
 England life. The family consisted of one son and four 
 daughters. Sarah was the oldest and seemed to be the dom- 
 inant spirit. They were all ardent Democrats, with South- 
 ern sympathies. By birth, education and religious training 
 they were true children of New England and yet, strange to 
 say, the outbreak of the Civil War found them in sympathy 
 with the South. They were excellent people, kind and hos- 
 pitable and ever ready to give a helping hand. In those 
 earlier days farming was still not altogether unprofitable. 
 Produce had not yet begun to pour in from the West, and 
 the New England farmers still got living prices for what 
 they raised. Late summer and fall found them ready to dis- 
 pose of what they had labored to gather, and just as we 
 see here in Flushing to-day the farmers from the outlying 
 districts taking their produce to the city markets in big lum- 
 ber wagons, so then we saw the farmers on the way to Five 
 Mile River, there to ship their precious cargoes to New York 
 markets. 
 
 The most familiar sight to me on these occasions was Sam 
 Comstock. His big figure, with his fat, rosy cheeks, perched 
 high on his load of hay, slowly making his way to the land- 
 ing, stand out as vividly now as if the day was only yester- 
 day. Sam, long years ago, returned to his fathers, but 
 "young" Sam (now some seventy-odd) remains. Sarah is 
 dead, too, and all the girls save one, and the old house has 
 gone into other hands. Within a few years the effects of 
 the house were sold at auction. From far and near gathered 
 the smart and intrusive summer residents, eager to get some 
 of the fine, solid, old-time pieces with which the house 
 abounded. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 ABOUT this time I began to indulge in a little reading 
 of a more serious character than I had before at- 
 tempted. Among other books I wanted to read was 
 "Two Years Before the Mast," and having saved up two 
 dollars, its price, I enclosed it to my brother, who was then 
 in a store in New York, and requested him to get it for me. 
 In reply he said he could not get "Two Years Before the 
 Mast," and sent me instead "Jack Sheppard," one of Ains- 
 worth's blood-curdling tales of murder and robbery. I well 
 remember how displeased my father was at his selection. 
 Composition writing began to be a favorite pastime, and I 
 made several ambitious attempts. One composition on the 
 "Ruins of Time" was so commended that surreptitiously I 
 sent it to the Norwalk Gazette, with the signature simply 
 "By a School Boy." What was my delight on opening the 
 paper the following week to find it in print! Soon after I 
 sent another, entitled "The Past, the Present and the Fu- 
 ture," and to this I appended my initials. Encouraged by its 
 publication, I sent another article, entitled "The Approach of 
 Autumn," signing my full name with fear and trembling. It, 
 too, appeared, and as I saw my own very signature at the 
 end, my. satisfaction was complete, and I think my mother and 
 father were very much pleased also. Since then I have seen 
 my name attached to hundreds of articles, medical and other- 
 wise, but never with the thrill with which I saw it in print 
 for the first time in the Norwalk Gazette. I sent still a 
 fourth article. I eagerly scanned the pages of every issue for 
 weeks, but my diligence was not rewarded, for, alas, the ar- 
 ticle never appeared. The editor evidently had enough of a 
 good, or most probably, a bad thing. Of course, it was sorry 
 stuff, and I often wonder that the paper had the temerity to 
 print any of these youthful efforts. As a boyish production 
 and novelty, it might perhaps have been worth while for once. 
 A few years after, when in the Grammar School of Kenyon 
 College, I re-read before the school the composition entitled 
 "Past, Present and Future," having neglected to prepare a 
 
 53 
 
54 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 new one. The principal in comment said that when I an- 
 nounced my theme covering all the ages, he was prepared for 
 something unusually comprehensive. He found, however, 
 that the title was far more comprehensive than its treatment, 
 and intimated that if I had confined myself to one division of 
 the great subject, I still would have found sufficient scope for 
 all my powers. The veiled sarcasm, if it could be called 
 veiled, was not lost upon me. 
 
 One of the occasions, and to me always an eventful oc- 
 casion, was the annual visit of the bishop of the diocese, 
 Bishop Williams. I looked upon him with the greatest awe 
 and reverence, and, indeed, he was worthy of any man's re- 
 spectful consideration. At the time I knew him the Bishop 
 was, I should say, in his early forties. Tall, with a magnifi- 
 cent presence and princely bearing, he seemed to my boyish 
 mind to personify greatness, goodness and graciousness. I 
 suppose I felt towards him then somewhat as the poor Irish- 
 man felt toward Phillips Brooks. Said he, "Whenever I 
 think of God, I think of Phillips Brooks." These two men 
 were indeed in their way ideal representatives, both spiritu- 
 ally, mentally and physically, of the highest type of manhood. 
 They illustrated the power of personality, and under their 
 benign and uplifting influence men and women were impelled 
 as by an unseen force to give their hearts and strength to the 
 cause they advocated. To me what the Bishop said was man- 
 datory, with an authority next only to God himself. Withal, 
 the Bishop was not at all pietistic, as I learned in after years, 
 but in a way he was a man of the world, as all true men 
 should be. 
 
 When it was announced from the pulpit that the Bishop was 
 to come, there was a more or less flutter of excitement in our 
 household. By virtue of my father's position as a warden, 
 our proximity to the church, his character as teacher and 
 well-to-do man relatively, the Bishop generally dined at our 
 table. In the best sense of the word he was an aristocrat 
 in thought, as well as in bearing, and my mother, I always 
 imagined, was a trifle afraid of him. The Bishop liked good 
 things, and he was always accustomed to his daily glass of 
 wine, according to the English custom. We never had wine 
 on our table. Indeed, my mother did not at all approve of it, 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 55 
 
 although in her old age she came to a high appreciation of 
 the virtues of her own home-made, delicious, fermented grape 
 juice. She would, therefore, every time the Bishop was to 
 come, declare that she would have no wine, Bishop or no 
 Bishop, and yet as often as he came the wine was ready at 
 his plate, and he enjoyed it, altogether in ignorance of his 
 hostess's momentary hostility. 
 
 I do not remember much that the Bishop ever said, but 
 his manly, inspiring figure in the pulpit and out, his sonorous 
 yet pleasing voice, his benignant expression and friendly 
 smile, have always remained as a pleasant possession. Many, 
 many years after, when my son was a student at the Univer- 
 sity at Middletown, Conn., with the purpose of studying for 
 the ministry, he got to know Bishop Williams. He was think- 
 ing of turning to the Episcopal Church and sought the advice 
 of the Bishop. He spoke of his grandfather, and the Bishop 
 seemed promptly to remember all about him, but what most 
 impressed the boy was the sound advice he gave him. He 
 did not in haste seize upon him as a convert and as a recruit 
 for his church, but bade him consider well and be sure of his 
 ground. But after all my son did not enter the ministry. 
 During his senior year he was skating on the river with a 
 young lady one evening, when the ice broke and they both fell 
 into the cold water. In vain he attempted to get out and 
 rescue his companion. In the brief moments before some be- 
 lated skaters came to their aid a thousand thoughts flashed 
 through his mind, as they will on such occasions. He thought 
 of me, and how parallel some events of our lives had run. 
 I had had in mind the ministry and so had he. I had given 
 it up, and he was so inclined. In my college days I, too, had 
 fallen into a swift-flowing river, while skating with a girl, 
 and barely escaped with my life. 
 
 My mother's eldest sister lived in South Norwalk, in what 
 is now a busy business street near the water. She was the 
 widow of a sea captain, and lived very comfortably with an 
 only daughter. The place was called Old Mill, but why I 
 know not. There were a number of fine cherry trees in her 
 yard, and it was a regular thing for my cousin and myself 
 to spend a day or two there in cherry time. When the joyful 
 occasion arrived we were up by daylight, getting to my aunt's 
 
S6 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 house in time for breakfast. It was a little distance of five 
 or six miles and the walk was just sufficient to accentuate the 
 always hearty appetite of a boy for breakfast. However 
 hearty the meal, there was always room for cherries, and 
 when through we lost no time in climbing the trees in quest 
 of a feast of fruit. This over, we sallied forth in search of 
 pleasure and adventure. We seldom failed to find both. It 
 was always a pleasure to be free and in the open. Along the 
 waterside or at the old station watching for the rather infre- 
 quent trains of those days, there was enough to keep us busily 
 engaged. The boys of the vicinage regarded us as outsiders 
 and trespassers, and with leering looks and uncomfortable 
 remarks tried to make us feel our isolation. Boys are often 
 cruel, quite as cruel and unmoral sometimes as nations. If 
 a gang of boys can manage to make another boy uncomfort- 
 able, one who comes as a stranger among them, they are only 
 too ready. These boys of whom I write were really a very 
 ugly lot. They threw stones at us, called us names and made 
 fun of us and of our good clothes. We paid little attention 
 to them, which only exasperated them the more. Finally one 
 of the five or six of our enemies ventured near and put a hand 
 on Steve's shoulder. Steve promptly shook him off. His an- 
 tagonist seemed bent on creating a disturbance, however, and 
 grabbed at Steve, who also was quick enough to get a good 
 hold, and there they stood like two young gladiators glaring 
 at each other. The fellow's companions gathered savagely 
 around, and urged him to punch Steve in the face. It was a 
 critical moment, for we were outnumbered more than two to 
 one. It was unquestionably a fact that we were scared. Five 
 rough, dirty fellows surrounded us, with the will and the 
 power to wipe the earth with us and with our comparatively 
 fine, clean suits, which had in some way aroused their anger. 
 As in after years, during the Civil War, I had occasion many 
 times to seem not to fear when I was really very much afraid, 
 so it was then. I clinched my fists as I saw the others do; 
 indeed, I think I picked up a stick and with determined mien 
 ranged myself beside my threatened partner. The two boys 
 glared at each other, and with stick in hand, I said, "Hit him 
 if you dare." Now, whether it was this bold front on our 
 part, aided by the moral influence of our supposedly superior 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 57 
 
 social status, that put an end to the matter, or whether it was 
 the approach of reinforcements in the shape of the station- 
 master, who was getting back from his dinner, I never knew, 
 but with a scowl, the fellow's hold relaxed. Steve willingly 
 relaxed his hold, and with a parting benediction of hate, the 
 young outlaws took to their heels. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 1HAVE already mentioned my mother's brother, Seymour 
 Comstock, who was an interesting character. I surmise 
 that a certain strain of queerness might be detected, by a 
 careful analysis, in almost every family, and at times a suf- 
 ficient deviation from the normal might be observed in every 
 individual, which, carried to its logical conclusion, would 
 mean actual mental alienation, in other words, insanity. How- 
 ever, my good uncle, altogether sane, was not a little queer. 
 From my earliest recollection he was a semi-invalid, lean, 
 dyspeptic and neurotic, yet never down sick; always busy and 
 ready for work. He died at the great age of ninety-nine, and 
 the bases of his longevity were, of course, sound arteries and 
 simple methods of living. I believe, however, that his life- 
 long habit of apple-eating was an important contributing fac- 
 tor. From ten to twenty apples was his daily allowance, and 
 the day was considered lost or out of joint if for any cause 
 this habit was interfered with. The apple is the king of all 
 fruit; and equalled by none in its many-sided adaptation as 
 a preventive of physical ills. In his later years dealing in 
 butter was my uncle's hobby. He was happy if he could buy 
 up all the butter that the farmers would bring him, and if 
 he could sell it at a profit, well and good — if not, he was 
 still happy in his ability to sell. He was very unobserving, 
 and it was therefore possible to hoodwink him and act against 
 his interests in a way that a more alert and practical mind 
 would have detected at once. For example, he gave us so 
 much a pound for all the old iron we could find. There was 
 a dumping place for the iron behind the store. To our shame 
 be it said, once or twice at least, after selling him a few 
 pounds of iron, we would surreptitiously retake it and sell 
 it over again. We were allowed to go behind the counter 
 and roam over the store at will. It was not permissible to 
 take the whole cakes from the cake drawer, but my uncle said 
 that if there were any broken ones we could have them. 
 Whenever, therefore, we found no broken cakes, we promptly 
 broke some, and this supplied the deficiency. I do not re- 
 
 58 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 59 
 
 member that this was ever detected, but a time of reckoning 
 was near. Steve's brother Albert, returning from Ohio, took 
 charge of affairs, and from that time business principles pre- 
 vailed. We came from behind the counter one day laden with 
 spoils. "What have you in your hands, Steve?" "Nothing," 
 he replied. "Yes, you have; give it to me," said his brother. 
 Steve remained rebellious, whereupon Albert grasped the 
 tightly closed hand and attempted to open it. The other 
 stoutly resisted, but in vain. Gradually the fingers loosened, 
 one by one, and some purloined candies fell to the floor. The 
 result was that we two boys were excluded from the private 
 ways of the establishment, and thereafter had to take our 
 chances with mere outsiders. 
 
 My cousin Steve was a restless chap, and eager for pleas- 
 ure, for new sights, sounds and scenes. I have already spoken 
 about some of our truant adventures. He was anxious to 
 try again, but I had had enough, and from time to time re- 
 fused to join him in another attempt. About the time the 
 new regime went into effect in the store, Steve made up his 
 mind to run away again. We were together on the stoop in 
 front of the store, and he again urged me to go, but I refused. 
 "Well, then, good-bye," he said, as he leaped from the high 
 end of the stoop and started on his long journey. I watched 
 him as he made his way down the street through the lower 
 village, finally disappearing. When that night and the next 
 day and the day following he failed to appear, his family 
 were, of course, very much alarmed. I have always had the 
 impression that a pond which we frequented was dragged, but 
 it may be that the idea was only suggested. I do not even re- 
 member that I was questioned about the matter, but it is prob- 
 able that I was. If so, I gave out no information. My cousin 
 was absent only about one week. At that time an older brother 
 was employed in the store of Mr. Nail, of Detroit, 
 who had married our cousin, formerly of Norwalk, Conn., 
 Steve's objective point was Detroit, where he hoped to get a 
 place in the store with his brother. He walked to Darien, 
 taking train for New York. On his way from New York to 
 Albany he observed two men on a car not far away talking, 
 and occasionally they would look his way. With the sensi- 
 tiveness of a guilty conscience, he thought they were watch- 
 
60 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 ing him and talking about him. He became uneasy, and after 
 night had fallen, he slipped out of the car to the platform, 
 and the train went on without him. As railroad fares were 
 not at that time regulated as now, his ticket became worth- 
 less. He finally reached Buffalo and took steamer for De- 
 troit, but as he secured no berth, not knowing, indeed, any- 
 thing about such things, he spent that night as best he could. 
 Arriving in Detroit, he found that his brother had just taken 
 his departure for the East. Without waiting to make calls 
 on other relatives, he immediately retraced his steps, reach- 
 ing Darien in due time, and, not waiting for the stage, he 
 started to walk the four miles to New Canaan. When he 
 left home he took with him no change of clothes, neither comb 
 nor brush, and it is doubtful whether in the whole week he 
 had thoroughly washed his face or hands. He doubtless pre- 
 sented a most dirty and disreputable appearance. His brother 
 had come up from New York on the same train and waited 
 for the stage, while Steve pushed on afoot, the two not hav- 
 ing seen each other. Finally the truant was overtaken, and 
 the driver, who recognized him, invited him to get in. 
 Through the accumulation of a week's dirt, William did not 
 at first see any resemblance between this ragamuffin and his 
 brother. When he saw who it was he expressed his aston- 
 ishment, asked what was the matter and where he had been. 
 Steve replied "that he had been down the road a little way." 
 His sister met him at the door as he walked into the house and 
 said, "You naughty boy; where have you been?" He simply 
 grinned, sat down at the supper table and began to eat greed- 
 ily, as if half starved. Shortly he came out and we went to- 
 gether down into the "lots." Here he drew out a ten-dollar 
 bill, all that was left of the money with which he had supplied 
 himself before he started his journey. I think it better to say 
 nothing about the source of this money supply. What to do 
 with this ten-dollar bill was the question. It would be difficult 
 to get it changed and the possession of it would instigate 
 questioning. After considerable discussion, he finally con- 
 cluded to burn it. In a way I was almost as guilty as my 
 cousin. I knew how he had supplied himself with funds, and 
 had made no protests nor objections. 
 
 At another time, also, as I have already recorded, in a 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH 61 
 
 former truant affair, I had done the same thing in a smaller 
 way. Not until long years after did the whole truth come 
 out. William never even knew that his brother had been to 
 Detroit. Only Steve and I knew the truth. Steve told his 
 parents that he had saved enough money to get to New York, 
 and afterwards went up the North River peddling oranges. 
 Looking back at it, I cannot but be astonished at the mon- 
 strosity of it all. Boys are a strange combination of tender- 
 ness and cruelty. In regard to animals, they do not consider 
 the bodily pain they inflict. In the same way, they have little 
 thought of the intense mental pain they cause parents by 
 thoughtless conduct. 
 
Book II 
 
 YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE question of a career was not a little in my mind 
 when I arrived at the age of fifteen. As a rule, boys 
 do not know what they want nor for what they are 
 best fitted. My thought, directed possibly by our 
 young physician, Dr. Roberts, was for the profes- 
 sion of medicine, and I recollect that it appealed to me because 
 it would take me so much in the open air, in carriage or on 
 horseback, preferably the latter. About this time my eyes 
 began to trouble me somewhat, and when a brother, then a 
 clerk with Ball, Black & Company, jewelers, New York City, 
 wrote saying that a situation was open for a boy, I concluded 
 to accept it. 
 
 Well do I remember the eventful day of my departure. It 
 was a great event. I felt its importance and my own im- 
 portance, but as I look back at it now I see a certain pathos 
 in it all, this severing of relations. The ties that held me to 
 boyhood days and pleasures along old and familiar lines were 
 to be broken forever. Henceforth there were to be no more 
 trips to "Indian Rock" in the company of boy intimates, where 
 we imagined ourselves wild Indians. The old familiar ponds 
 and streams would never again be just the same, nor would 
 I ever in the days to come sail them, or swim in them, or 
 walk their banks with the zest or sense of pleasure that I had 
 known. No such thoughts as these, however, occurred to my 
 mind as I climbed into the carriage which would take me to 
 the Darien station. Alas, to my great regret, our good horse, 
 Peter, was no longer with us to drive on this, my entry into 
 the busy world of affairs. I felt that I was taking a step up 
 in the world, and, wishing to impress my importance on the 
 driver at my side, I told him that he must drive fast, as it 
 would not do for me to miss the train, since I had an impor- 
 tant engagement to meet in New York. As the distance was 
 
 63 
 
64 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 but four miles and we had nearly an hour to make it, it is 
 possible that the driver saw no special necessity for haste. 
 
 Ball, Black & Company then did business at the corner of 
 Broadway and Murray Street. The building was a four- 
 story, yellow brick structure, with a huge golden eagle with 
 outstretched wings perched above the main entrance. In the 
 years that followed, this building and still another on the 
 same site have been razed to the ground, and a third struc- 
 ture of imposing front stands where the old original brick 
 store stood. The firm of to-day, its title changed to Black, 
 Starr & Frost, still flourishes on Fifth Avenue, above Forty- 
 second Street, and the same old shining eagle occupies his 
 perch above the door, through which pass and repass the 
 purchasers of another generation. 
 
 I called for my brother and he took me to Mr. Ball, the 
 head and guiding spirit of the firm, a tall, thin, austere-appear- 
 ing man, who scanned me indifferently and said, "He looks 
 like a good strong boy. You can put him to work." These 
 were the only words he ever addressed to me until I came 
 to leave six months later. 
 
 It is difficult for the present generation to understand how 
 different was the New York of 1856 from the city of to-day. 
 Its population was not more than five hundred thousand and 
 Twenty-third Street was the uptown limit of its active urban 
 life. Stewart's drygoods store was at the corner of Broad- 
 way and Chambers Street, and most of the high-class retail 
 business was in that neighborhood. Tiffany, indeed, had 
 boldly established himself a little north of Canal Street, and 
 in his business was second only to the famous Ball, Black & 
 Company. 
 
 To illustrate the rapidity that has always characterized 
 the development of this great town, I point to the fact that in 
 a very few years the firm I was with built a fine structure at 
 the corner of Broadway and Prince Street. In a few years 
 they found themselves too far downtown, and migrated to the 
 corner of Fifth Avenue and Twenty-eighth Street. Now they 
 are at Fifth Avenue and Forty-ninth Street. Tiffany & Com- 
 pany also found themselves too far away, and erected a fine 
 building at Fifteenth Street and Union Square. There they did 
 business for a good many years, until they moved into their 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 65 
 
 present splendid quarters at Fifth Avenue and Thirty-seventh 
 Street. 
 
 At the time I went as a boy to work for the jewelry concern 
 in New York, the firm consisted of Ball, Black and Monroe, 
 Monroe being the "company." If I might characterize the 
 three men, I should say that Mr. Ball was by far the ablest 
 man of the concern, Mr. Black the most portly and sluggish, 
 and Mr. Monroe seemingly the smallest and most penurious, 
 and yet he was a kind man and sympathetic, and all were 
 men of character of the best type. Originally these men were 
 simply salesmen for the firm of Marquand & Company. 
 Years after, during the famous cholera season, when every- 
 body who could fled the city, these three clerks remained at 
 their posts, and to this action is credited the fact that subse- 
 quently they were taken into partnership. Ball, Black and 
 Monroe are all long dead. When I was a boy in the store, 
 the second Black was younger than myself and still at school. 
 Starr was a bookkeeper and Frost a salesman. All these, 
 too, have passed away and I take it that the present head of 
 the house is the grandson of the original Black. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 IT WAS in April, 1856, in my sixteenth year, that I went to 
 New York. In that year, too, a brother came to New 
 York to take a bank position, where he remained for more 
 than fifty years. Before me as I write is an old engraving 
 of Broadway, between Grand and Howard Streets, as it 
 looked in 1840, the year of my birth, sixteen years before I 
 came to town as a boy. Sixteen years is a long time in the 
 life of a modern city, and therefore most of those low and 
 apparently wooden structures that I see had then given place 
 to other buildings. The street scene, however, was very much 
 the same. It was before the time of street cars and auto- 
 mobiles, and the same old lumbering stages and carts, with 
 an occasional carriage, occupied the scene. If one was a pe- 
 destrian, he was not actually lonely. The people were con- 
 stantly passing and repassing, but the streets were not 
 crowded, and there was no great hurrying. Compared with 
 the life of to-day, it was provincial, and looking back, the 
 contrast between then and now seems very great, and in my 
 mind, perhaps, in favor of the former. But it is always so; 
 the past becomes refined or glorified. Seen in the dim dis- 
 tance, as in the background of a landscape, all the rough fea- 
 tures fade, and only the agreeable remains. Time's perspec- 
 tive straightens what would otherwise seem crooked, and 
 smooths the rough edges and wrinkled surfaces. Is it pos- 
 sible that more than sixty years have fled since those days? 
 They continue still very vivid to me. The old yellow brick 
 building, with its golden eagle over the entrance, stands there 
 still, if my mental vision does not deceive me, and as I enter 
 the door, back from some errand, every detail is clear to my 
 mind. Brown, the watchmaker, sits in the northeast corner, 
 with glass in place to aid his vision. Van Buren, tall and 
 lean, is bending over the counter, engaged with a customer. 
 Gelson, thin, too, but old and gray-headed and bearded, stands 
 near him. Frost is there, always good-natured and talkative, 
 and White, of Cleveland, even more talkative — so much so 
 that we frequently had to take refuge in flight to escape his 
 
 66 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 67 
 
 busy hum. Where they and all the rest in that old store have 
 gone, with the exception of myself, I well know. Every one 
 is in his grave. Then there was William Black, son of one 
 of the partners, urbane and fond of what are falsely called 
 the good things of life, so fond of them that he passed away 
 before his time. The younger Monroe, too, like his father, 
 kind and considerate, but also like him in the keen apprecia- 
 tion of the value of money and keeping it well within his 
 grasp. Although the character and taste of these two were 
 widely divergent, they were a great deal together, but in time 
 these varying tastes resulted in a gradual cessation of in- 
 timacy. Starr, the assistant bookkeeper, later a member of 
 the firm, seemed to be the busiest, breeziest man of all. He 
 and Frost were great friends, and when Sunday came I can 
 see them starting off together for a day's outing in the Elysian 
 fields at Hoboken. Think of it ! Ye gods, Elysian ! The 
 residence of the blessed after death, a condition of perfect 
 happiness, and all in Hoboken, and to be reached by ferry 
 for two cents ! And there was Marcus. He was a specialist 
 in diamonds, and finally established the well-known Fifth Ave- 
 nue house of Marcus & Sons, now actively managed, I think, 
 by the third generation. The elder Marcus is especially 
 remembered by me, because upon occasion when he did not 
 wish to go out at noon, either on account of business or in- 
 clement weather, he would ask me to get for him a frugal 
 luncheon of gingerbread. 
 
 The head bookkeeper was an Englishman, whose person- 
 ality is just as clear as all the others. He was a characteris- 
 tic Englishman. One illustration of the type of man he was I 
 recall. Leaving the store at noon one day, he saw a driver 
 abusing his horse. He ordered him to cease. The driver 
 then transferred his abuse from the horse to the man, where- 
 upon our bookkeeper called a policeman, took him to court, 
 and had him fined. 
 
 And lastly, two other not unimportant members of the cor- 
 poration must be mentioned — the two colored porters, Sam 
 and Peter. Sam was an old man, and had been with the firm 
 half a century; in fact, since its very existence. In a way he 
 was part and parcel of the firm, and was accorded all the re- 
 spect and privileges of an old and trusted servant. He re- 
 
68 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 minded me of an old-time Southern negro, whose very life 
 was a part of the family he served. He was very black and 
 grizzly, with a suave and deferential manner, yet with a cer- 
 tain authoritative mien, which indicated that he was not to be 
 trifled with when the interests of anything connected with the 
 firm were involved. Sam and I became very good friends, 
 for I was always polite and friendly with him, and he, in turn, 
 was able to give me some business points that were of value. 
 Some of the clerks, however, opposed him in a tantalizing 
 manner, more out of mischief than anything else. Then Sam 
 would explode, and as his natural speech was dignified and 
 slow, in his efforts to be emphatic and scathing his words 
 would roll out too rapidly for proper formation, ending in 
 sputtering and stammering, much to his own rage and to the 
 infinite delight of his tormentors. Peter, the other porter, 
 was a great husky negro, about thirty years old, thoroughly 
 good-natured and reliable. After the work of the day was 
 done and the store about to close, it was my duty to go with 
 Peter, in the one-horse covered wagon, and distribute the 
 goods sold. We carried in small compass a great many valu- 
 able articles, of course, precious stones and articles of fine 
 craftsmanship in gold and silver, and our cautions were many 
 and frequent. We carried no arms, and were frequently out 
 long after dark. It seems to me now, when I remember the 
 outlying districts into which we penetrated, districts which 
 were dimly lighted and far from police aid, that it is a won- 
 der we were not waylaid. It would have been the easiest 
 thing in the world, and would have afforded a rich harvest 
 for thieves. On one occasion I had a valuable set of dia- 
 monds to deliver to some persons at the then fashionable 
 New York Hotel. I was ushered into an elegant apartment 
 where were two ladies and a man. I delivered the goods, 
 and stood, hat in hand, while they examined them. The man, 
 a Southerner I judged by his speech, was exceedingly super- 
 cilious and mandatory. He expressed a number of impatient 
 remarks to me, expressing dissatisfaction with the goods and 
 contempt for the management, as if I, a mere errand-boy, 
 could be in any way to blame. Finally he refused to accept 
 the goods and handed them back to me. I said nothing, but 
 on reaching the door, put on my hat in order to free my hand 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 69 
 
 to turn the knob. Immediately the man shouted, "When you 
 are in a gentleman's apartment, you ought to know enough to 
 keep your hat off." I replied, "When I am in a gentleman's 
 room, he takes my hat and gives me a chair." Whereupon 
 our Hotspur started with the intention of accelerating my 
 exit. As I opened the door and glided out, I saw the ladies 
 lay their soft, restraining hands upon his shoulder, and heard 
 their exclamations of reproof. 
 
 On another occasion I was sent to collect a bill of $650.00. 
 The money was immediately counted and handed to me, with 
 the request to verify it. It was a big pile, mostly small bills, 
 and rather disreputable-looking bills, too. I had never seen 
 so much money and had no natural gift in counting it. The 
 position of a paying teller would hardly be in my line. I have 
 never yet learned to add very rapidly or correctly. To this day 
 there is always something wrong at the end of the month with 
 my bankbook, so that now I try to have it written up very 
 frequently, in order that there shall be as few vouchers as 
 possible to take care of. I beheld that pile of bills with 
 alarm, but it had to be tackled. I went through it once and 
 the sum total was more than $650.00. I tried it again and it 
 came out less. A third time, perspiring now, and nervous 
 and anxious, I tried it. The dirty bills became hopelessly 
 crumpled, and in desperation I said it was all right and signed 
 a receipt. At the store I gave the money to the cashier and 
 hung anxiously around. After counting and counting it again, 
 he said, "There is twenty dollars wanting." He asked me 
 if I had counted it and I acknowledged that I had. Of course 
 I was responsible for this deficiency, and it sent a cold shiver 
 down my back, for I was in receipt of the munificent salary 
 of four dollars a week! However, the cashier was a kindly 
 sort of a fellow, and suggested that I go back and see if they 
 had not made some mistake. Back I went and told my story, 
 but the man who had paid me reminded me somewhat gruffly 
 that I had counted the money and pronounced it correct. See- 
 ing my expression of disappointment, his heart so far relented 
 as to cause him to say, "You come back to-morrow, and if our 
 account is twenty dollars over, we will pay it to you." Here 
 was a hope, but a very slight one, and that night if I did not 
 dream about the twenty dollars, I ought to have done so. 
 
7 o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 With not very much hope I presented myself the next morn- 
 ing, when, to my delight, I found that there was the correct- 
 ing over-balance of twenty dollars, which was promptly 
 handed to me. 
 
 There was one other serious scare. I had in charge one 
 day a large book filled with bills of lading or memoranda. I 
 do not remember very much about the details, but it was a 
 very important book. If lost, it would cause many disar- 
 rangements. Upon my return it was not among my other 
 packages, and I was met with the cheerful statement that if it 
 was lost, I had better jump off the dock. Fortunately, after 
 going to this place, that, and the other, it was found. 
 
 It is quite certain that the position of boy-of-all-work in 
 the establishment of Ball, Black & Company was no sinecure. 
 I was kept busy from morning until night, and in delivering 
 goods, not infrequently till long after nightfall. The way I 
 did my work points a moral and illustrates a fact. By nature 
 I am not in any way orderly, and so far as physical work is 
 concerned, many would say that I was actually lazy. Indeed, 
 my father once said of me that for work in the fields or 
 around the house I was a broken reed. This he said good- 
 naturedly, and perhaps only half meant it. Experience has 
 taught me this accusation is but half true. I was the victim 
 of a certain heedlessness as a boy, a not uncommon trait. 
 For example, I was a wretched hand to do errands correctly. 
 If I were sent for seven pounds of sugar, I have been known 
 to come back with seven pounds of rice. This was not be- 
 cause my memory was not sufficiently retentive, but because I 
 made no effort to remember, as should have been the case. 
 When I went into this jewelry store, I wanted to succeed and 
 meant so to do if it was in my power. Originally there were 
 two errand boys, but when I entered upon the scene both had 
 been discharged. They were city-bred boys and I was told 
 it was difficult to get good ones. They loitered by the way 
 when sent out, and in other respects were unsatisfactory. I 
 determined that no such fault should be found with me, and 
 so went and returned quickly. But that was not the most im- 
 portant of my duties. I was burdened with innumerable or- 
 ders to deliver, and goods to fetch and carry. These duties 
 took me to the top of the highest buildings and into the eel- 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 71 
 
 lars, and to do my work satisfactorily it was quite necessary 
 that my mind should be bright and active. I made it a point 
 to remember and did remember, and so scored a success in 
 two important ways, promptness and efficiency. So efficient 
 was I, and this is not boasting, but a simple fact, that I did 
 the work of two boys in the six months that I remained there, 
 thus illustrating the correctness of the old saying about the 
 willing horse. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 IT WAS during these first months that I first heard that 
 Boanerges of the pulpit, Henry Ward Beecher. During 
 the summer of my stay in New York I very often made 
 my way to Plymouth Church. He was at that time about 
 forty-three years old, but to my young eyes appeared, of 
 course, much older. It is unnecessary for me to describe 
 Plymouth Church, and yet perhaps I may say something about 
 it. Made of brick, and perfectly plain outside, it was equally 
 plain within, and withal so comfortable and cozy that it drew 
 by its homelike attractiveness. With its great gallery and 
 still a second and smaller one, it comfortably seated from 
 twenty-five hundred to three thousand people. Upon cross- 
 ing Fulton Ferry from New York to Brooklyn, if a stranger 
 were to ask the way to Beecher's church, he would be told 
 very likely, "Just follow the crowd," and in very truth this 
 only was necessary. As the passengers hurried from the boat 
 about church time, they formed into a solid stream, headed 
 straight for Plymouth Church, and it would be indeed a very 
 unpleasant day that these additions to the regular congrega- 
 tion would not fill the building to overflowing, and even a 
 number be unable to get inside. How fortunate we who were 
 able to secure good seats! It was an interesting and inspir- 
 ing sight. Here was a man like one of us, who for years, 
 week after week, unceasingly, was able to gather great masses 
 of people who seemed never to tire of his ministrations. It 
 is not so surprising that people from afar, drawn by his great 
 reputation, should wish to see or to hear him, but that the 
 same people, the people of his regular congregation, year in 
 and year out, from youth to manhood, to the end of life, 
 should not have faltered in their devotion and admiration, is 
 one of the marvels. It was not alone due to the man's trans- 
 cendent oratory, to his tricks and gifts of speech. Some called 
 him a buffoon, a trickster, a charlatan, but quackery never 
 lasts, never gives birth to anything permanent or worthy. 
 There was a personality behind the great powers of speech 
 and action that was the basis of his amazing power and popu- 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 73 
 
 larity. He was no insincere man. He swayed other men be- 
 cause he himself was swayed. He lost himself in the glory 
 of his work. He was sincere in every fibre of his nature. 
 There was no assumption, no affectation, and no man ever 
 lived, it seemed to me, whose speech came more from the 
 heart than did the words of Henry Ward Beecher. He was 
 a man of large courage. No soldier was ever more fearless, 
 and while he could indulge in scorching speech and strike 
 with the mailed fist when on the trail of injustice and cruelty, 
 yet his heart was as tender as a child's and restrained him 
 from saying things that hurt without adequate cause. Be- 
 fore the opening of the services everything was cheery and 
 informal. The light streamed in through ordinary glass win- 
 dows; there was the bustle of the incoming crowd as they were 
 seated, and the hum of conversation as friend greeted friend. 
 At last comes the moment when the church is filled and no 
 more are admitted. Mr. Beecher enters and seats himself 
 in the great pulpit chair. He gazes benignantly over the 
 immense audience, playing gently with his fingers on the arm 
 of his chair. All noise ceases. A hymn is sung by the choir, 
 led by the grand organ. Then Mr. Beecher prayed, and what 
 a prayer, and such a soft, clear, wonderful voice to give ex- 
 pression to it ! Within your very soul you felt its spontaneity. 
 No carefully thought out, fine expression there. He spoke, 
 out of his poetic soul, the thought, the emotion that actually 
 filled him, and so others gave heed to him. If I am in any 
 way a hero-worshipper as to Mr. Beecher, it is not alone be- 
 cause he seemed to be the greatest orator to whom I have 
 ever listened, but because he represented to me what is most 
 God-like in man, love for his fellow-man, sincerity without 
 reservation, and a perfect courage. To the weak he was as 
 a rock of defence. As naturally and as inevitably as water 
 seeks its level he flew to the rescue of the oppressed. He 
 could not do otherwise. It seems to me that I never listened 
 to such a voice, soft, liquid, persuasive; it soothed and 
 charmed. And what a range there was to it when he arose 
 to the full measure of righteous wrath, in denouncing some 
 great cruelty or wrong! It seemed as if the pulpit was in 
 the way, and the platform too small for him. He became 
 a raging lion, enforcing conviction with foot and hand, and 
 
74 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 every motion of his virile and all-alive body; and when it 
 was over, what a calm befell, and the musical cadence of his 
 voice seemed a fit sequence to his thunderous tones. All over 
 the country preachers tried to imitate him, but with the most 
 sorry success, for it was only imitation. There has been but 
 one Beecher, and, indeed, it is hardly possible that another 
 shall come and speak with equal effect until humanity attacks 
 and masters some other great grievance equal to human 
 slavery. 
 
 It was inevitable that cranks should make themselves heard 
 in such a popular assemblage. On one of the Sundays when 
 I happened to be there, Mr. Beecher had just finished his 
 address when a well-dressed man sitting near me arose and 
 in a loud voice said, "Mr. Beecher, I would like to say that 
 if your dinner is as good as your sermon, I would like to dine 
 with you to-day." Ushers started to put the man out, but 
 Mr. Beecher with a wave of his hand pronounced the bene- 
 diction and the incident was closed. On another occasion a 
 man in the gallery started to go out in the middle of the 
 sermon. He had a long way to go and his boots squeaked 
 terribly. Mr. Beecher paused until the man had reached the 
 door and passed out, when he said, "Blessed is the shoemaker 
 that maketh shoes that do not squeak," and then continued 
 his interrupted remarks. Such things were displeasing to 
 some people, who thought them irreverent and coarse and 
 done for effect. Such an interpretation is altogether wrong. 
 They came from a heart bubbling over with kindness and 
 good will. I recall the fact that another distinguished clergy- 
 man paused in his sermon to rebuke a man for going out. 
 The young man fainted. His physical condition was the 
 reason for his action. One cannot conceive of Mr. Beecher 
 being guilty of such thoughtless remarks. The sense of hu- 
 mor in him was so keen that when some friend expostulated, 
 he replied, "If you only knew how much I keep back." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 DURING all that long summer's stay in the great city I 
 never ceased longing for the country, and had it still 
 in mind that I would like to study. I had never before 
 spent more than a few days in town, and whenever I passed 
 some little public park with its grass and shady trees, the de- 
 sire to get away from the hot pavements and noisy streets 
 became almost imperative. One morning in October my 
 brother came into the store and said that if I wished to do 
 so, I might give up my position, return to New Canaan, and 
 take his place in the school as assistant to my father. The 
 break in my relations with Ball, Black & Company went into 
 effect after some bungling maneuvering on my part, but it 
 illustrates that even the boy who runs errands does not escape 
 the watchful eye of his employer. It was on a Friday morn- 
 ing that I went to that, to me, austere man, Mr. Ball, and 
 confided to him the fact that I had decided to leave. As I 
 have already recorded, the only time that he had ever spoken 
 to me was on the day, six months before, when I entered upon 
 my duties. Mr. Black also had very little to say to me, and 
 of this I did not complain, for when he did speak, it was gen- 
 erally to find some fault. I was blacking my shoes in the 
 basement one day, for example, when he told me I ought to 
 brush the dust off first, and that I had put on too much black- 
 ing, all of which may have been perfectly true. Another time 
 he sent me to the train to save a seat for him. Every Saturday 
 in summer he went to his country place in Southport, Connecti- 
 cut. I found a good seat and waited patiently for the coming 
 of the great man. It seemed, however, that I had selected a 
 seat on what would be the sunny side of the car when it got 
 into the open. It was a hot day and Mr. Black was a fat man, 
 and I shall never forget his look, his gesture and expression of 
 disgust when he took in the situation. He thought it was very 
 stupid, but how was I to know about a sunny or a shady side in 
 that darkened building far downtown? Mr. Monroe, the 
 other partner, was more talkative and outwardly genial, and 
 yet as I now think of the three men, Mr. Ball, the austere, 
 
 75 
 
76 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 seems to me, in all the essentials that go to make up character, 
 to have been a higher type than the other two. 
 
 I saw the tall form of Mr. Ball in the rear of the store lean- 
 ing against the counter, looking around as if he were monarch 
 of all he surveyed. Hesitatingly I approached and told him 
 that I had concluded to give up my place and go home. He 
 expressed surprise, and to my astonishment, some disappoint- 
 ment. I had supposed that he would offer no objection and 
 would hardly deign to more than briefly accept my resig- 
 nation, but he seemed to take a great interest in this decision 
 of mine and said he hoped I would reconsider my determina- 
 tion. He was good enough to say that I had performed my 
 duties satisfactorily, my promotion was assured and I had 
 better think it over. I felt very much flattered. Here was 
 the great man of whom I had always stood in awe, talking 
 to me in genial friendly tones and practically begging me not 
 to give up my situation. I again felt my importance just as 
 I had felt it six months before, when I had warned the driver 
 who drove me to the train not to be late. I could not resist 
 Mr. Ball's persuasive manner, and much against my will 
 agreed to stay. After sleeping upon my decision I found my- 
 self regretting it, and determined to go to Mr. Ball and tell 
 him so, but the day was Saturday and I remembered that the 
 head of the firm always spent the day at his country place at 
 Newburgh. The distastefulness of my occupation grew upon 
 me, and I could no longer wait, so as soon as Mr. Black came 
 in I went to him. He dealt with me in no such persuasive and 
 courteous way as had Mr. Ball. No gleam of friendly com- 
 radeship or appreciative recognition of services rendered 
 illumined his somewhat dull and forbidding expression. He, 
 as well as Mr. Ball, knew that I had efficiently done the work 
 of two boys through a hot and trying summer, besides ridding 
 them of a lot of annoyance in having two careless and lazy 
 city boys around, as had been their former experience, instead 
 of one conscientious, busy and exact country boy. Besides, had 
 I not saved the great firm of Ball, Black and Company ex- 
 actly one hundred dollars in money? He, therefore, heard 
 me crossly and said that I couldn't go, that at all events I must 
 not go until I had spoken again to Mr. Ball. I then deter- 
 mined that I would not again encounter Mr. Ball. I was 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 77 
 
 afraid he would prove too much for me and determined on the 
 coming morning, whether for good or evil, to get out. As I 
 have said, some of us slept in the store and I was among the 
 number. Sunday evening I packed my small trunk and the 
 next morning arose early and prepared to leave. My brother 
 was not yet out of his bed, and when he saw my purpose he 
 was very much surprised and indignant. He vigorously pro- 
 tested, but to no purpose. I scented the call of the country, 
 the school, and old friends, and it was irresistible. I can still 
 hear my brother's voice warning me as I dragged my small 
 trunk down the stairs and to the sidewalk, and as often as I 
 pass 245 Broadway I look down upon the pavement and 
 wonder upon just what spot rested the trunk. The iron shut- 
 ters were but halfway up as I emerged, and the watchman, 
 whom I knew, said, "Where are you going?" I told him that I 
 was going home. "But," he said, "you can't take a trunk 
 out of the store this time of the morning." "I am going any- 
 way," was my reply, "and you can't stop me." The possibility 
 of my being able in this manner to get away with thousands 
 of dollars' worth of valuables did not in my innocence occur to 
 me, and so we argued. Just then a policeman sauntered up, 
 an amused spectator of the scene. Putting his hand on my 
 shoulder and with a good-natured smile he said, "Well, sonny, 
 I guess we're too many for you." This was beginning to be 
 painfully clear to me, so dragging my trunk back into the 
 store, away I started for the train. It will interest present- 
 day folks to know that the station of the New York and New 
 Haven Railroad was then at Canal Street and Broadway. 
 The cars were drawn by four horses through Canal Street to 
 the Bowery, up that avenue through Fourth Avenue to 
 Twenty-seventh Street, where the engine was hitched on. 
 Later the station was at Fourth Avenue and Twenty-seventh 
 Street, the cars then being pulled to Forty-second Street where 
 the engine was awaiting it. Away we went and as I looked out 
 of the window to the West, I could see the still crude, unfin- 
 ished Central Park. The streets were filled in, but there were 
 few buildings; the whole section above Thirty-fourth Street, 
 or at least Forty-second Street, looking like a huge checker- 
 board, the squares being represented by deep depressions, 
 which after rains afforded miniature ponds for the boys to sail 
 
7 8 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 their improvised rafts, and which were also the universal 
 dumping grounds as well. Even from the high ground of Cen- 
 tral Park the squatters had not yet all fled, and goats were 
 still silhouetted on the rocky hills just as they continued to be 
 seen for many a year as the onward progress of the town 
 drove them northward. We passed through the low-lying, 
 straggling settlement of Harlem, where in after years I was to 
 begin my professional career and find my wife, beloved part- 
 ner of my joys and sorrows through all these many years. 
 
 The first real sense of relief and assured freedom came to 
 me as we sped over the Harlem River. I was now fairly 
 away from Manhattan Island, out of the town and in the 
 broad, beautiful country. Soon we came to the Bronx, not 
 then as now, a dirty stream, contaminated by the touch of a 
 dense population, but still retaining all its primal, limpid pur- 
 ity. The hand of autumn was just beginning to touch the 
 leaves of the trees and in full measure I gloried in these re- 
 minders of what I had enjoyed and what I was again to enjoy 
 after six months of hot pavements and dusty streets. After 
 getting to New Canaan I felt somewhat as a man who has 
 seen the world returning to his native town. I was conscious 
 of a new touch of importance, as if I had advanced a grade. 
 In the little thing that I had attempted I had certainly made 
 good, and by just so much better fitted for the steps in life 
 before me, whatever they were to be. All such experiences 
 alter one's perspective. The point of view is not exactly the 
 same. The vision had enlarged, as shown by a purely physical 
 illustration. The next morning I accompanied my mother to 
 my uncle's store, so familiar to me through all my boyish 
 years. It was the same, yet not the same. Everything had 
 contracted. The building was narrower and shorter, the ceil- 
 ing, very low, and as I remarked this, my cousin, the pro- 
 prietor, in a tone that seemed to resent any such insinuation, 
 replied that he guessed that it was big enough. The clerks, 
 too, seemed less important, and I noted, also, that their dress 
 appeared more common and slovenly than before I went away. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 FOR a year after returning home I was an assistant to my 
 father in the school. It seems to me that I was not a 
 particularly good teacher, but I do not recall that any 
 such suggestion was ever made. On the other hand, he never 
 specially commended me, so it may perhaps be inferred that 
 I did about as well as the average. I am sure, however, that 
 I was not nearly as thorough as was he. Occasionally I was 
 left alone to carry on the exercises. At such times the wheels 
 of the curriculum rolled with unaccustomed speed, and to the 
 great delight of the boys, when they found that this stirring 
 up of activities meant an earlier release and a longer time for 
 play. I was very much of a boy, little older than some whom 
 I taught, and was quite as glad as they to get out of doors. 
 What tricks memory plays us. The events of my life before 
 and after this time, the year that I spent in teaching before 
 going away from home, were fairly well engraven upon my 
 mind, as has and will be seen, but the doings and remem- 
 brances of this particular year have mostly faded from my 
 recollection. Almost every incident connected with this year 
 of useful work has been buried in oblivion, and yet some long- 
 forgotten acquaintances come to my mind. 
 
 The Episcopal rector then was a Mr. Williams. He was, 
 I should say, under thirty, a tall, manly-looking man. I 
 thought him a fine preacher and as he was fond of having me 
 come to his study and talk, treating me in all respects as an 
 equal. I felt quite flattered. I had aspirations and was glad 
 to encourage them by contact with an older and superior mind. 
 One Christmas day I remember well. The church had been 
 beautifully decorated, and in helping the girls of the parish in 
 the work, I first appreciated strongly the attractions of sex, 
 and to this day the odor of the Christmas pines suggests the 
 boyish romance or romantic stirrings of these early days. In 
 the evening Mr. Williams preached what seemed to me a most 
 eloquent and moving sermon. His sonorous tones and many 
 gestures deeply affected me, and I gave him the credit of high 
 eloquence. In the light of more mature years, however, as I 
 
 79 
 
80 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 look back and recall dimly some of the things he said and 
 especially about himself, I am constrained to put him in not 
 quite such an exalted position and to account for his influence 
 over me more by his self-assertiveness and physical superiority 
 than by any extraordinary mental attainment. He had the en- 
 dowment of personality, but it was more the physical than the 
 intellectual or spiritual, if I do not misjudge him. 
 
 I recall with a smile an incident that occurred about this 
 time. My mother and I happened to be alone in the big house 
 one night, when a little after midnight I was awakened by 
 something pattering against the window-pane and by voices 
 softly calling. I arose, went to the window, and looking down, 
 distinguished several of the neighbors, one of them being my 
 old friend, Joe Silliman. They whispered up that they believed 
 there were burglars in the house, and as I visualize them now 
 as I saw them then, grasping their weapons, one with a pitch- 
 fork, another with an ax, and the others with equally primi- 
 tive warlike instruments, I smile and smile again. The moon 
 was at its full, and all was bright without, but within all was 
 dark and still. They beckoned me to come down and let them 
 in. Now my later belief is, and probably it was my belief even 
 then, that it is better not to force thieves from your house in 
 the middle of the night. They have every advantage and you 
 must go to work cautiously and not make yourself a shining 
 light for attack, and so I hesitated to go out into the dark hall 
 and down the dark stairs with thieves in waiting to take my 
 blood. As I hesitated, one of those outside asked me if I was 
 armed. What a question to bolster up one's waning courage. 
 I acknowledged falteringly that I was not. They urged me 
 to come down and let them in, and so rather hesitatingly, not 
 wishing to seem cowardly in their eyes, I opened the door, 
 and groped my way blindly through the wide, dark hall, down 
 the stairs to the front door. I got through unscathed, and 
 opening the door, met my rescuers, standing as if in battle 
 array with weapons ready for immediate execution. After a 
 short parley, they all entered and I hunted up a candle. The 
 grim search began, but in going over the house from garret 
 to cellar, we found no trace of burglars. It now occurred to 
 me to ask them why they thought there were thieves in the 
 house. The explanation was simple. The servants who slept 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 81 
 
 on the first floor in the rear heard noises as if someone was 
 trying to take out a pane of glass, and in their unreasoning 
 terror they rushed out of the back door in their nightdresses 
 and made for the nearest house with a blood-curdling tale that 
 burglars had broken into the house and might murder us all. 
 I may add that throughout the acting of this bit of farce, my 
 mother slept peacefully, a silent tribute to our stealthy doings. 
 Not long after I gave up my position in New York, I had 
 occasion to go back to town for a day. I went into the store 
 to see my brother, and was greeted cordially by the salesmen. 
 I wanted to write a letter and was given pen and paper, and, 
 very much at home, began to write in the rear of the store. I 
 was interrupted by the approach of Mr. Black. His look was 
 far from cordial and he abruptly said, "I shouldn't think you'd 
 make this your headquarters after the way you left us," and 
 turned away. Perhaps it would have been just as well if I 
 had not made myself quite so much at home. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 1WAS now seventeen years old and my father finally agreed 
 to a college career for me. I preferred Yale, and as a 
 second choice Trinity, but Kenyon was finally selected. 
 The reasons for the selection of Kenyon were, I think, these: 
 Yale would be perhaps too demoralizing, and Kenyon was 
 then what was termed a Low Church institution, which quite 
 suited my father's idea of churchmanship. Aside from that, 
 he had known the president of the college when he was super- 
 intendent of the schools of Ohio, and greatly admired him. 
 His name was Lorin Andrews. I have a small picture of this 
 man taken in the crude manner of the time. It has been in 
 my possession since the year 1858. During these years I have 
 taken absolutely no care of it. In all my movings there was 
 no thought of it, and while many things have disappeared 
 which I would give much to possess again, this picture of the 
 good president has refused to be lost. He was one of the 
 first to offer his services to his country in the Civil War, and 
 within a few months died of disease. 
 
 It was in the autumn of 1857 tnat Wlt ^ m Y father and 
 mother I joyfully started to enter what was to me another 
 world. A new trunk was bought and in it was packed my out- 
 fit for the coming year, with all the care and completeness of 
 which a mother is capable, for I was not expected to return 
 home until the long summer vacation of 1858. There were 
 no sleeping cars in those days, but the seats were very com- 
 fortable, with head rests, and we got along very well. We 
 went to Cleveland and stopped at the Weddell House over 
 night. On the way we had quite an accident. In the early 
 morning, while going through the town of Corning, we struck 
 a locomotive standing in our way and sent it flying rapidly 
 down the track. Fortunately the steam gave out before it 
 met any approaching train. We were not so fortunate. Our 
 locomotive and baggage car were derailed, resulting in the 
 death of the engineer, while the baggage car with its contents 
 was pretty well smashed, including my trunk. Fortunately 
 it had a stout canvas covering which preserved my clothes in 
 
 82 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 83 
 
 good measure. We bought a new trunk, repacked it, and by 
 afternoon were again on our way. From Cleveland we took 
 the train south for Gambier, or rather Mount Vernon, and 
 thence five miles to the college town. 
 
 Never shall I forget the pleasing impression made by the 
 little town of Gambier. The stately old college, with a few 
 other buildings nestled together on the commanding site of 
 Gambier Hill, made up a charming picture of rural and scho- 
 lastic simplicity. The venerable college had and still has a 
 veritable old-time English setting. It is a massive Gothic 
 structure of stone, one hundred and sixty feet long and three 
 stories high, with solid stone walls, four and one-half feet 
 thick at the basement, and is surmounted by a spire one hun- 
 dred and ten feet high. Two-thirds of a mile away, the two 
 connected by a broad walk called the Middle Path, is Bexley 
 Hall, the theological seminary, and architecturally as beauti- 
 ful as the old college itself. Other buildings there were, too, 
 Rosse Chapel, Ascension Hall, Milnor Hall. The plateau on 
 which the college and village are situated rises about two 
 hundred feet above the valley of the Kokosing River, which 
 flows around it on three sides. 
 
 This institution of Bishop Chase, its founder, has an inter- 
 esting history. Early in the nineteenth century the bishop 
 went to England to collect funds for its endowment. Various 
 eminent men in this country were interested, and notably 
 Henry Clay. The bishop was received abroad with favor, 
 and returned with forty thousand dollars, a large sum for that 
 time. This explains the English names. The town is named 
 for Lord Gambier, Kenyon for Lord Kenyon, Bexley Hall for 
 Lord Bexley, and Rosse Chapel for Lady Rosse. With this 
 forty thousand dollars the bishop immediately purchased eight 
 thousand acres of land and proceeded to erect the college 
 building. This was in 1828. Ohio was a western state, 
 sparsely inhabited, with its pioneer settlers mostly living in 
 log cabins. The Indians roamed freely about, but were as a 
 rule harmless. Can anyone imagine anything more incongru- 
 ous than this stately old building suddenly going up in the 
 wilderness where Indians still roamed and wild animals had 
 their home? The rude inhabitants wondered and speculated as 
 it began to rise on its foundations. This happened not so very 
 
84 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 long after the war of 1812, and it was rumored, so the story 
 goes, that the English had bought this land and that the build- 
 ing was to be in reality a fort for their benefit on some future 
 occasion. Then followed the other buildings in excellent taste 
 and design, and the romance of Kenyon College began, for 
 about the old institution there is a certain romance lovingly 
 held by all her sons. It is different from other small colleges 
 of its kind, different in its history, its beginnings, its setting 
 and local charm. There is a quaintness about the buildings of 
 1828 that is neither seen nor felt in the later and perhaps 
 smarter acquisitions. Some years ago, for the first time in 
 nearly half a century, I revisited my Alma Mater. Various 
 fine new buildings had been erected since my time, but I had 
 eyes only for dear old Kenyon. 
 
 To return to that October day in 1857, the day of my 
 arrival. We put up at Riley's Tavern, where a good many 
 of the college boys took their meals. I observed them with 
 interest, but they seemed to take no notice of me. I was not 
 even to enter as a freshman, but had yet before me two years 
 of preparatory work. Two years ago I met at Pittsburgh one 
 of those old college boys, Jack Harper by name. I had not 
 seen him for fifty years, but he well remembered my entry on 
 the scene of Kenyon life. At the dinner I was sitting by my 
 mother, he tells me, and after finishing my pie I asked her if 
 I could not have another piece. I, of course, remember noth- 
 ing about this, but the incident gave to me, in Harper's mind, 
 an immortal remembrance. The acquisition of a new student 
 in those days was a matter of congratulation, especially one 
 coming from so great a distance. We dined, I remember, with 
 Professor Lang, and at the president's house met a number 
 of the professors. 
 
 Imagine a student in these days going to Yale or Harvard 
 thus being taken notice of by the faculty! A boarding place 
 was found for me in the house of Rev. Mr. Strong, employed 
 by the church to travel and preach in its interests. His main 
 duty was to seek out worthy, poor young men and induce them 
 to study for the ministry. These men were called "bene- 
 ficiaries." Some succeeded in getting an education gratis, and 
 then failed to carry out their contract, entering on a secular 
 career. It seems to me that the system was all wrong, and I 
 
Hi 
 
 M 
 
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 o 
 
 w 
 M 
 
 Q 
 
 Hi 
 
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YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 85 
 
 imagine that it has been in a good measure abandoned. The 
 ministry is already too well-filled with mediocre men, due 
 partially to the fact that the ministry is generally decided upon 
 when the mind is still unformed, and the emotion rather than 
 the reason dominates. Some excellent men were gathered by 
 Father Strong, but I also call to mind some very shabby mate- 
 rial that no amount of education could transform into an 
 adornment of the pulpit. 
 
 The preparatory department of Kenyon College, where I 
 was to spend two years, was in Milnor Hall, long since de- 
 stroyed by fire. Later I left Mrs. Strong's and had my room 
 in the Hall. My roommate at Strong's was an Indian (Mo- 
 hawk) named Oronhyateka, or Burning Sky, but his English 
 name was less euphonious, homely Peter Martin. This name, 
 however, he never used. He claimed to be a chief and a 
 descendant of the famous Brant. Indeed he was in possession 
 of a tomahawk which he claimed had come down to him from 
 that celebrated chieftain. Oronhyateka was a large, splendid- 
 looking fellow, but entirely lacking in the high cheek bone 
 and some other characteristics of the full-blooded Indian. 
 Nothing, however, more excited his wrath than to suggest such 
 a thing. What a head he had ! It was so large that he could 
 buy no ready-made hat to fit him. He had a quick wit and a 
 memory that was phenomenal, so that in a pinch when he had 
 failed to get his Latin or Greek, five minutes' reading from a 
 "pony" would enable him to pass as readily as any of the 
 others. Like a true Indian he was fond of jokes and was not 
 slow in perpetrating them. Next to us roomed a man named 
 Humphrey. One evening Oronhyateka came in rather late 
 and proceeded to perpetrate a joke on his neighbor. In the 
 meantime, however, a man named Marsh and his wife had 
 arrived from Boston, and taken possession of Humphrey's 
 room. Our Indian, all unaware of the change, grabbed his 
 tomahawk, and crawled on hands and knees, to "scare 
 Humphrey." The moon was shining brightly and as Oron- 
 hyateka suddenly arose with weapon in hand to utter his war 
 whoop, a female voice exclaimed, "Who's there?" Oron- 
 hyateka, taken by surprise, faltered out, "Doesn't Mr. 
 Humphrey room here?" and incontinently fled. Mr. Marsh 
 through it all slept on, but as he was a man of great strength 
 
86 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 and determination, as I found later, there might have been a 
 serious tussle had he awakened. Oronhyateka was crestfallen 
 enough, and vented a large amount of abuse on me for not 
 telling him of the changed conditions. 
 
 In the hot summer days a favorite peculiarity of Oron- 
 hyateka was to study with his feet in a tub of cold water. He 
 wore a long tail coat of ancient type which had seen much 
 service. Our house was about a quarter of a mile from Mil- 
 nor Hall, the bell of which rang five minutes before morning 
 prayers. On many occasions we were yet in bed when the bell 
 began to ring and yet we succeeded in getting into our clothes 
 and covering that quarter of a mile in the allotted five minutes. 
 One morning, however, we were not so fortunate. We had 
 almost reached the goal, but I was a little behind, and stretch- 
 ing out my hand grabbed my companion's coat tail. He 
 forged ahead. There was a sound of ripping and one of the 
 tails of the rotten coat was left in my hand. We suddenly 
 halted, one tail hanging in its place, but revealing a patch 
 where the other tail should have hung. Oronhyateka's indig- 
 nation was great, almost unspeakable, greater even than when 
 I allowed him to go into Humphrey's room and play wild In- 
 dian, — and if he had had at hand his great ancestor's weapon, 
 he might have brained and scalped me then and there. 
 
 It is perhaps unnecessary to say that prayers went on with- 
 out us that morning, while we sadly wended our way home- 
 ward. During a recent visit to Kenyon, I walked over the 
 same road and halted almost at the exact spot of the episode 
 and could see, as if with the eye of yesterday, every detail of 
 the ludicrous happening. After graduation Oronhyateka de- 
 clined to study for the ministry and went to his home in 
 Canada. About this time the Prince of Wales came here and 
 in the course of his wanderings visited this Indian tribe, on 
 which occasion Oronhyateka was selected to make the speech 
 of welcome. The Prince was so well pleased that under his 
 auspices he was sent to Oxford, where he spent two years. 
 Returning home he studied medicine, but as he. admitted to 
 me years later he humbugged the people, who thought him, as 
 an Indian, possessed of special knowledge of the efficacy of 
 herbs. He finally became the head of the Royal Order of 
 Foresters, with headquarters at Toronto, Canada. Almost 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 87 
 
 everybody in the Provinces, as I found, had heard of Oronhy- 
 ateka, but not all by any means favorably. With what meas- 
 ure of justice some measure of disparagement was connected 
 with his name, I cannot say. That he was to a certain extent 
 a charlatan cannot be doubted, but he possessed abilities and 
 graces, too, not always directed to the highest end. 
 
 After a stay of six months at Mr. Strong's I took quarters 
 at Milnor Hall for the last eighteen months' preparation. 
 As I remember them they were exceedingly pleasant months, 
 and yet the details of my stay there are not altogether clear 
 to my mind. I can yet see the old classroom and the compact, 
 vigorous form of Mr. Lathrop, the principal, and can call to 
 mind various forms and faces as I saw them from day to day. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE Christmas vacation saw me on the way to Milan, 
 Ohio, to visit my uncle, Philo Comstock and family. 
 I had heard so much about them and the place from 
 my mother that I was delighted to go. In 1828, my mother, 
 then a girl of sixteen, and this brother, some years older, 
 went to Milan, Ohio, to settle upon land owned by the family. 
 This land was given to my great-grandfather Comstock for 
 services rendered the soldiers of the Revolution. They 
 started from New Canaan, going by sloop from Norwalk to 
 New York, and thence up the Hudson to Albany. From 
 Albany they went by canal boat to Buffalo, by stage through 
 the wilderness to Cleveland, and then to Norwalk, fifty miles 
 further on. Thus leaving one Norwalk in Connecticut, they 
 finally, after a month or more of journeying, reached 
 a still more primitive Norwalk in Ohio. While the farm was 
 in Norwalk, but some four miles distant from its village, it 
 was only a mile and a half from Milan, so the family always 
 went to church there, did their shopping and had their social 
 relations there. In the time of my mother, however, this 
 region was the far West, and it is interesting to note that 
 their little four room frame house was the only one of its 
 kind in all that region. The settlers were widely scattered and 
 lived in log houses. This experience might seem hard now, 
 but I have often thought of its rich and varied compensation. 
 The two thus starting out together were young and in high 
 health. The world was all before them and they found new 
 sights and scenes. The sail down the Sound then was almost 
 equal to a trip to Europe now; and how they must have 
 reveled in the grand and rugged scenery of the Hudson and in 
 the pastoral beauty along its banks as they emerged from its 
 rocky fastnesses. I can imagine them looking wonderingly at 
 the far-away, beautiful Catskills, not yet rendered increasingly 
 famous by the creation of Rip Van Winkle. Albany must 
 have been a little town, yet a city to their eyes. The Erie 
 Canal had been but recently completed and on this new kind 
 of communication they embarked to cover slowly the miles 
 
 88 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 89 
 
 through what had once been and was still in great measure the 
 pathless woods. It was an experience that my mother, the 
 young girl Betty, never forgot. She was never tired of telling 
 about it and how they wandered in the woods along the sides 
 of the canal, happy as the day was long in joys and anticipa- 
 tions. She stayed with her brother two years until his 
 marriage, when at the age of eighteen she returned home, 
 and two years later married my father. These two years 
 were years of work for both of them, but she enjoyed the 
 rough life. She did not, however, so much enjoy the 
 Indians. They were for the most part an idle, harmless 
 set, but when sometimes looking up from her work, she saw 
 two or three savage faces looking in, with their noses flattened 
 against the window, it was no pleasing sensation. There were 
 wild-cats, wolves, and bears, and the howling of the wolves 
 around the house at night always alarmed her, especially if 
 alone, as she sometimes was. On one occasion the cattle were 
 stampeded, and, without coming into the house, her brother 
 leaped on a horse and went after them, and was gone three 
 days. During those days and nights she was, of course, alone, 
 to hear the cries of wild animals; and dreary enough the 
 nights must have been, though behind stout doors. 
 
 Another and more pleasing experience was the sight of 
 great flocks of migrating birds and of the gentler inhabitants 
 of the woods and trees. The wild turkeys were plentiful and 
 the pigeons, too. They fairly darkened the earth in their 
 flight. On one occasion she counted sixty wild turkeys on the 
 woodpile in front of her door. 
 
 I am taking liberties with time, so let me leave the third 
 decade of the nineteenth century and return to the closing 
 years of its fifth decade. It found me on my way to Norwalk. 
 I walked the four miles to my uncle's home and in the course 
 of an hour came to the great old-fashioned brick house which 
 for years had occupied the site of the original little frame 
 house. By the barn on the other side of the road I saw a 
 plain farmer-looking man who proved to be my uncle, to whom 
 I introduced myself, and together we went into the house 
 where I made the acquaintance of my aunt and my cousins. 
 The ten days that I spent with them were a pleasant exper- 
 ience. Their ways were naturally quite different from the ways 
 
9 o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 to which I had been accustomed. There was always pie upon 
 the table for breakfast and in other ways the meal was un- 
 usual from my point of view. 
 
 Near the end of my stay the girls gave a party for my bene- 
 fit. The girls and young fellows from the farms around were 
 invited. Their crude, awkward, and rather free ways inter- 
 ested and amused me, and I entered into the fun with so much 
 zest that I quite surprised my relatives. I think they were 
 pleased, for up to that time they had thought me rather quiet, 
 and were in doubt as to whether I was having a good time. 
 
 At the expiration of the first year of study I returned to 
 New Canaan for the summer vacation. As we had an acci- 
 dent going out, so we barely escaped a fearful one on my re- 
 turn. Our train had only time to run onto a side track, liter- 
 ally on the edge of a precipice, when another train thundered 
 by at express speed. What the circumstances were I knew 
 not, but I well remember the ejaculations of astonishment 
 from the passengers and the unchecked and almost excusable 
 profanity of the conductor at someone's blunder which had 
 nearly caused us all to be sent to the bottom of the ravine. 
 My brother met me in New York, and we took the afternoon 
 train for Darien, where we found my father awaiting us. It 
 was, I remember, the day before the Fourth of July. The 
 crowd was so great that we were unable to find seats, and were 
 compelled to stand in the baggage car. I have always remem- 
 bered that drive from Darien to New Canaan. It was fast 
 getting dark, black clouds were forming, the rain began to 
 fall, and soon the darkness became Cimmerian. It was im- 
 possible to see ahead, and we had to leave the horse to his 
 own guidance. Only through the vivid lightning flashes could 
 we form any idea of where we were, although it was all 
 familiar ground. Soon the horse failed us and we found our- 
 selves off the road. Getting out, we groped around, feeling 
 with our hands until we found it. It was soon lost again, 
 and seeing a dim light in a window nearby, we went to the 
 house and were fortunate enough to borrow a lantern which 
 helped us on our way. I was glad to see my mother and the 
 rest of the family, and to be once more at home. 
 
 The Rev. Cook was the rector of the church at that time, and 
 he had two daughters, Mary and Julia, bright amiable girls, 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 91 
 
 with whom I formed an agreeable acquaintance, and to this 
 day whenever I hear the song "A wet sheet and a flowing 
 sea, a wind that follows fast," I think of Julia Cook whom 
 I heard sing it many times. Long years after I again met 
 Mary and her father at Ballston Spa — he an old man and 
 she a gentle, middle-aged spinster. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 VACATION ended, I started on my return to Gambier. 
 The only incident remembered on the way was that in 
 the car bound for New York I again met Stewart L. 
 Woodford, who afterwards became more or less famous. 
 He remembered me, and in the brief conversation I recall 
 he remarked that "We will both be men together." I was 
 eighteen and he was twenty-four, and I imagine that I had 
 said something about the difference in our ages. When young, 
 the space of six years seems very wide, but as we grow older it 
 narrows until the distance seems but trifling. While I never 
 knew him intimately in after years, yet as he fitly said, we 
 would be men together. Yes, men together in the Civil War, 
 men together in the activities of our respective professions, 
 and in the business and social gatherings of the Loyal Le- 
 gion. My two years at Milnor Hall in preparation for col- 
 lege were years of fairly faithful study and quiet enjoyment. 
 The summer vacation of 1 859-1 860 I again spent in New 
 Canaan, and on my return had the company of my friend, 
 Doty, with whom I stopped over at Hobart College at 
 Geneva, New York, for a day. The Alpha Deltas enter- 
 tained us here, and I remember that I was quite pleased when 
 my companion informed me that the boys at Hobart thought 
 I was a good fellow and would be good material to consider 
 for the society. At all events, when I got back to Kenyon and 
 found myself duly installed as a Freshman, I was honored by 
 an election to this good old society, and therein formed 
 friendships that literally have been undying. What simplicity 
 there was in those days, and in these, too, so far as relates 
 to the housing of the society. Among the pictures of fine 
 chapter houses that adorn the walls of Alpha Delta Club- 
 house in New York, ours will be found, substantially the 
 same as in my time. It was small and, for greater secrecy, 
 without windows. Indeed, so careful were we that the outer 
 world should learn nothing of our proceedings, that, if I 
 remember rightly, it was brick-filled. However much we may 
 decry the selection of a certain number of men, who are to 
 
 92 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 93 
 
 be nearer and more friendly to each other than to an equal 
 number of those belonging to other societies, or to no society, 
 I have to confess that my best friends were thus obtained. 
 What sadness comes over me as I peer into the faces of the 
 members of the fraternity as seen in the ancient photographs 
 hanging on my wall. It were better, perhaps, that I should 
 not look at it, but the attraction is irresistible and the flood 
 of emotion excited is a part of the penalty of memory. There 
 is a sweet mournfulness about it all, however, and as I look 
 at the thinned ranks I am reminded that in the order of 
 nature, I, too, shall drop out and soon. Sitting and stand- 
 ing there are all told, seventeen of us there, three living, four- 
 teen dead. Let me recall the characteristics of some of them. 
 First, "Bill" Payne, one of two brothers. He was a bright, 
 good-natured boy of sickly appearance and an inveterate 
 chewer of tobacco. He lived but a few years after he left 
 college, dying of consumption, but not before he had faith- 
 fully served his country for two years in war time. Menden- 
 hall was a big, rather rough, strong fellow, and he, too, died 
 many years ago. I was always prejudiced against him be- 
 cause of the part he took in hazing an inoffensive fellow 
 while in the grammar school. Searight I remember as an 
 amiable man and good student. He suffered an inexplicable 
 attack of conscience which compelled him to resign his mem- 
 bership. We never understood it and always thought him a 
 little queer. He is now dead, but a few years ago a Kenyon 
 man told me that he had met him in Uniontown, Pennsyl- 
 vania, where he had lived all his life. He introduced himself 
 as from Kenyon and was received with courtesy, but the im- 
 pression he made was that of a man of sad and sombre turn 
 of mind, not in harmonious relations with life. 
 
 Murray Davis was a man well worth remembering. Physi- 
 cally he was not very striking, small of stature and rather 
 humble in mien. He would not in any way strike an observer 
 as remarkable, but associated with that far from robust body 
 there was a vigorous mentality and a daring spirit possessed 
 by few of his associates. I remember him best as president 
 of our Nu Phi Kappa literary society. In its debates it was 
 the duty of the presiding officer to sum up the arguments, 
 comment on their force and appropriateness, and decide as to 
 
94 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 the winning side. My admiration for him was unbounded, 
 and in my boyish enthusiasm I thought of him as destined for 
 a great career. His judicial decisions would undoubtedly now 
 seem to be far less profound than they did then, but I think it 
 was the universal feeling among the students that he was 
 their most intellectual representative. Like Payne, Murray 
 Davis was a habitual tobacco-chewer, a habit more in vogue 
 in those days than now. On one of the days devoted to ora- 
 tions in the chapel the venerable bishop of the diocese, 
 Bishop Macllvaine, was present and he occasionally com- 
 mented on the efforts of some of the student orators. When 
 Davis had finished his speech and the bishop had favorably 
 commended it for its literary excellence, he added, "Now, I 
 do not know this young man, but I am quite certain that he 
 chews tobacco. Am I not right?" The answer being in the 
 affirmative, he went on to say that there was a certain tone and 
 a muffling of the voice in a tobacco-chewer that was to him 
 characteristic, and he advised our friend that, if he wished to 
 preserve his health as well as to become a good public speaker, 
 he must quit tobacco. I do not think that the advice bore fruit, 
 for to the end of my acquaintance with him, Davis continued 
 the habit. After his graduation, during the Rebellion, he en- 
 tered the service and attained the rank of colonel. He died 
 a victim of consumption shortly after the war's close and be- 
 fore he had achieved the reputation which his talents and in- 
 dustrious nature would undoubtedly have brought him. In the 
 Alpha Delta Phi Song Book there is a popular song by Davis, 
 entitled "Kenyon," known in all the chapters, which gives him 
 to this day a sort of fraternity fame. 
 
 "Matt" Trimble still lives and his home is in Washington. 
 He was the son of our good old Greek professor. He is de- 
 voted to Kenyon College. I met him while there in 1908, and 
 I understood that it was his habit always to be present on each 
 Commencement season. Kiung is an interesting character, for, 
 though now dead, character is eternal, and the little Chinaman 
 still lives through it. He was studying for the ministry, and 
 was one of the best scholars in his class. He was affectionate, 
 broad-minded, full of humor, and with a keen and ready wit. 
 He was continually giving illustrations of this, one of which 
 just now occurs to me. We found ourselves one evening in the 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 95 
 
 room of a theological student. Kiung was brimful of fun and 
 of puns. Pretending to be tired of it, two of the theologs, as 
 we termed the students for the ministry, grabbed the little 
 fellow and thrust him into a dark closet, saying that he couldn't 
 come out until he had perpetrated a pun. Without a moment's 
 hesitation he shouted "O-pun (open) the door!" It is needless 
 to say that he had earned his release. I well remember his 
 graduation oration on Martin Luther, which was accorded high 
 encomium. After his ordination he went to China and became 
 the successful and well-beloved pastor of the Church of Our 
 Saviour in the city of Shanghai. Some twenty years ago he 
 revisited the United States in the interests of the church in 
 China. At that time my son was a student in the University 
 at Middletown, Conn., where also the Berkeley Divinity School 
 is located. In the cars on the way to New York on one occa- 
 sion my son and a friend were talking about the Young Men's 
 Christian Association. It happened that Kiung, who had been 
 visiting the Berkeley Divinity School, sat immediately behind 
 them. He leaned forward and asked them some pertinent 
 question, when my son, hearing his name, said, "I believe you 
 know my father, Dr. Rockwell." Kiung seemed delighted to 
 hear of an old college-mate and lost no time in coming to see 
 me at my office. He died not many years after his return to 
 China. Jack Harper was a senior when I was a Freshman. 
 It was he who reminded me of the pie story fifty years after 
 the momentous event. A few years ago I met him when re- 
 visiting Kenyon, and about two years ago when in Pittsburgh 
 I met him again and passed a few pleasant hours. He knew 
 Andrew Carnegie well in his earlier days and used to call him 
 "Andy." He was on intimate terms with the Thaw family 
 and seemed to have a certain amount of sympathy for Harry 
 Thaw, who murdered Stanford White. I can still see little 
 Jack Harper walking down the college path. His stride is 
 rather long and his big gold chain sways to and fro as he 
 walks. 
 
 The most striking thing about Doty, to whom I have already 
 referred, was his lovability. Intellectually he was far from bril- 
 liant. He kept abreast of the average of his class only by 
 arduous and conscientious work. His mind did not act very 
 quickly and I think his perception was a little dull, and yet in 
 
96 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 his class and among his companions his personality was one 
 to be reckoned with. Always serene and kind, he was just the 
 man to go to when in trouble ; and a sick friend had no more 
 skillful and patient helper than Doty. When my little room- 
 mate, Caspar Dean, was sick with fever, it was Doty who was 
 always on hand to bathe his face and hands with the tender 
 touch of a woman; and so in time, after he became a parish 
 priest, he was as well beloved as any minister of his time. He 
 long served a church in Waterloo, New York, and for many 
 years was rector of an important parish in Rochester, New 
 York. The good, strong, resonant voice, the beaming face, 
 and ever kindly greeting, as shown in the strong handclasp, 
 were effective assets that made up for the lack of exceptional 
 intellectual strength. It was these characteristics, rather than 
 scholarship, that brought him his title of Doctor of Divinity, 
 and that made him so beloved, and his ministry so comfort- 
 ing and useful. Although I considered him rather mediae- 
 val in his theology, Doty always kept a warm place in my 
 heart. To him The Church was everything. I remember 
 meeting him after a very long interval, and one of the first 
 questions he asked me was where I went to church. When I 
 told him that my family was attending a place of worship other 
 than the Episcopal, he asked if my children were baptised in 
 the church, and when I told him no, but that I imagined that 
 they would get to heaven quite as readily as if they had been, 
 he seriously replied, "Perhaps so." He was, of course, a high 
 churchman, and so I repeated to him the little rhyme : 
 
 "Broad and hazy, Low and lazy." 
 
 At this Doty was amused, but when I added the last line, 
 
 "High and crazy " 
 
 the smile faded from his face. Good old Doty (for he was the 
 senior of the most of us by several years), you, too, left us a 
 decade ago, but the memory of you is sweet and I well know 
 the host of mourners you left among those you served so well. 
 George Mann was from Virginia and became a judge at Gal- 
 veston, Texas. I never saw him after Kenyon days, but re- 
 member him as a fine, virile fellow and well liked by everyone. 
 Naturally he entered the Confederate service, and became a 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 97 
 
 captain in the Third Virginia Cavalry. He was very bright, 
 and also very lively and gay. One thing I remember well, that 
 no matter how many and how frequent his escapades, he never 
 forgot to say his prayers before getting into bed. 
 
 Alexander Viets Griswold Allen, or "Viets," as we all lov- 
 ingly called him, was unquestionably the most scholarly and 
 in after life became the most distinguished man of the group. 
 He studied theology at Bexley Hall and finished his course at 
 Andover, Mass. He became professor of Church History in 
 the Episcopal Seminary at Cambridge, and to the time of his 
 death a few years ago was the leading exponent of the Broad 
 Church idea and a theological writer and lecturer of wide 
 renown. In a letter to me he said, "How well I remember the 
 first time I met you at Gambier." I do not remember this first 
 meeting, but I do remember many others and how intimate our 
 association was. When he first came from Vermont to Kenyon, 
 he was a shy, gentle lad, and I recall the soft, silky, reddish 
 whiskers encircling his face, and the reason they were so ex- 
 ceptionally soft was because he had never put a razor to his 
 face. It was in my room that he indulged in his first smoke, 
 and therefore I am, I suppose, partially responsible for the 
 firm and excessive habit that controlled him for so many years. 
 I became aware of this when in 1872 he first visited me in my 
 home in Harlem. He was then unmarried and I can see him 
 now laughing in amusement as he sat opposite watching me 
 dandle my first-born on my knee. He was then smoking ex- 
 cessively, and I warned him, but it did no good. He died of 
 heart disease, and although he was well along in years, I can- 
 not but believe that tobacco had something to do with his sub- 
 sequent heart failure. As he wrote his various books, he us- 
 ually sent me copies. His most profound work, of course, was 
 "The Continuity of Christian Thought," which gave him high 
 repute both here and abroad. When the Archbishop of Can- 
 terbury visited this country some years ago, many clergymen 
 were presented to him at a reception, Allen among the num- 
 ber. When he had passed on someone remarked to the Arch- 
 bishop, "That is the author of 'The Continuity of Christian 
 Thought.' " "Is that 'Continuity Allen'?" replied the Arch- 
 bishop, and, crossing the room, he spoke to Allen and told him 
 that his book was the most frequently consulted book in his 
 
9 8 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 library. I can imagine the characteristic blush that immedi- 
 ately suffused the features of the modest and retiring Allen at 
 this high compliment. His "Life of Jonathan Edwards," in 
 the theological series, is a notable biography, superior in the 
 method of treatment and literary style to most of the others. 
 His "Life of Phillips Brooks" is also fine in every way, and it 
 is a pleasure to me to know that one of my dearest friends 
 should be the author of the life-record of this great spiritual 
 force in this world of greed and gain. 
 
 When on one occasion he came to New York to see Mrs. 
 Arthur Brooks, to get manuscript and other data, we had one 
 of those little dinners together that were so delightful. "It is 
 going to be a great book," he said, referring mainly to the 
 greatness of the subject and his wealth of material. As illus- 
 trating the character of our friendship and also his affectionate 
 nature, I give the two letters that passed between us relative 
 to the book : 
 
 25 East 44th Street, 
 Sept. 30th, 1903. 
 My dear Viets : 
 
 How many there are, I wonder, who call the distinguished 
 A. V. G. Allen, D.D., plain "Viets"? Not many, I fancy, and 
 few can now go back with you to the time when this was the 
 accepted designation of your personality among your friends; 
 so I still love to call you Viets and am moved to say a word 
 to you. 
 
 Some years ago while in New York getting data for the 
 Life of Phillips Brooks, you remarked that the book would 
 be great. I knew well what you meant, that it would be a great 
 biography because of the wealth of material at your hand and 
 the greatness of the subject. Whenever we met I have always 
 felt a little ashamed that I was unable to say that I have really 
 read the book. Many reviews and extracts I had indeed read, 
 besides the book was so big that I was always putting off its 
 perusal until a more convenient season. So much work to do 
 and so little time in which to do it. You know all about this. 
 
 Well, I have at last read the book, both volumes, from cover 
 to cover. I have been a month about it, and can truly say 
 that it has been a month of unalloyed satisfaction. It has been 
 both a literary treat and a help to the soul. It is a great biog- 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 99 
 
 raphy, not only because of the greatness of the man himself, 
 but because of the way you have treated the subject. Even if 
 you had written nothing else, this alone would have established 
 your reputation; and so we are all greatly indebted to you for 
 having used so well the rare opportunity of giving to the world 
 such a book. It seems to me if young men could be induced 
 generally to read it, it would do more to uplift and establish 
 character than most educational methods. In reading Mrs. 
 Humphry Ward's introduction to the "Journal of Amiel," a 
 passage which I marked was to the effect that in the circle of 
 life, "the nearer and nearer we get to the end, the closer are 
 we to the beginning." In my own experience I see this exem- 
 plified in the delight with which I revert to the events of long 
 ago, to my army life, to college days and college friends, to the 
 incidents of childhood, and more especially in the love for little 
 children, accentuated undoubtedly by that blessed grandchild of 
 mine; and finally the desire and tendency to realize again 
 something of the religious life of an earlier time. I cannot of 
 course believe many things as I did then, but the assurance is 
 clear to me that the essential religion about which I read so 
 much does not require this. 
 
 "Why did you not come and take that dinner with me on 
 your return from Washington? I trust the next time you get 
 this way you will manage to get to my house and put your feet 
 under my table. You have eluded me too long. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 A. D. Rockwell. 
 
 Cambridge, October 3rd, 1903. 
 My very dear Friend : 
 
 Thank you for a beautiful letter which I value and appre- 
 ciate highly. I am so glad that you have read my book, and 
 that having read you were moved to tell me you like it. And 
 your remarks on the old days appeal to me strongly. You 
 and W. W. Taylor of Cincinnati are the only ones left now 
 who can speak freely of the old days, when we were young 
 and making our first friendships. How I can recall the visits 
 you made to the "Bull's Eye" in Kenyon and the first time I 
 saw you. What enthusiasm we had, what courage as we looked 
 into the future or calculated our horoscopes. How happy we 
 
ioo RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 were and how lightly responsiblities rested upon us. How old 
 and matured we were too, and now that future then hidden from 
 us has become unrolled and become our past. In the survey 
 the things most vivid are those early associations. You and I 
 must cherish them. They exist for us, but not for the world. 
 When I come to New York again I will try hard to arrange 
 things so that I can go to your home and see you under your 
 own roof. Once before I did so when you were living in a 
 town with a famous name, Milan, in Ohio. I did not know, 
 then, I suppose, of any other or greater Milan, so I will hope 
 to come soon. 
 
 I am to deliver a lecture in New York this winter, before 
 the Union Seminary, but the date is not fixed and the work in 
 the school in Cambridge may make my visit a very short one. 
 At least I will try to see you. But next June I look forward 
 to a longer time in New York. Thank you and your dear wife 
 for so kind and cordial an invitation. 
 
 And I see they have elected Greer Bishop Coadjutor of 
 the great Diocese of New York. He was in the Seminary at 
 Gambier for two years while I was there. I remember him 
 as wearing long hair, curled up underneath and well oiled. You 
 may recall the fashion, but even then it had gone by. We 
 elected him to the Phi Beta Kappa, but he declined because he 
 had scruples against secret societies. How he has changed 
 since then, when he was also as narrow a pietistic evangelical 
 as you and I were. It is something to have lived and have 
 seen all these and other changes. 
 
 Good-bye. Thank you again for your kindest of letters. 
 
 Ever most affectionately, 
 
 Alex. V. G. Allen. 
 
 The life of Allen has recently been written by his friend and 
 pupil, the Rev. Dr. Slattery, rector of Grace Church in this 
 city, and is a worthy tribute to one of the best of men and 
 friends. 
 
 Professor Benjamin Lang was our professor of mathematics 
 and a character. Kindly, yet oftentimes brusque, he was easily 
 approached and would do almost anything in reason for one 
 he liked, but if he disliked another he could be harsh to the 
 point of discourtesy. He chewed tobacco and had asthma, a 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 101 
 
 most unfortunate combination, and yet I have always had a 
 warm place in my heart for Professor Lang. I myself was a 
 poor hand at mathematics, and the professor, seeing this, was 
 always most patient, kind and considerate. In other studies 
 I stood fairly well, but in mathematics I was below the aver- 
 age. And here I am led to the confession of a deed not to be 
 justified. He wrote my father a letter and gave it to me to 
 mail — blind confidence. I surmised that it had something to 
 do with my poor showing in algebra, and on opening the letter, 
 found this to be true. I destroyed the letter, and so my father 
 had no news of this kind to worry over, if indeed it was worth 
 worrying over. I did the worrying, for my conscience was not 
 at ease for some time thereafter. The professor was a fine 
 mathematician and an excellent teacher, and his irritability was 
 due to poor health. Finally he gave up his professorship and 
 sought employment in Washington. He obtained some gov- 
 ernment position through young Stanton, my classmate, son of 
 the secretary of war. About 1870 he came to see me at my 
 office in New York, on his way to spend his declining years 
 with relatives in the far West. 
 
 John Kendrick was a seminary student and considerably 
 older than the rest of us. I did not know him, of course, as 
 well as I knew the others, for I was but a freshman and he a 
 theolog. I remember him, however, as a courteous, charming 
 man whom we were glad to have with us. In later life he 
 became a bishop, and as such he came to Flushing a few years 
 ago and preached in St. George's Church. It was well nigh 
 half a century since last I had seen him. Ah, what changes 
 fifty years bring about. Instead of the sandy-haired and 
 sandy-whiskered young man of other days, I saw before me a 
 man truly venerable in every respect. His hair and whiskers 
 were snowy white, but he appeared vigorous. After the serv- 
 ices I made my way into the vestry and, offering my hand, 
 said: "Bishop, I do not know whether you will remember me 
 but I was at Kenyon and my name is Rockwell." I did feel a 
 doubt as to whether he could recall me, but without hesitation 
 he grasped my hand in both of his and exclaimed, "Know you, 
 I guess I do." He seemed delighted to meet me again and I 
 was equally well pleased to meet him. Soon afterwards I 
 read that he had fallen in the street of one of the towns in the 
 
102 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 far West and had immediately expired. He too served his 
 country during the Civil War as adjutant of the Thirty-third 
 Ohio Infantry. 
 
 He who looks at John North in the group alluded to will 
 see a man of sturdy frame and equally sturdy intellect. Per- 
 haps no man in the college surpassed him in vigorous mental 
 grasp, and I looked for a career for him far above the aver- 
 age. He was a strong and independent thinker, and made 
 light of many of the cherished doctrines and beliefs of the 
 day; but time was not given him to come to full fruition. He 
 entered the army and lost a leg. I do not know how many 
 years he lived afterwards, but he died long, long ago, before 
 he had opportunity to show to the world what he was capable 
 of doing. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THESE men that I have thus written about are only a 
 few whom I well remember and with whom I had more 
 or less pleasant relations in the four years that I spent 
 at Gambier. There was Frank Hurd. He was rather wild 
 and convivial, and several times came near being expelled. 
 He had a club foot, but this did not prevent him from indulg- 
 ing in all sorts of gayeties. He was quite an orator and we in 
 our youthful enthusiasm thought him destined for great foren- 
 sic triumphs. In the presidential campaign, preceding the 
 Civil War and the election of Mr. Lincoln, I heard Frank 
 Hurd, still an undergraduate, make a political speech. He 
 made poetical allusions, spoke of the breaking of the golden 
 bowl, and we thought it very fine. I imagine, however, that 
 it was rather sophomoric and flamboyant, unconnected with 
 much soberness of thought. In after life Hurd was elected 
 to the National Congress, but later I heard little about him. 
 
 Percy Browne, another friend, graduated in the class of 
 '62. He was of a fine poetic type with lofty ideals. Later he 
 became and was for many years rector of a church in Boston, 
 and in summer had a residence on Buzzard's Bay, where he 
 had pleasant social relations with President Cleveland and the 
 poet Gilder. He was a friend of Phillips Brooks, and, of 
 course, of our old mutual friend Viets Allen. He belonged 
 to the romantic school. I do not think he could quite fit in 
 with the actualities of life, and was in a measure out of har- 
 mony with the conditions that environed him. I take it that 
 he was not strong of will. As an illustration of how a little 
 thing is long remembered, and of the impression it makes, I 
 recall the time I was serving in the ranks, guarding prisoners 
 at Camp Chase in 1862. Percy was visiting some fine friends 
 in Columbus and drove out to Camp Chase. I see myself 
 standing before the carriage in my common, ill-fitting army 
 suit with shoes much too big for me. I must have been a 
 sight to the gloved and fastidiously clothed young collegian, 
 and it was impossible for him to conceal an expression and a 
 
 103 
 
io 4 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 little laugh of comical derision. There was just a slight super- 
 ficial sting in it, nothing more, and he probably never had an 
 idea that there was any hurt in it. He has my forgiveness for 
 the sake of the rollicking fun I had with him once. It was one 
 evening about nine o'clock when I was a sophomore and he a 
 freshman. I was busily engaged with my studies for the fol- 
 lowing day when in came Percy in a gay and frolicksome 
 mood. He had finished his lessons and was care-free, while 
 mine were all before me. After talking and joking a while 
 I told him of my necessities, but the more I pleaded to be let 
 alone the more he persecuted, joggling the table and turning 
 down the light, until finally, tired of this, he threw himself on 
 our lounge and straightway went fast asleep. Long into the 
 night I was. awakened by his stealthy movements about the 
 room. The fire had gone out and it was cold. I omitted to 
 say that before putting out the light I had not only locked the 
 door, and hidden the key, but had also put the matches away. 
 Pretending to be asleep, I heard him go to the door, which he 
 found locked. He searched but not finding the key he be- 
 thought himself of the matches to light the lamp, evidently 
 disdaining to call for my assistance. Of course, no matches 
 were forthcoming. Furtively I watched him as he stood for a 
 moment meditating on the complexities of the situation. Sud- 
 denly a happy thought seemed to strike him. Drawing a 
 chair to the door, he mounted it, placed both hands in the 
 opening of the transom, drew himself carefully up and placed 
 one foot on the knob of the door. He thought to creep 
 through the transom without awakening me, and thus in a way 
 to triumph over me. Alas for the realization of human ex- 
 pectations ! The knob turned, he lost his footing and his hold, 
 and down he came to the floor with a great crash. All re- 
 straint knocked out of him, he stalked to my bedside, shook 
 me, shouting, "Rockwell, where is the key?" I only snored, 
 and the more violently he shook the more loudly I snored, 
 until finally, restraint being no longer possible, I broke into 
 peals of laughter. I will say this good word for my then 
 thoroughly disgusted friend — he sat patiently until I had 
 laughed myself out, and then silently took the proffered key 
 and as silently stole away. 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 105 
 
 Browne was English, and I know nothing of his forbears, 
 but in his nature he was essentially an aristocrat. He was a 
 poet, too, in a way. He shrank from anything coarse or com- 
 mon. Tennyson's "In Memoriam" had just appeared, and I 
 remember how he adored and quoted it. When my eldest son 
 went to Boston to live for a year or two, I gave him letters both 
 to Allen and to Browne. He was kindly received and hos- 
 pitably entertained by both; however, Allen's nature was too 
 grave and thoughtful to make him companionable to a young 
 fellow. But Browne was able to put himself on the same level 
 and so it was not difficult for them to feel a sort of comrade- 
 ship for each other. 
 
 I might go on indefinitely talking about the acquaintances 
 of old college days, but if I mention no other, I must say a 
 word about Ralph Keeler. Ralph Keeler was a semi-genius 
 at least. Of his antecedents I know nothing, but he was poor 
 and worked his way through college. His cognomen is very 
 familiar. Although at that time I did not know of it, the Rock- 
 well and the Keeler families were connected 'way back in the 
 dim past. There have been many Ralph Keelers, the daughter 
 of my ancestors nine generations back having married one. 
 This Ralph Keeler was a character. He helped to work his 
 way by milking cows, doing chores, indeed in any useful way 
 at hand. His high spirits were perennial. He was a joker and 
 continually up to all sorts of antics. I can see him now danc- 
 ing on moonlight nights upon the college green, with a white 
 handkerchief around his arm to represent the lady, and then 
 to the amusement of the crowd he would dance a jig, with all 
 sorts of fantastic accompaniments. He wrote well, both 
 poetry and prose. He went abroad and wrote interesting ac- 
 counts of his travels embraced in a book entitled "Vagabond 
 Adventures in Europe," or something of that kind. He be- 
 came a warm friend of William Dean Howells. In the lat- 
 ter's reminiscences, he devotes a couple of pages to Keeler, for 
 whom he had a real attachment, in spite of, or perhaps because 
 of, his Bohemian nature. Howells thought very highly of his 
 ability, but warmed to him more because of a certain lovability 
 in the man. Looking back through the mist of the years, I, 
 too, can recall his affectionate, if odd, ways. Alas, poor 
 
106 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Keeler! Many years ago, during the troublous time in Cuba, 
 he embarked for that unhappy island in a reportorial capacity, 
 but never reached Cuba and was never heard of again. The 
 conviction is that he was murdered, but of the details his 
 friends remain in ignorance to this day. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 ABOUT the end of my sophomore year at Kenyon, my 
 father then only fifty-one years of age, was tired of 
 teaching. My mother was still more tired of the labors 
 associated with the care of so many boys. It was decided 
 therefore to discontinue the school. It has always been a 
 wonder to me how my mother could have stood the cares of 
 such a life for so many years. During this time she bore nine 
 children, six of whom grew to manhood. She suffered much 
 serious illness, yet she ever kept her hand on the helm, and 
 much of my father's success, such as it was, was due to her 
 judicious management of the details of the domestic life. 
 With a gross income at the highest of not more than seven 
 thousand dollars a year, and with a family of forty to take 
 care of, it required a careful and calculating mind to make 
 both ends meet and save up a little each year besides. When 
 one considers also that after all these years of toil, there came 
 at last a terrible moment when all these savings were suddenly 
 swept away and life had to be begun again, we, her .children, 
 can appreciate the strain which she and my father endured. 
 My mother looked at the dark side of things. It was tem- 
 peramental, this tendency of hers. It made her very careful, 
 very cautious, and was an excellent foil to my father's over- 
 optimistic and rather free-handed methods, — and so after the 
 great loss, with house mortgaged and with nothing in the 
 bank, they went bravely to work again. Money was saved, 
 and, selling the property to Mr. Gilder who was to continue 
 the school, they moved to Milan, Ohio, in the spring of 1861, 
 the outbreak of the Civil War, bought a fifty-acre farm with 
 a good, comfortable, brick building, and became real tillers 
 of the soil. The place was about a mile from the village and 
 about the same distance from my uncle's farm, where my 
 mother had gone as a young girl some thirty-four years be- 
 fore. I well remember the drawing of the farm sent me. It 
 was the shape of a parallelogram with a small stream running 
 through its length. On it was indicated the relative positions 
 of the dwelling, barns, outhouses, and stream. I shall never 
 
 107 
 
108 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 forget how it appeared to me as an ideally rural spot for a 
 home, where my parents might get a little more of the easy 
 enjoyment out of life than had been their lot in the past. 
 They did enjoy their life there during the next four years; but 
 it was not by any means all ease. They worked hard, espe- 
 cially my father, who with the help of a younger brother did 
 most of the hard work. The time came for me to leave Ken- 
 yon and join the family at the farm. I hated to leave, but the 
 money for my expenses was no longer easily forthcoming and 
 it did not seem right, under the circumstances, to burden the 
 home purse further. So I went to Milan and began the study 
 of medicine in the office of a Doctor Dean. Another brother 
 had recently returned from a trip to England, where he had 
 gone in the interests of what proved to be an unsuccessful busi- 
 ness venture. He came west on a short visit, and met me at 
 the station at Norwalk and drove me home. He regaled me 
 on the way with a very disappointing story in regard to the 
 new place and especially the house. Suddenly he drew up 
 before a little tumble-down building standing near the road 
 and said that this was the house. Unfortunately for his joke, 
 however, I had seen enough of the plans to know better, and 
 with a laugh he drove on. Milan had in the past been a place 
 of considerable importance. It had a canal extending six miles 
 to Lake Erie, and before the day of the railroad the farmers 
 from all the country round brought their grain here to be 
 transported to the lake. Many large warehouses were built 
 and the canal was lined with innumerable wagons filled with 
 produce. With the coming of the railroad and the side-track- 
 ing of Milan- the bustling little town subsided into a pitiful 
 innocuous desuetude, and when I came to the town some four- 
 teen spacious warehouses were empty and going to ruin. Prop- 
 erty was very cheap, my father having paid for his farm of 
 fifty acres, with a fine house, a good barn, etc., but $3,500. 
 
 But what was very much to me then, the society was good 
 and I formed the acquaintance of a circle of bright girls, so 
 that, after all, the years there represented the romantic period 
 of my life. There was Lina Colton and her petite and charm- 
 ing cousin Annie Colton, of Toledo. There was the bright, 
 joyous, witty Annette Taylor, daughter of Judge Taylor, with 
 his white beard and hair, who always reminded me of General 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 109 
 
 Lee, Harriet Ingersoll, with her beautiful blonde hair, — red 
 if you will — who played the piano so divinely, as we thought. 
 I must not forget Annie Gordon, who was vivacity itself. 
 The heart was impressionable in those days. At times I 
 thought I loved them all, but laughing Annette Taylor lingers 
 longest in my thoughts. How many pleasant rides we had 
 together, and how many agreeable hours we passed with each 
 other and with groups of our friends. And yet there never 
 was a word of love or a caress. My father, seeing how much 
 my attention was engaged, took occasion to sound a word of 
 warning, since it would be years before I would be in any posi- 
 tion to marry. After we had been acquainted about a year, 
 Annette went on a long, long visit to Leavenworth, Kansas, 
 where she became engaged and finally married. She died 
 many years ago leaving four children. I wonder whatever 
 became of them. I, too, have four children. How the seem- 
 ingly accidental happenings of life change the currents of 
 events. Truly the world is under the domain of an inexorable 
 law, and humanity is as a child in its grasp. "Whatever is, is 
 right." What a text for a sermon. The channel is good in 
 which my life has flowed and is still flowing, and I am su- 
 premely happy and satisfied. This was the one pure and 
 healthy romance of my life before the second, which resulted 
 in my years of confidence and happy living, and a quartette of 
 well-loved and loving children. I am content. 
 
 Almost immediately (1861) I entered the office of Dr. 
 Dean and began the study of medicine. As a matter of fact 
 I could almost as well have studied at home. I simply used 
 his office in which to read, and in return for the use of his 
 books would do any little service that the occasion called for. 
 I read diligently, however, and soon got a smattering of 
 anatomy, physiology, materia medica, and an insight into the 
 various diseases. I did not get much practical experience, 
 however. Sometimes the doctor would ask me to accompany 
 him to assist in some slight operation, but I always enjoyed 
 the ride more than the surgery, for which I had no liking. 
 One day we passed a flock of ducks that followed us with their 
 eternal quacking, and the doctor wondered whether it was 
 meant for him or me. Dr. Dean was as kind a man as I ever 
 knew, and I think of him always with affection. Later on, 
 
no RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 actuated by true patriotism and a desire to serve his fellows, 
 he entered the army as an assistant surgeon, and in a very 
 short time, before ever having seen active service in the field, 
 he was taken with typhoid fever and died, leaving a wife and 
 three young daughters, as well as a son who for a few months 
 had been my roommate at Kenyon. 
 
 Within sight of the office where I studied there was a little 
 red house in which a family by the name of Edison had lived, 
 but some years before had left Milan and gone to De- 
 troit. Dr. Dean had been their family physician. Thomas 
 A. Edison, the great inventor, was born there. The family 
 were not very well off financially, but were good people. 
 
 When the fall of 1861 arrived and I had read with more 
 or less care the most useful books in the doctor's library, I 
 thought I would help out the family purse by teaching through 
 the coming winter. It was necessary that I should pass an 
 examination and get a certificate. The examining board met 
 in a little town about five miles away, and harnessing the horse 
 I drove out alone and presented myself in due form. For- 
 tunately for me, I think, the most influential member of the 
 board was a Mr. Newman, the principal of the high school 
 at Milan. We had often talked together and I think he 
 rather liked me. At all events we talked about books and 
 were congenial, as well as men of greatly different ages could 
 be. I had failed to brush up my long-neglected studies along 
 elementary lines, such as geography, grammar, arithmetic, 
 and was conscious of making a poor fist of it in comparison 
 with some of the country lads and lasses present. So I have 
 always had an idea that my good friend Newman strained a 
 point and let me pass, where a stricter censor might perhaps 
 have been justified in holding me up. 
 
 The following winter of district school teaching was a novel 
 episode in my life, if not especially interesting or enjoyable, 
 and yet I look back at this experience as a training of some 
 value. The schoolhouse was about a mile and a half or two 
 miles directly on the road beyond our farm, and I was told 
 that there were some pretty bad boys there, especially three 
 brothers, who might give me trouble. They had indeed made 
 the life of the former teacher miserable, and I, therefore, 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD in 
 
 looked forward to my first day's experience in a rather dis- 
 turbed state of mind, but nothing serious happened. 
 
 I took my lunch to school with me and went home at night. 
 Occasionally, however, when the day was very stormy I would 
 accept an invitation to spend the night at some near-by home. 
 There was but one place that I really enjoyed. It was the 
 home of an old bachelor farmer named Squire. He was a 
 man about fifty, I should say. He had a large old-fashioned 
 house with a great fireplace in the living room, and before the 
 roaring wood fire I spent several comfortable evenings. The 
 farmer was an intelligent man who had views about men and 
 affairs, and as I, even then, was fond of good reading and 
 could talk a little about books, he seemed greatly to enjoy my 
 company. To this day often when sitting by an open fire with 
 the wind howling in fierce gusts about the corners of the house, 
 I recall those cozy hours with my honest friend, when with 
 apples and cider at hand, and the wind whistling down the 
 broad chimney, we talked about Irving and Scott and Cooper, 
 or discussed the progress and issues of the terrible war then 
 raging, and in which I was before long to take my small part. 
 
 The winter passed and with it my duties of teaching. I 
 felt no great satisfaction with myself as a teacher. My heart 
 was not in the work, and the best I hoped for was that no 
 special fault would be found with me. What was my surprise, 
 therefore, when meeting Mr. Huntington, the most important 
 member of the school board, he complimented me on my 
 success, and hoped I might be persuaded to take the job an- 
 other winter. I could account for this praise only on the sup- 
 position that the previous teacher must have been very incom- 
 petent and that I was judged by comparison. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 AMONG the pictures that I prize for their old and dear 
 associations is one of the men of Company B, Eighty- 
 fifth Ohio Volunteer Infantry. This company was 
 composed entirely of students and officered by the professors 
 of the old college at Hudson, Ohio, but now located at Cleve- 
 land as Adelbert College. Several of my friends from Milan 
 were undergraduates of the college and members of the com- 
 pany. It had been thoroughly drilled and was ready for im- 
 mediate service. About this time, the spring of 1862, there 
 was pressing need of troops at the front, and without hesita- 
 tion this well-equipped company of students, through their 
 professor-officers, tendered their services to the government. 
 The offer was promptly accepted and the company was 
 attached as Company B, to the Eighty-fifth Ohio, a newly re- 
 cruited regiment, and sent to Camp Chase, Columbus, Ohio, 
 thus relieving veteran troops for service at the front. I was 
 asked to join and needed no urging. In company with my 
 friend Edward Stuart, now Judge Stuart, of Akron, Ohio, I 
 started without delay from Cleveland to meet the men. The 
 captain of the company was a young professor of mathematics 
 named Young, later better known as Charles Young, astro- 
 nomical professor at Princeton for many years and deservedly 
 distinguished for his scientific attainments. He was a genial 
 fellow of about twenty-eight years of age, but sometimes 
 rather touchy and irritable. I attribute this to the fact that 
 he was rather out of his element as a commander of troops. 
 He had more of the student and professor in him than the 
 soldier, and was easily put out when things went wrong. How 
 it ever happened I do not remember, but I was detailed to help 
 him with some records or accounts for a time. Things went 
 wrong, got mixed, so it were. Captain Young fumed and 
 was angry, and put the entire blame upon myself, and although 
 it so happened that he alone was in fault, I had to bear the 
 burden of his displeasure. I am well aware that in clerical 
 affairs, and especially where exact arithmetical details are re- 
 quired, my family will be inclined to smile when I assert that 
 
 112 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 113 
 
 the fault could lie elsewhere than with myself. Yet in this 
 case it did. With all my carelessness and blundering I seem 
 to remember that on most, if not all, occasions when I have 
 been put upon my mettle and when there was an imperative 
 duty, however uncongenial, I compelled myself to perform the 
 task with a fair degree of acceptability. 
 
 Arriving at Columbus we marched to Camp Chase about 
 three miles from the city, and began our duties as guardians 
 of the prison. There were about five thousand Confederate 
 prisoners, mostly officers. They were surrounded by the usual 
 stockade of posts, about twenty feet in height, with a walk 
 for the sentinels near the top, running around the whole en- 
 closure. For four months we guarded these prisoners, and 
 although we saw no active dangerous service, yet the constant 
 drilling, the exposure to excessive heat, and the long night 
 watches made the affair not altogether a holiday excursion. 
 We were housed by companies, six barracks to a company, and 
 eighteen men to a barrack. There were six bunks to a bar- 
 rack and therefore three men to a bunk. The camp was in- 
 fested with rats, many of them of enormous size. They were 
 everywhere, and disgusting as it is to relate, I myself saw a 
 part of a rat pumped up from one of the wells which furnished 
 us drinking water. Diarrhoea was of course the prevalent 
 disease, although typhoid fever was very common. Many 
 were sick, and in the short space of four months three of our 
 number, hale and hearty young fellows when they came, died 
 of diseases easily preventable in these days. The rats would 
 scurry in through the wide open door at night, and we could 
 hear them moving about. One night I came in late, thor- 
 oughly tired from guard duty. I disrobed quickly, climbed 
 Into my berth, and was soon sound asleep. Some noise 
 awakened me, and I saw a big rat sitting upright in an open 
 aperture at my feet, meant for a window, but I was so tired 
 that I made no move. The thought occurred to me, "if you 
 will stay where you are, old rat, I won't trouble you." I went 
 to sleep again, but was soon awakened by something moving 
 about my head. Quick as a flash I threw up my hand and 
 grasped the vile creature by the body, intending to throw him 
 through the window or on the floor. In some way he wriggled 
 from my grasp and landed on my bare legs and I can even 
 
ii 4 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 now recall the sensation I experienced. I seized him again 
 about the middle and this time succeeded in tossing him to the 
 floor where he landed with a dull thump but scampered hur- 
 riedly away. 
 
 As compared with the other companies of the regiment, our 
 company was excellently drilled. On one occasion, I remem- 
 ber, General Lew Wallace, afterwards the famous author of 
 "Ben Hur," reviewed the regiment and witnessed the drill of 
 our company. His comment was, "those fellows drill like the 
 devil" — a double-edged compliment, some might say, but we 
 knew that it was meant to be a real compliment. In the light 
 of his later serious religious writing, it is perhaps difficult to 
 understand that at that time his use of profanity was very 
 general. 
 
 When on guard duty, which consisted of two hours on and 
 four hours off, night and day, for twenty-four hours, we be- 
 came more or less interested in watching the doings of that 
 great mass of five thousand Confederate prisoners. We were 
 not, of course, allowed to converse with them, but at early 
 dawn especially I was greatly interested to see them emerge 
 from their fairly comfortable quarters and scatter over the 
 ground, some preparing breakfast, others skylarking, and 
 still others taking their brisk morning constitutional. Among 
 the latter I particularly observed one man. He was tall and 
 strikingly handsome. He was smoothly shaven, wore a wide 
 sombrero, a very long cloak, and carried a cane which he 
 whirled round and round as he walked with rapid stride. I 
 saw him almost every morning for many a day when I was 
 on duty, but suddenly he vanished. For more than a score of 
 years after the close of the war, whenever I thought of Camp 
 Chase I thought of this man. I wondered who he was, what- 
 ever became of him, what his history. Indeed, of all the five 
 thousand prisoners there, his was the only distinct personality 
 save one that left any impression on my mind. It was, I think, 
 sometime in the early eighties that I was called to treat a 
 John George, by his physician, a certain Dr. Theophilus 
 Steele. He lived in his own fine apartment on Thirty-first 
 Street, and on one occasion asked me to stay and dine, Dr. 
 Steele, an old Confederate soldier, being also one of the num- 
 ber. In the course of the conversation I remarked, "Mr. 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 115 
 
 George, I believe you formerly lived in Lexington, Kentucky. 
 It so happens that I had a college classmate by the name of 
 Tom Morgan, a younger brother of the famous General Mor- 
 gan, and I wonder if you knew him." 
 
 George replied, "Why, of course I did, and before the war 
 his brother, the General, and I were partners in the lumber 
 business down there." I then told them that Tom Morgan 
 had been a prisoner at Camp Chase, that scarcely a year be- 
 fore we had sat in the same classroom and on the same bench. 
 "I too was a prisoner there," said George, "and so too was 
 Dr. Steele here." "Yes," said Steele, "and afterwards I was 
 the last man that kissed poor Tom when he was killed in an 
 engagement." George hastened to say that he was not a pris- 
 oner of war in the ordinary sense, but was only a political 
 prisoner. He further remarked that through the influence of 
 the celebrated Cassius M. Clay he was finally pardoned, but 
 there happened to be another John George in the prison, a 
 little shoemaker, and through some mistake he was released 
 instead, and only after great difficulty and delay was his own 
 release secured. 
 
 The thing especially interesting in the affair to me was this : 
 When Mr. George told me that he too had been a prisoner 
 at Camp Chase, my mind immediately reverted to that ex- 
 ceedingly handsome man who had for a quarter of a century 
 been to me a living personality, and as I glanced at George, 
 my host, sitting at the head of the table, I told my story as I 
 have already recounted it. They listened with interest, espe- 
 cially Dr. Steele, and when I had finished he said, "and did he 
 carry a big cane, which he recklessly flourished about in every 
 direction?" As I assented, the doctor replied, "George is 
 your man." It was indeed he, older but no less handsome 
 than he had been years before. When finally Tom Morgan 
 left the prison with many others to go to Vicksburg for ex- 
 change, our company being the escort, I had an occasional 
 opportunity to speak to him. As before told, he was subse- 
 quently killed in battle, as was also his brother, the famous 
 General. The whole affair seemed most unusual and remark- 
 able in its coincidences. To think that the only man in that 
 great crowd of five thousand prisoners who left any impres- 
 
n6 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 sion on my mind, and of whom I often thought, should after 
 an interval of twenty-five years become my patient. 
 
 How events interweave and connect themselves with other 
 events! When at Camp Chase, my old friend and college- 
 mate, Percy Browne, had ridden over to the camp from 
 Columbus and called upon me. Before coming to Kenyon he 
 had been a bookkeeper in a large brokerage house in New 
 York, where my cousin William Comstock was a junior part- 
 ner. Mr. George happened to tell me that after his release 
 he went to New York and made three thousand dollars in 
 speculation through the house of William Dart & Co. I re- 
 marked that my cousin, a Mr. Comstock, was connected with 
 the firm. "Why," he replied, "it was Comstock who paid me 
 the money, and when he asked how I wanted it, I said in gold." 
 George then went abroad and told me that he returned with 
 a good deal more money than he took. "Where did you get 
 it?" I inquired. "At Baden Baden," was his brief response. 
 It was at Mr. George's that I made the acquaintance of Major 
 General Crittenden, one of the sons of the celebrated states- 
 man of the time of Webster and Clay, and the sponsor of the 
 Crittenden Compromise. The Crittendens were Kentuckians, 
 and their case illustrated one of the many sad family divisions 
 of the South during the Civil War, some fighting on the side 
 of the North, others on the side of the South as in the case of 
 this family. The Crittenden in question was a Corps Com- 
 mander in the Union Army, but was, I believe, not very suc- 
 cessful. 
 
 While we were stationed at Camp Chase there were several 
 rumors of outbreaks among the prisoners and attempts to 
 escape, and the regiment was more than once silently called 
 out at night to surround the stockade enclosing the Confeder- 
 ates ; but there was never any general push for freedom, and 
 I doubt whether it was ever seriously considered. However 
 many hardships they subsequently endured — and it is idle to say 
 there was no suffering during the cold winters of a northern 
 clime. I am able to assert confidently that at Camp Chase, 
 during the summer we were there, the Confederate prisoners 
 were well fed, well housed, and able to keep perfectly clean, as 
 water in abundance was to be had for the getting or the ask- 
 ing. The barracks were the same as those for our own men, 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 117 
 
 and the food too. There was no dead line at first, although 
 I believe it was afterwards established. 
 
 A ludicrous incident occurred one night when a number of 
 prisoners escaped, ail of whom were subsequently captured; 
 and the funny side I did not know until many years after when 
 I met in New York the Mr. George to whom I have alluded. 
 It seems that he was in this strike for freedom. About a 
 dozen were in the secret. There being no dead line, a Texan 
 secreted himself in a big box, open at one end, and Confeder- 
 ates carried it to the stockade, for the ostensible purpose of 
 playing cards on it. Those directly interested, and with sup- 
 plies in their pockets, gathered about the box v/hile two of 
 them mounted it and began the game. Meanwhile, the one 
 inside with the requisite tools proceeded to saw a hole through 
 the stockade. When finished, the signal was given from 
 within the box, and the escape began. George, as I have said, 
 was a big fellow, and when his turn came he could not get 
 through. Those behind were impatient and told George to 
 get out of the way and if he was too big, to give the others a 
 chance ; so he had the chagrin of seeing the smaller men glide 
 through and away. Now it happened that the guard on duty 
 was very young, very green, and very stupid. So amazed was 
 he to see his prisoners thus escaping that, instead of shooting, 
 he kept repeating, "You shouldn't do that, should you?" All 
 in all, it was just as well that George was too big, since every 
 man was recaptured. 
 
 The Grand Rounds is a ceremony that takes place at mid- 
 night. It is quite an important occasion. The officer of the 
 day, accompanied by others, makes the round of the guards to 
 see that everything is all right. The "relief" is quite another 
 function. There are four of them, the first, second, third, and 
 fourth reliefs. Every soldier when on guard knows what his 
 relief is, and eagerly awaits it. On one occasion a new recruit 
 was on guard. He knew that his relief was the third and was 
 on the lookout for it. He saw the Grand Rounds approach- 
 ing, but in his mind he had no thought of anything but the 
 third relief, which meant his bunk and sleep. His duty was to 
 cry out, "Halt, who goes there? " The answer would be "The 
 Grand Rounds." Then the guard would say — "Advance one 
 and give the countersign." So great was his disappointment, 
 
n8 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 however, that he either forgot or disdained the correct for- 
 mula, and replied "To h — 1 with the Grand Rounds. I 
 thought it was the third relief." 
 
 The three months for which we had enlisted passed away, 
 and none too quickly, but for some reason of necessity the 
 government held us another month before giving us our dis- 
 charge. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 ALMOST immediately, I left for Ann Arbor to begin 
 my first course of lectures in the Medical Department. 
 Ann Arbor was even then a fine old town, and the Uni- 
 versity buildings of some pretensions, although far from what 
 they are at the present day. President Tappan was the head 
 of the institution, a man of wide repute as an educator, now, 
 of course, long since dead. His successor, President Angell, 
 after many years of successful service, passed away also — so 
 quickly do we come and go. My five months' stay at Ann 
 Arbor are filled with pleasing recollections. I made some 
 good friends and got as fair a start in the rudiments of my 
 profession as one could well get where most of the instruction 
 was didactic, with few opportunities to watch operations or 
 study disease first-hand. 
 
 One of my most interesting friendships was with Henry B. 
 Landon, a graduate of the academic department of the Uni- 
 versity and with myself a student in the medical department. 
 Like myself he was an Alpha Delta, a common interest, which 
 probably brought us together. I see him now, clad in his long 
 military cloak and limping his way along the campus with the 
 aid of his cane. Landon was from Monroe, Michigan, where 
 his father was a physician. From this town also came the 
 noted cavalryman, General George A. Custer, with whom 
 Landon went to school and whose friend he was. As Custer 
 is a national character and hero, it is of interest to recall Lan- 
 don's personal knowledge of a fact or two in his career. Cus- 
 ter's parents were respectable, but he did not by any means 
 belong (to use a common expression) to the so-called best 
 social element of the town. After young Custer's graduation 
 from West Point, he fell in love with Bessie Bacon, the daugh- 
 ter of a judge, and by comparison one of the social aristocrats. 
 The judge objected, so the two ran away and were married. 
 The judge and his family were wroth for a while, but the ris- 
 ing fame of the brilliant soldier soon reconciled them, and 
 later they were very proud of the connection. My friend, 
 Landon, was lame. After his graduation from the Univer- 
 
 119 
 
120 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 sity in 1861, he went to the front as adjutant of a Michigan 
 regiment. At the battle of Fair Oaks he was severely 
 wounded, and receiving his discharge, entered the medical 
 department of the University, where our acquaintance began. 
 Subsequently, like myself, he again entered the service as 
 assistant surgeon. After the war he settled in Bay City, 
 Michigan, where he practised for many years and where he 
 still resides. 
 
 During my winter in Ann Arbor I occasionally visited De- 
 troit, where my Aunt Deborah Nash, my mother's oldest sis- 
 ter, lived. Her daughter Fannie had married a Mr. Nail, a 
 prosperous merchant of that town ; but she had died a few years 
 before, leaving two children in the care of my aunt. I greatly 
 enjoyed these little runs to Detroit, both because of the change 
 and because of some pleasant acquaintances I made among 
 the young ladies of the neighborhood. Detroit was then a sim- 
 ple, provincial town, where everybody seemed to know every- 
 body else, very different from the great city of to-day. One 
 of the young ladies whom I met lived in a large, fine house on 
 Woodward Avenue, not far from Mr. Nail's, and one day a 
 party of us, including this young lady, went to the river to 
 skate. With her for my partner, I was flying over the ice, 
 when suddenly in we went up to our necks. The current was 
 swift, and the ice broke several times as we endeavored to lift 
 ourselves out. I could feel the current swaying the lower part 
 of my body under the ice as I fought my way to a firmer sec- 
 tion of it. My companion behaved admirably, clinging to the 
 solid ice as I directed, until by exercising all my strength, I 
 managed to get out, when it was but the work of a moment 
 to extricate her from her perilous position. We were of 
 course wet through and shivering with cold. A horse and 
 sleigh were near with no owner in sight, and piling in we 
 drove rapidly to the young lady's home. Her brother met the 
 irate owner of the rig, a German. The young man explained 
 the situation and offered to pay for the liberty we had taken; 
 but nothing would satisfy the unreasonable fellow. Later he 
 sued the young lady's father, and a sensible jury awarded him 
 six and one-half cents damages. 
 
 Another of my pleasant Ann Arbor acquaintances was a 
 young man by the name of Poe, from Ravenna, Ohio. We 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 121 
 
 roomed together for some time, and I remember subsequently 
 visiting him at his home in Ravenna. He was a remarkably- 
 self-reliant, aggressive young man and bound to make his way 
 in the world. I went to New York for my second course of 
 lectures, and graduated there, while he received his degree 
 from the University of Michigan. Soon after our graduation 
 we again met at Columbus, Ohio, both seeking a medical 
 appointment in the army. He was assigned to a western regi- 
 ment, I to an eastern, or rather to one serving in the eastern 
 army. Poe went with Sherman's army to the sea and as that 
 army passed near Richmond on its way to Washington, he lo- 
 cated my regiment and called upon me. We then parted, and 
 for fifty years we had neither seen nor heard of each other. 
 One reason for this I suppose was the fact that he never re- 
 sumed the practice of medicine, abandoning it for a mercantile 
 life in which he had a successful career. Recently this same 
 man called me on the telephone, saying that he was on his way 
 to Flushing to see me. He was then seventy-six years of age. 
 We passed several hours in pleasant chat, reviving old times 
 and characters, and altogether the reunion was delightful. 
 When we parted it was with the expectation of meeting again 
 at no distant period. A month or more later his niece in New 
 York, whom I had never met, called me up saying that her 
 uncle was dead. After our meeting and his return to his home 
 in Cleveland, grippe, pneumonia and death quickly followed. 
 
 One other incident connected with my brief stay in Ann 
 Arbor is not without interest. Soon after my arrival, a young 
 man named Anderson temporarily became my roommate. 
 He was from Kentucky. We roomed together for the brief 
 space of a week, and about the only thing that I remember 
 regarding him is the fact that, one time as he was undressing 
 to go to bed, a loaded pistol fell to the floor. I told him that 
 men did not carry arms in the north, and advised him to put 
 it in his trunk. I suppose the incident of the revolver fastened 
 his name in my mind, although I do not remember seeing him 
 again after our week's acquaintance. 
 
 Not very long ago, my cousin, Dr. T. Hawley Rockwell, 
 of the Equitable Life Assurance Society, sent me a letter 
 which he had received from a Mr. Anderson, asking him if 
 he knew of a Dr. A. D. Rockwell, and where he could be 
 
122 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 found, indicating that he owed a debt of gratitude to him and 
 would be glad to communicate with him. I immediately wrote 
 to Mr. Anderson who was then the president of a bank in a 
 southern city and evidently a prosperous man. I told him I 
 remembered him well and alluded to the incident of the pistol. 
 In his reply he said that he did not remember that incident, 
 but an altogether different occurrence that left its impress on 
 his mind. He had been brought up by godly parents, he said, 
 but had forgotten their precepts and as he believed was on 
 his way to spiritual ruin when he left home and fell in with me. 
 He reminded me that, on our first evening together, we studied 
 our lessons, and that finally I arose, took up a Bible, and after 
 reading a chapter, knelt down and said my prayers. "This," 
 he continued, and I am using his own words, "was done so 
 quietly and so unostentatiously that I was greatly impressed 
 and followed your example, and from that time began to lead 
 a new life." That what I did should in this way have been a 
 help to any human being is a source of gratification and is a 
 powerful illustration of the power of example. The incident 
 illustrates also how things are remembered according as they 
 impress the mind at the time. I remember nothing of the 
 prayer incident, because it was then a common occurrence. 
 He remembered it because the incident was to him unique, 
 while the affair of the pistol was commonplace. I am afraid 
 I prayed more then than I do now. 
 
 In the spring of 1863 I returned to my home in Milan, con- 
 tinuing the study of medicine in the office of my preceptor, 
 Dr. Dean. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 IN the fall of 1863 I left Milan with all its pleasant associ- 
 ations, and went to New York to enter the Bellevue Hos- 
 pital Medical College for my final course of lectures. A 
 married brother was living on One Hundred and Nineteenth 
 Street, Harlem, and with him I made my home. Harlem at 
 that time was no more than a sparsely settled suburb, with its 
 houses mostly in the east side along the Harlem River. Com- 
 munication with the lower town was by the old-fashioned 
 horse cars, which served my purpose during the winter in 
 going to and fro. 
 
 This medical college had been founded only a few years 
 before, but had immediately become prosperous and much 
 patronized. One reason for its prosperity was its intimate 
 association with the great Bellevue Hospital, which afforded 
 clinical advantage quite unsurpassed at the time. Its great 
 rival was the old College of Physicians and Surgeons, and one 
 reason for Bellevue's existence was that it afforded an outlet 
 for the ambitions of a number of very able members of the 
 profession who wished to teach, but for whom there was no 
 place in the other schools. The old college was a rather close 
 corporation and no outsiders were wanted. This was illus- 
 trated by the following incident : 
 
 Many years later when engaged in developing the field of 
 electrotherapeutics, Dr. John T. Metcalfe, with his open 
 and generous mind and appreciation of the value and the fine 
 possibilities of this neglected agent, suggested to me that I do 
 something in the way of teaching. I readily agreed with him, 
 and he, being professor of clinical medicine in the school, 
 said that he would bring the matter before the faculty. Dr. 
 Beard and myself were pretty well known by this time. What 
 we had written had been favorably recognized both at home 
 and abroad, and I prematurely thought myself quite sure of 
 obtaining this fine opportunity. But alas for my hopes ! Dr. 
 Metcalfe, with some annoyance, was compelled to admit that 
 the proposition was unfavorably and coldly received. I was 
 not wanted, nor any of my kind, for to this day this great 
 adjunct of Columbia University has given no recognition that 
 amounts to anything of this valuable and firmly established 
 
 123 
 
i2 4 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 department of therapeutics. Nevertheless, the individual 
 members of the faculty abundantly recognized the value of 
 our methods by turning over to us many interesting and im- 
 portant cases. 
 
 The faculty of our college (Bellevue) was quite the equal 
 in culture and general mental equipment of the faculty of 
 the older institution. I recall with pleasure these men, now 
 little more than a memory, every one of them. There was 
 Austin Flint, Sr., professor of medicine, truly a grand old 
 man. His personality, grave and commanding, yet withal 
 genial, was an inspiration. He was without affectation and 
 without guile. In his presence you felt the influence of a 
 great sincerity as of one who could be trusted to do no false 
 thing. His teaching was straightforward and his writings 
 gave him authority and fame. His books are now superseded, 
 but in his day they were authoritative. With a number of 
 fellow students I took private instruction from him in auscul- 
 tation and percussion, and on a certain occasion gained quite 
 undeserved commendation for acuteness of diagnosis. Halt- 
 ing at the bedside of a ward-patient, we were told to examine 
 him and to state our diagnosis. Everyone diagnosed tuber- 
 culosis, excepting myself. For no good reason, except that I 
 had been reading about chronic pneumonia, and an impulse 
 to say something different from the others, I diagnosed this 
 disease. The professor confirmed the diagnosis of the ma- 
 jority, which gave me no concern, as I really had little foun- 
 dation for my assertion. Judge of my astonishment then, 
 when soon after, in one of the public clinical lectures, this 
 same patient was brought before the school in a greatly im- 
 proved condition, and as an object lesson. The professor 
 told of the incident and wished to say that the solitary student 
 who diagnosed chronic pneumonia was right and all the 
 others, including himself, were wrong. He mentioned no 
 names, which was just as well, since my diagnosis was purely 
 a lucky guess, no more. One can often gain a reputation for 
 wisdom on even a less foundation. 
 
 His son, Austin Flint, Jr., was the professor of physiology. 
 He died recently at the age of about eighty, leaving a son in 
 active practice, Austin Flint, 3rd. Flint, Jr., was a brilliant 
 lecturer and the author of a voluminous treatise on physiology. 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 125 
 
 In character he was very unlike his distinguished father. He 
 was endowed in good measure with his father's savoir faire 
 but not with his savoir vivre. 
 
 Another rare man was the genial Fordyce Barker, profes- 
 sor of obstetrics. With his florid complexion, his wealth of 
 hair, slightly tinged with gray, his handsome face, and eyes 
 beaming with kindliness, intelligence, and humor, he was a 
 striking figure in any company. As a lecturer he was always 
 most interesting and instructive, and frequently enlivened his 
 discourse with amusing stories always relevant to the subject 
 under discussion. Barker was a warm friend and admirer of 
 Charles Dickens, and on one occasion when I was in his office 
 he pointed with pride to an engraving of Gad's Hill, with 
 Dickens at his desk. Dickens had presented this to him dur- 
 ing one of his visits to the great author. But for a peculiarly 
 husky voice, the result of some obscure pathological condition, 
 Dr. Barker would have been far more attractive as a speaker 
 than he was. He came for treatment to me in after years, 
 drawn by the novelty of the new method. He was all opti- 
 mism as usual, and felt sure that I could help him; but nothing 
 came of it. Finally he grew old and decrepit, as is the lot of 
 all who pass the Psalmist's limit, and this gave rise on one 
 occasion to a painful and pathetic scene. He attended an 
 important gathering of the New York Academy of Medicine, 
 over which dignified body he had formerly presided, and 
 which he had adorned by his grace and his facility and felicity 
 of speech. He was asked to address the assembly. Feebly he 
 arose and with faltering voice began. He soon hesitated, 
 lost the thread of his discourse, looked helplessly around and 
 was led tenderly and respectfully back to his seat. 
 
 The professor of chemistry, Dr. R. Ogden Doremus, was 
 perhaps the most remarkable member of the faculty and more 
 nearly approached genius than any of his companions. He 
 had lost an arm in experimental work many years before, but 
 the dexterity with which he carried out his delicate chemical 
 experiments would have done credit to any two-armed man. 
 As Macaulay made history as interesting as fiction, so Dore- 
 mus made dull chemistry as interesting as, shall I say fire- 
 works? He was a perfect juggler in a way, not by any means 
 of imposture, but he delighted in doing simple things in a 
 
126 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 large and impressive manner. He was a wonderful talker, 
 and he talked well on many things. He delighted in the 
 theatre and music, and especially in music, and his house was 
 a center for people artistically inclined. Ole Bull was one of 
 his warmest friends, and of him the pretty story is told that, 
 when the great violinist was on his death bed, he sent his watch 
 to Doremus with the message that "he sent it ticking from his 
 heart to that of his friend." He and Dr. Barker were kindred 
 spirits and warm friends, and in my occasional visits to the 
 theatre or choice musical entertainments I occasionally saw 
 them together. 
 
 Dr. George T. Eliot, professor of obstetrics and gyne- 
 cology, was a bright and elegant gentleman. He dressed with 
 perfect taste and was immaculate to the smallest detail of 
 his attire. He was the author of a treatise along his line, 
 and was a fairly good lecturer. He was a great diner-out, 
 and without much doubt was the victim of too high living, 
 for at the early age of forty-five he was stricken with paralysis. 
 He came to me for treatment, which proved of little avail. 
 I was present at the post mortem, which revealed extensive 
 fatty degeneration of the middle cerebral artery, induced 
 undoubtedly by his habit of too generous living. I do not 
 mean to say that he was in any way intemperate in the ordi- 
 nary sense of the word. His was a fine, high-toned character, 
 and his end illustrates how deadly may be the results of rich 
 living and little exercise. His sympathy and good nature 
 are illustrated in an incident that occurred in my own experi- 
 ence. Dr. William A. Hammond, the noted neurologist, was 
 to read a paper on some neurological question before the 
 New York County Medical Society of which Eliot was then 
 president. Although young and a novice in the art of public 
 speaking, I determined to discuss at the proper time the topic 
 presented. I therefore prepared myself thoroughly and com- 
 mitted the whole to memory, word for word. After several 
 had spoken, I arose. In a few moments I became dazed, 
 everything was a blank. The room did not swim, nor did 
 my trousers seem too big for my legs, as was the experience 
 of Stewart L. Woodford in his first speech before a great 
 assemblage. Unlike him, also, I suppose I did not know my 
 speech as well as I knew the Lord's Prayer. At all events, 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 127 
 
 not a word could I recall, and after floundering around a while 
 I subsided into my seat covered with confusion. On the fol- 
 lowing day I wrote a word of apology to the presiding officer 
 for my ignominious failure. Dr. Eliot wrote a long and 
 soothing letter in reply, made light of my failure, urged me 
 not to be discouraged but to try again, and quoted the great 
 English orator, Sheridan, who after a similar failure said: 
 "It's in me, d — n it, and I'll bring it out." Unlike Sheridan, 
 there was but little talent in me in the direction of public 
 speaking, but I soon found that if I was perfectly familiar 
 with my subject I could speak about it. Thereafter, in dis- 
 cussing a scientific question, I never committed the words to 
 memory. This method only confuses, for when one forgets a 
 word, he is apt to forget the next and is liable to be thrown 
 into utter mental confusion. On a subsequent occasion when 
 I read the paper of the evening, Dr. Hammond being one of 
 the speakers in discussion, I had better luck. I was arguing 
 for the benefit of electricity in certain constitutional symptoms 
 on account of its tonic or nutritional effects. Dr. Hammond 
 denied the truth of my contention because of the purely super- 
 ficial effects of the electric current. To illustrate and prove 
 this he referred to the well-known experiment cited in text- 
 books on chemistry, the experiment with the brass ball and 
 the gauze bag, which when charged with frictional electricity 
 retains the charge only on the outside. It was very easy to 
 convince my opponent and my audience that experiments with 
 a brass ball and the human body were by no means parallel. 
 The ball is a dense homogeneous mass. The body, on the 
 contrary, conducts by virtue of the blood, its saline solution, 
 the skin, or outer covering being a poor conductor. When the 
 skin is moistened, however, its poor conductibility is over- 
 come, and the current, meeting the blood, is diffused, taking 
 the most direct path from pole to pole. I then asked Dr. 
 Hammond if he had practical experience with the method 
 under discussion. He acknowledged that he had not, which 
 gave me the opportunity to reply that manifestly he was not 
 qualified to pass judgment upon it. So far from being 
 offended, Dr. Hammond then and there engaged me to write 
 for his journal, and Dr. George M. Shrady, the well-known 
 editor of the Medical Record, approached me to say that a 
 
iz8 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 big man had opposed me, but that I had had the best of the 
 discussion. 
 
 James R. Wood, professor of surgery, was one of the most 
 skillful and fearless surgeons in the country. He was a 
 little man and unlettered. Indeed, at times his grammar was 
 not of the best, nor was he a fluent speaker, but his knowledge, 
 his earnestness, his common sense, and his deep devotion to 
 his professional work, enabled him to command the attention 
 of his listeners. When I was young in practice he once sent 
 for me to come to his office. I found there a man with an 
 immense tumor on the side of his neck, and so extremely vas- 
 cular that the doctor hesitated to use the knife. Pointing to 
 the growth, he said, "I want you to take that off." "Very 
 well," I said, "if you will stand by me." "I will stand by you 
 all right," he replied. He meant that I should use the actual 
 cautery, which I understood and he did not. The next day he 
 took me in his carriage to the patient's house, and although 
 the tumor was highly vascular, the white-hot platinum loops 
 removed it with not the loss of a teaspoonful of blood. 
 
 Dr. Frank H. Hamilton was another of the professors of 
 surgery, a far more scholarly man than Wood, but his in- 
 ferior in surgical skill. He was the author of a very able 
 and popular treatise, on fractures and dislocations. The 
 difference in practical efficiency between the two men is well 
 illustrated by the following incident. Professor Hamilton 
 was lecturing one day on dislocations, and the subject of his 
 lecture was a man with a dislocation of the hip joint. After 
 talking learnedly for a while, he made several attempts to re- 
 duce it and failed. Somewhat exhausted by his violent efforts, 
 he turned to Wood, who happened to be present, and as an 
 act of courtesy asked if he would like to take a hand in it. 
 "Little Jimmy," as the students affectionately called him, ac- 
 cepted the invitation with alacrity, seized the limb and manipu- 
 lated it this way and that with the utmost vigor. He grew 
 redder in the face, if that were possible, through this unusual 
 activity, and finally, as he made one supreme effort, lost his 
 footing and fell flat over the body of his patient. Wood 
 leaped to his feet and with increased fury resumed his manipu- 
 lations. This way, that way, every way, flew the offending 
 member, until by a skilful turn, back went the head of the 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 129 
 
 bone, with an audible click, into its socket. Then followed a 
 round of applause, gratifying, no doubt, to the vanity of Dr. 
 Wood, but a little humiliating to Dr. Hamilton. I do not 
 attempt to describe the patient's feelings about the matter; 
 but I remember that he did not join in the applause. 
 
 Dr. Hamilton was one of the consulting surgeons in attend- 
 ance upon President Garfield. They were all greatly mis- 
 taken in their diagnosis and prognosis, and Dr. Hamilton, 
 himself, in talking to me about the matter, expressed his entire 
 confidence in the recovery of the President. I shall always 
 remember Dr. Hamilton not only as the perfect gentleman 
 and scholar, but as one of the most kindly and conscientious 
 men I ever knew. 
 
 Professor Stephen Smith, another professor of surgery, 
 alone still survives (19 19) of all that faculty. He is far over 
 ninety, but with faculties yet unimpaired. His long life has 
 been a pattern of efficient work. I took private lessons from 
 him in minor surgery and in bandaging, which stood me in 
 good stead during my army service. 
 
 I must not omit to mention Dr. Isaac E. Taylor, the presi- 
 dent of the college. Dr. Taylor was a most amiable man. 
 His daughter married Pierre Lorillard. He, too, was a pro- 
 fessor of gynecology and obstetrics, and while he was un- 
 doubtedly a good obstetrician, he had a very bungling way of 
 imparting information. Among other recollections of Dr. 
 Taylor, I can still see him in the college grounds, surrounded 
 by a number of persistent and excited women students who 
 had been excluded from the lectures and medical clinics. This 
 was in the early days of the agitation for "equal rights for 
 women." There were then but few of them seeking a medi- 
 cal education, but as usual they sought it with tempestuous 
 ardor. A few of them had, before this time of which I speak, 
 attended the various clinics and lectures. Amid the great 
 crowd of boisterous youths they did seem misplaced, and 
 on one occasion when Dr. Wood had before him a man pa- 
 tient with one of the diseases of men, he looked glaringly 
 around, uncovered the patient and thus began. "We have 
 been accustomed to associate with the character of woman all 
 those charms and delicate emotions which enable her to 
 adorn the home, and how she can come here, among this 
 
1 3 o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 crowd of men, and witness, without blushing, such a scene as 
 this, is beyond my comprehension." Then followed loud 
 applause from the men, but through it all this handful of 
 women stoutly held their position, until finally excluded from 
 the lecture room. Things are different now and who will say 
 that these women pioneers in the study of medicine did not 
 possess the courage of the old pioneers who opened a new 
 civilization in our western country? 
 
 It may all be a fancy, but the great physicians of those days 
 seem to loom up larger than those of this generation. There 
 were the consultants, Alonzo Clark and Austin Flint, brainy 
 and big physically, and who in relation to their fellows seemed 
 in a way to stand apart. Among the surgeons were Parker, 
 Sands, Van Buren, and Wood; and the gynecologists, Sims, 
 Emmet, and Thomas, constituted a trio of surpassing excel- 
 lence and originality. 
 
 The distinctive impression made by these men and a few 
 others in this city and throughout the country may be ac- 
 counted for in part by paucity of numbers. In the field of 
 literature it is the same, and the rule applies also to our esti- 
 mate of great commanders in all wars previous to the un- 
 speakable world war lately waged. So wonderfully has medi- 
 cal and surgical proficiency progressed that now the "woods 
 are full" of men whose knowledge and skill are equal to every 
 emergency. 
 
 But let us not forget the original minds preceding us that 
 made possible the triumphs of the present. As a single ex- 
 ample, the discoveries of a Sims revolutionized gynecology. 
 His statue stands in Bryant Park, unnoticed by the hurrying 
 crowd, but the women of the world have cause to bless his 
 name forever. 
 
 Finally in March, 1864, came the day of my graduation. 
 The exercises were held in the old Academy of Music on 
 Fourteenth Street, and when my name was called to ascend 
 the stage and receive my diploma, it seemed a momentous 
 occasion, as if the eyes of the world must be centered upon 
 me. Doubtless each one of the other odd hundred young 
 graduates felt the same. I shall not soon forget the banquet 
 given to the graduates by Dr. Taylor, the president, at his 
 fine house on Twenty-second Street. It was a most unfort- 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 131 
 
 unate and foolish thing, but champagne flowed like water. 
 Not a few of us indulged too freely for our own good. One 
 of my classmates was a man named Gamble, from Cincinnati, 
 who was also a Kenyon man. It was a long way to my 
 brother's house in Harlem, and Gamble, noticing my some- 
 what unsteady condition, insisted on escorting me at this late 
 time in the night to the General Theological Seminary, where 
 roomed a divinity student, named Dunham, who was another 
 fellow Kenyon man whom we both well knew. He and his 
 roommate took me in, thus practically demonstrating what 
 they were theoretically being taught, to care for the erring 
 and lift up the fallen. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 AND now, with an M.D. attached to my name, it be- 
 hooved me to consider what I should do with it. Pro- 
 fessor Eliot advised me to enter the examination for a 
 hospital interne. In a way, this was an attractive proposition. 
 If I succeeded it would give me eighteen months of training, 
 difficult to find elsewhere, as well as board and room during 
 that period. But the great war was raging. None of my 
 immediate family were in it, and I decided that my place was 
 in the field. It will be recollected that I had already had a 
 few months' experience as an enlisted man, and I confess that 
 I was vain enough, if that is the proper word, to experience 
 a sensation of pleasure at again entering the service with the 
 insignia of rank and clothed with a certain authority, as well 
 as with responsibilities of a higher order than those of the 
 simple enlisted man. Besides, my country needed even my 
 help, and as I had at least the ordinary patriotic feeling, my 
 choice was soon made. Never have I regretted it. The won- 
 derful experiences of war, the warm friendships it engenders, 
 and its never-to-be-forgotten memories, have repaid me many 
 fold for all its hardships and dangers. 
 
 My father had written to tell me that there was to be a 
 special examination at Columbus, Ohio, for medical service 
 in the army, and a few days found me at home in Milan. 
 Thence I went to Columbus, where I again met my friend 
 Poe, to whom I have already alluded and who was there on 
 the same errand. Physicians from different parts of the state 
 to the number of sixty had assembled in the Senate chamber 
 of the State House to listen to the opening address by the 
 surgeon general. He alluded to the fact that too many 
 incompetent men had been given commissions as surgeons, 
 through laxity of examination. This defect was about to be 
 remedied and the test now before us would be worthy of the 
 name. Each man was to be supplied with pen, ink, and paper, 
 and a sheet of thirty printed questions, and under watchful 
 eyes was to do the best he could. On the following day we were 
 to go to the General Hospital, a case of some disease or other 
 
 132 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 133 
 
 was to be given to each of us. This we were to examine and 
 then write out in full, — our diagnosis, prognosis, and suggested 
 treatment for the next twenty-four hours. On the third day, 
 two by two, we were to go to the surgeon general's office and 
 submit to an oral examination by an examining committee of 
 three. On hearing this formidable decree I confess that my 
 heart sank within me, and not only did my own heart quail, 
 but the feeling, I imagine, was very general. Of the sixty who 
 listened, one-third of the number refused to stand the exam- 
 ination, and returned to their homes and practices. They 
 evidently feared the disgrace of a failure, believing that it 
 would discredit them at home and injure their professional 
 future. Of the forty who took the examination, fifteen failed, 
 and of the twenty-five who were accepted, three were recom- 
 mended for promotion whenever a vacancy should occur. 
 My friend Poe was one of them and, to my extreme astonish- 
 ment, I was another. I was trembling in my shoes as to 
 whether I could squeeze through, and to come off with such 
 flying colors was a surprise indeed. How I finally received 
 further promotion will appear later on. 
 
 I went home, announcing my success, and in a few days 
 received my commission as Assistant Surgeon (with the rank 
 of first lieutenant) in the Sixth Ohio Volunteer Cavalry, then 
 serving with the Cavalry Corps attached to the Army of the 
 Potomac, and was ordered to report at once for duty. Stop- 
 ping in Cleveland I bought a uniform and a suit case, which 
 followed me in all my wanderings and now after its journey- 
 ings, old, mildewed, and broken, with a hole in one corner 
 evidently made by some rat, it quietly reposes in our attic with 
 some other little relics of the stirring times of the past. 
 
 How changed was the aspect of our whole Northern sec- 
 tion, though far removed from the actual scene of war and 
 how it all comes back to me ! In the early days of the war 
 acres of white tents were seen in every county and near every 
 large town throughout the country. Bands were playing, 
 flags flying, and men were marching. The trains were filled 
 with poorly trained but enthusiastic recruits hurrying to the 
 front. Even at this time, more than two years from the out- 
 break of hostilities, there was still much confusion in the man- 
 agement of the different departments of the government. 
 
i 3 4 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Democracies are proverbially slow in their grasp of essentials, 
 compared with autocracies. Their ways are roundabout and 
 halting, but it seems to be the price we pay for self-govern- 
 ment. This was illustrated in my own unimportant case. 
 Instead of being ordered to proceed immediately to my post 
 of duty and report to my superior, I was directed to report at 
 the Surgeon General's office at Washington. There they did 
 not seem to know exactly what to do with me, but finally or- 
 dered me to the surgeon in chief of the Army of the Potomac. 
 
 I, therefore, had to hunt up Army Headquarters, and when 
 found, after devious wanderings, I was told to keep right on 
 until I had found my regiment. After careful inquiry I found 
 that it was located at Warrenton Springs, Virginia, a part of 
 Sheridan's famous Cavalry Corps. Retracing my steps to 
 Brandy Station where I had spent the previous night, I was 
 told that in a few hours an apology of a train would start for 
 Warrenton. When there I appreciated the fact that I was at 
 last at the "front" — a term on every tongue through four long 
 years, and one that was so vital and meant so much to almost 
 every family in the land. Very soon I got to know exactly 
 what it meant to be at the front. 
 
 Colonel Stedman, the commanding officer, received me 
 heartily and kindly, and made me feel very much at home. 
 He wanted me to get on a horse and accompany him in a 
 round of two or three visits he had to make. While I was 
 waiting, as he stood chatting with some officers not far away, 
 I heard one of them ask the Colonel if that was the new 
 Assistant Surgeon, adding that he looked young and inexpe- 
 rienced enough. While this was absolutely true, both as 
 regards looks and experience, yet the bantering tone made 
 me feel very uncomfortable. I did not hear the Colonel's 
 reply. That night, while sitting alone in my tent decidedly 
 depressed and homesick, in came the Adjutant of the regi- 
 ment. His name was Baldwin, and he was even a little 
 younger than myself. He was full of quick intelligence and 
 with an overflowing jollity that soon dissipated every thought 
 of loneliness. He did not sit in a chair, but on the side of an 
 old table; and there I see him to this day, swinging one leg 
 to and fro while he indulged in talk and song and laughter. 
 Never had I met a companion whose humor was more con- 
 
YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD 135 
 
 tagious. I met him halfway, and remember how he enlivened 
 me and made me feel again that life was worth living. He 
 swore a good deal, in a happy, careless way as was so com- 
 mon in army life, and finally I said, "Adjutant, what makes 
 you swear so much?" He replied, "Oh, Doctor, when you 
 have been in the Army three months, you will swear as much 
 as I do. Down here you can't help it. Why, when I was at 
 home, I was a Sunday School teacher." 
 
 We became warm friends and until his death, about which 
 I shall speak later, the attachment grew. He had read a 
 good deal and had tastes similar to my own, and in the long 
 night marches much talk did we have about books and things 
 foreign to war. 
 
A. D. Rockwell, M. D. 
 
 Surgeon and Major, 6th Ohio Cavalry, U. S. V., iJ 
 
Book III 
 A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 MY ride with Sheridan was not a solitary ride. It 
 was shared with some ten thousand tried and 
 gallant men, who, on scores of bloody fields, had 
 rendered quite inaccurate Hooker's famous sar- 
 casm, "Who ever saw a dead cavalryman?" 
 From the Rapidan to Richmond and Petersburgh, and thence 
 to Appomattox they marched and countermarched with skir- 
 mishes here and battles there until almost every portion of 
 that fair country became the final resting-place of the Union 
 dead. 
 
 We then saw in our commander a man about thirty-four 
 years of age, short of stature, but compactly built, with broad 
 square shoulders and a muscular and wiry frame that sug- 
 gested powers of endurance far beyond the average. With 
 his firm chin, crisp mustache, and keen searching eye, he 
 looked every inch the soldier. In more senses than one the 
 head of General Sheridan was not a common head. He 
 found it difficult, it is said, to make a hat stay on properly. 
 Certain irregularities called by phrenologists bumps of com- 
 bativeness were the cause of this singular shape, and greatly 
 inconvenienced him as well as his enemies. To prevent his 
 hat from escaping, when galloping over the field during a 
 fight, he often held it in his hand, an act which suggested 
 cheer and encouragement to the men. 
 
 The spring of 1864 found the Army of the Potomac, with 
 its encampments along the northern line of the Rapidan, in 
 momentary expectation of the order to prepare for another 
 wrestle with its ever-watchful, desperate, incomparable antag- 
 onist — the army of Northern Virginia. Grant had recently 
 assumed command of all the Federal armies, his headquarters 
 with the Army of the Potomac; while Sheridan, with the halo 
 of his brilliant record in the West fresh around him, took in 
 hand for the first time as his sole command the cavalry corps 
 attached to this army. As much as any other commander, 
 
 137 
 
i 3 8 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Sheridan shielded his troops from unnecessary peril and 
 fatigue, and more perhaps than others, he spared them not, 
 either by night or day, in cold or heat, in storm or in calm, 
 when the enemy was to be met or a position gained. 
 
 In giving a short sketch of some of the operations of the 
 cavalry corps attached to the Army of the Potomac, with a 
 few personal reminscences of the bivouac, march and battle, 
 I am simply following an irresistible impulse which time does 
 but intensify. No one who has not participated in the strange 
 and stirring scenes of actual war can even faintly appreciate 
 the fascination that attaches to its memories. The old soldier 
 will tell you that even the odor of burning leaves carries him 
 back instantly to the bivouac and camp fire; he hears again the 
 clatter and tumult caused by the quick, sharp strokes of the 
 soldiers' axes as they drive down the stakes to which they tie 
 their horses, together with all the low undercurrent of sound 
 characteristic of a great multitude preparing for food and 
 rest after the toil of the day. The crack of the sportsman's 
 rifle recalls the picket line, and the simultaneous discharge of 
 a score or more is wonderfully suggestive of the ominous 
 reports along the skirmish line. More than all else, perhaps, 
 the roar of the cannon, according to its nearness and the 
 volume of its sound, suggests the threatening or fully opened 
 conflict, and brings fresh to mind the mingled and the peculiar 
 sensations experienced by the participant. 
 
 On the second of May, 1864, came the looked-for orders 
 that were to end the quiet and uneventful monotony of camp 
 life and set in motion an army of more than a hundred thou- 
 sand men with "its rolling of drums, tramp of squadrons, and 
 immeasurable tumult of baggage wagons." To describe ade- 
 quately the commingled scenes of earnest preparation, vocif- 
 erous salutations and commands, ludicrous incidents, and 
 picturesque movements associated with such a general dis- 
 ruption calls for an abler pen than mine. Confusion seem- 
 ingly reigns supreme, but soon it becomes evident that this 
 "mighty maze is not without a plan." Scattered formations 
 begin, and companies of men, like rills flowing to their stream, 
 assume the concrete form of a regiment, regiments coalesce 
 into brigades, brigades into divisions, until finally the whole 
 cavalry corps of twelve thousand moves grandly away to 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 139 
 
 meet the enemy; but when, or where, or how, it knows not. 
 
 Shortly after midnight on the fourth of May the crossing 
 of the Rapidan began, the cavalry fording the river and pre- 
 ceding the infantry, which crossed over on pontoon bridges. 
 
 It is now more than fifty years since the Army of the 
 Potomac crossed the Rapidan River, thus inaugurating 
 Grant's memorable campaign of the summer of 1864, with 
 its incessant fighting and horrible slaughter. What memories 
 follow fast in the memory of every old soldier of that time ! 
 How like a dream it all seems. With thousands of others I 
 find myself suddenly in the midst of war's alarms, with the 
 authority and responsibilities of a surgeon. Inexperienced in 
 my profession, unused to hardships, and by nature timid rather 
 than otherwise, I am oppressed by the fact that we are fairly 
 caught in the maelstrom of war, and that I am one of a 
 relentless body pressing on to bloody work. How it all comes 
 back to me — the picturesque scenes as the great army broke 
 camp and our cavalry moved out in long line for an unknown 
 destination and destiny. It was a charming day. The air 
 was exhilarating, and it was an inspiration to watch the moving 
 host of infantry, cavalry and artillery as, like mighty streams, 
 they moved grandly along unobstructed and unresisted. If 
 the lightning meets with no resistance it is harmless, but if 
 resisted it rends asunder; and so these moving masses, as they 
 proudly press forward, need only resistance to transform 
 them into frightful instruments of destruction. 
 
 Many with whom I rode that day were all too soon destined 
 to go down to death. That night, a weary host, we stretched 
 ourselves upon the ground to rest, but at midnight we were 
 awakened by orders to move at once. "Three o'clock in the 
 morning courage" was a phrase quite familiar to me, and it 
 came to my mind at that time. 
 
 The air was chilly and damp; the blood was circulating at 
 lowest ebb in our veins, and I recall the feeling of inertness 
 and inefficiency that well-nigh overwhelmed me as I imagined 
 all sorts of unknown terrors ahead. But no riot of the imag- 
 ination went beyond the scenes soon to be enacted. In perfect 
 silence we made our way toward the historic Rapidan River, 
 the "Rubicon" of that day. Beyond that river was forbidden 
 ground. "Thus far shalt thou go and no further!" And 
 
1 4 o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 the ability to enforce that command has been illustrated on 
 fields as sanguinary and as gallantly fought on both sides as 
 the world has ever seen. 
 
 McClellan has been driven back with carnage unspeakable. 
 Burnside at Fredericksburg in impotent rage dashed his de- 
 voted troops against impenetrable barriers, while later 
 Hooker was routed, and the long-suffering army of the Poto- 
 mac literally hurled back across the river. And as on that 
 gloomy night of May fourth, 1864, we halted on the brink of 
 the quiet stream, many must have thought of these things and 
 wondered as to the future. What would the resistance be? 
 With strained and expectant senses we plunged into the cold 
 waters of the Rapidan, and as our horses went deeper, we 
 wondered that no sound of gun was heard above the splash 
 of the water and the low-spoken word of command. As we 
 leached the other side, day was breaking. No enemies were in 
 sight, and the only evidences of their existence were the foot- 
 prints of horses and torn bags of grain or meal left in their 
 hasty flight. We press forward and halt for a little while on 
 the famous battlefield of Chancellorsville, and I see now, as 
 I saw then, a solitary chimney towering high above the trees 
 — all that was left of the headquarters of Hooker during the 
 battle of the year before. Ghastly evidences of that fierce 
 fight — some of it in deep darkness — were seen in the bones 
 of the unburied dead, and impelled by a curious impulse I 
 picked up one of these fragments of our poor humanity and 
 held it for a moment. Just as on the street, we meet a passing 
 stranger and wonder what his name is, — what of his his- 
 tory, — what his past or his future, so I wondered of what 
 personality this dry bone had been a part. Less than a year 
 ago, this person, probably little more than a boy, was part of 
 the pulsating, vibrating machinery of war. If he belonged to 
 a New England or a Western regiment, perhaps he came 
 from some peaceful farm, and his thoughts may have reverted 
 at the beginning of that fateful day to his father's farm, to 
 the quiet safety of its fields, and to the beautiful and restful 
 serenity of the parental roof. Even yet in youthful sim- 
 plicity he may not have ceased to regard that father in his 
 relation to him as a "prophet, priest and King," and his 
 mother above all others. What a little time had separated 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 141 
 
 him from the dewy fragrance of childhood to the rough expe- 
 rience of war. Scarcely had he awakened out of eternity 
 before he entered again upon eternity. Time had indeed 
 been to him a fast, hurrying stream. Whether such thoughts 
 are true of him one knows not, neither does it matter; but that 
 they are true in essentials of thousands who fell in the great 
 struggle is without question. 
 
 Patriotism ! Yes, it is right, and a great and glorious pos- 
 session, but what save honor can compensate for the loss of 
 all that is beautiful and tender and reminiscent in one's life; 
 for the lives that are snuffed out, broken off almost at their 
 very beginning? Ah! the boys, and for the most part only 
 boys, that became the victim of the hell of war. 
 
 And so, here we are again, the entire army of the Potomac, 
 in the enemy's country, with the river behind us. Will it re- 
 suit again in fearful loss of life and then retreat? In loss 
 of life beyond all compute? Yes! but never more retreat. 
 And the morrow will witness not only a fearful death-roll, but 
 a horrible holocaust both of the living and the dead. 
 
 Through all the live-long day of that terrible struggle in 
 the Wilderness, I heard the long-drawn-out volleys, before 
 which fell hundreds and thousands of youth on both sides, and 
 that nothing might be lacking on that day of horror, the dry 
 leaves and tangled underbrush caught fire, and poor, wounded, 
 helpless humanity was not allowed even a fighting chance or 
 the privilege of dying a soldier's death, but must suffer the 
 indignity and pangs of fire. 
 
 The phrase "War is hell" comes, as a rule, trippingly from 
 the tongue. But when Sherman said it, it came as it comes 
 now when spoken by the veteran of to-day, deep down and 
 straight from the heart. 
 
 Rev. Henry Van Dyke recognized the spirit that ani- 
 mated General Sherman and set it forth in the lines written 
 on the occasion of the dedication of St. Gaudens' equestrian 
 statue of the General at the entrance to Central Park: 
 
 "This is the soldier, brave enough to tell 
 The glory-dazzled world, that war is hell ; 
 Lover of peace, he looks beyond the strife 
 And rides through hell — to save his country's life." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE cavalry took but little part in this first great battle 
 of the campaign, — the Battle of the Wilderness. It 
 was on the outskirts, supporting batteries, guarding sup- 
 plies, protecting flanks, etc., but on the eighth of May, General 
 Sheridan received instructions to concentrate his scattered 
 forces, pass around the right of Lee's army to its rear, and 
 after doing all the damage possible by destroying railroads, 
 burning supplies, etc., proceed to Haxall's Landing on the 
 James, replenish supplies from General Butler's stores, rest 
 his command, and then return to the main army, wherever it 
 might be. This memorable and historic raid consumed just 
 fifteen days, in which time were concentrated as much move- 
 ment and fighting as in any other period of similar length 
 during the war. Indeed, any soldier who saw nothing more 
 of war than that raid, might be entitled truly to the appellation 
 of "Veteran." 
 
 Early on the morning of the ninth of May, 1864, we 
 were in motion, the object being to get away from Lee's in- 
 fantry before meeting Stuart's cavalry. It was early spring, 
 and a cloudless sky, a clear, invigorating atmosphere, con- 
 tributed to make the day nearly perfect. The roads were in 
 excellent condition, free from mud or dust, and we were pass- 
 ing through a beautiful country untouched by the ravages of 
 war. I can never forget the song of the birds, the rustle of 
 the leaves upon the trees, and the cattle peacefully grazing 
 in the fields. They would look up and gaze curiously but 
 unafraid at the unusual spectacle of marching troops and the 
 rumble of artillery and baggage wagons. There were fields 
 of waving grass and comfortable little homes that had never 
 before seen an invading force. Few whites were seen, but 
 the negroes from every hamlet and hut gathered along the 
 roadside in undisguised admiration and wonder at the cease- 
 less stream of artillery and horse. "Pompey, have you seen 
 many soldiers go along this way to-day?" was asked face- 
 tiously of a gray-haired old negro, and as the old fellow lifted 
 up both hands and excitedly ejaculated, "Yes, Massa, 
 
 142 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 143 
 
 t'ousands and thousands, you go right into Richmond now, 
 suh," — it was made sufficiently evident by the old man's un- 
 feigned action and tone that he at least was heart and soul 
 with the Union cause. 
 
 Our regiment was the extreme rear of the line, and the 
 beauty and quiet of the day was still with us when, as we made 
 a turn through a short stretch of wood, all were startled by 
 the well-known rebel yell, accompanied by rapid firing. The 
 Colonel, turning in his saddle, saw the rear of the regiment 
 scattering in every direction, closely pressed by the attacking 
 party. In an instant everything was in the utmost confusion. 
 The artillery, pack train, forage wagons and forming bodies 
 of troops seemed to be inextricably mixed, and I found my- 
 self in a sort of pandemonium separated from every familiar 
 face, uncertain which way to turn, either to avoid the increas- 
 ing fire, or to find a post of duty. Just then a captain of the 
 staff galloped by and with a shout, "You are wanted this way, 
 doctor," he swept by and I followed on. In a moment a 
 position was reached that enabled me to witness the rare sight 
 of cavalry fighting hand to hand with sabre and pistol. This 
 was my baptism of fire, and a fierce and fiery one it was. The 
 excitement was too great to allow the details to be firmly fixed 
 in mind. A swaying, yelling mass of horsemen, and the roar 
 of a section of artillery in the rear, were the main impressions. 
 One distinct act I now vividly recall. The adjutant of the 
 regiment (Baldwin) to whom I have already referred, and 
 whose sad death occurred a short time after, had just received 
 the ineffectual fire of a Southern soldier. I see the adjutant 
 now, as I have in imagination seen him hundreds of times 
 before, with that expression of concentrated excitement char- 
 acteristic of such scenes of peril. With horses careering side 
 by side, he had grasped the Confederate by the collar of his 
 coat with one hand, and with the other was in the act of strik- 
 ing him from the saddle with the butt of his pistol. One poor 
 fellow was lying upon the turf bleeding and pale, and dis- 
 mounting I gave the reins of my horse to an attendant who 
 had just joined me. It was anything but a pleasant time or 
 place for the gentle ministration of the healing art. Bullets 
 were whistling through the air on every side, and it needed 
 only the ear to assure us that the enemy were in close prox- 
 
i 4 4 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 imity. The wounded man was too weak to lift his head from 
 the ground, and as I was intently engaged in examining the 
 arm through which a bullet had passed, the startling cry of 
 "Here they come!" was heard. We were on the edge of a 
 plowed field, and, on looking up, a body of Confederate 
 cavalry was seen not over a hundred yards away, coming 
 towards us as rapidly as the nature of the ground would per- 
 mit, firing their carbines, and with all manner of exclamations. 
 Not one of us stood upon the order of his going. The orderly 
 gallantly led the flight, followed by the surgeon, who was in 
 turn closely followed by the wounded man. He, poor fellow, 
 had not feigned anything as he lay there apparently unable to 
 rise. It was only the stimulus of imminent danger that en- 
 abled him to leap unassisted to his feet and into his saddle. 
 My own horse, left to himself, started, and there was only 
 time to grasp him by the neck and throw one leg over the 
 saddle, where for a moment I helplessly hung. The efforts 
 of the now thoroughly terrified horse, as he plunged through 
 the soft earth, were frantic enough, but not more so than my 
 own as I strained every nerve to right myself. Success finally 
 crowned these efforts, and our speed was soon rewarded by 
 the welcome sight of a line of our own forces. These were 
 flanked, and as we came to a halt, the wounded soldier was 
 close at our heels. In a sudden attack such as this, there 
 could be no very satisfactory or permanent alignment. The 
 scene of contest constantly shifted; hence, no sooner had we 
 alighted and stretched the almost fainting wounded man upon 
 the ground than we had the unusual experience of being ex- 
 posed again within five minutes to the enemy's charge and 
 were compelled to fly once more. This time we did not halt 
 until it was certain that we had safely outdistanced that per- 
 sistent body of rebels. It had often been said that surgeons 
 are not exposed to much danger. This I began to doubt, and 
 on many subsequent occasions this doubt received strong con- 
 firmation. 
 
 Finally the attacking force was compelled to retire, and in 
 thick darkness, for night had fallen, the task of reforming the 
 scattered troops began. This accomplished, away we went 
 in one of the fastest cavalry rides ever experienced, to join 
 the advanced forces on the banks of the North Anna River. 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 145 
 
 Among our severely wounded was one man whom I at- 
 tended, shot through the lung. It was a fearful wound, and 
 as there seemed little hope of his surviving, and as we could 
 not take him with us, we left him under care at a little house 
 by the roadside. He recovered and subsequently rejoined the 
 regiment a well man. Such recoveries we now know to be not 
 unusual. 
 
 The following morning, our division (Gregg's) and that 
 of Wilson, crossed the river, exposed to the artillery fire of 
 our untiring adversary who had followed us, had placed his 
 guns in position, and had waited for the morning. Custer 
 with his brigade was sent to Beaver Dam Station, where he 
 destroyed ten miles of the Virginia Central Railroad, with 
 locomotives, cars, and army supplies, recapturing also many 
 prisoners who had been taken in the battle of the Wilderness 
 and were then on their way to Richmond. I will not attempt 
 to give in detail the various side movements and encounters 
 of our cavalry from this time until it reached the bank of the 
 James, where it rested for three days under the guns of the 
 fleet. One incident may be recalled, however, of a night's 
 ride to Ashland Station for the purpose of destroying the 
 road and a depot of supplies stored there. It was dark when 
 our brigade (Davies') started, but as the column wheeled into 
 an unfrequented forest road, the darkness became almost 
 impenetrable. Our progress was not especially disagreeable, 
 so long as our horses were allowed to walk; but the necessity 
 of reaching our destination in quick time soon urged the whole 
 force into a rapid gallop. As we descended into gullies, 
 mounted hillocks, and leaped obstructions in the darkness, our 
 animals were necessarily left to their own guidance. Only by 
 sound and shout could we tell when horses stumbled and fell, 
 pitching their riders. My little mare, however, kept her feet 
 bravely, and not only then but many times afterwards carried 
 me securely through danger. Hats were brushed away by 
 the branches of the trees, faces scratched and bodies bruised, 
 but on we raced for several miles until the woods were 
 cleared. Never were men more glad to see a star than were 
 we. In the early morning we reached the station, drove away 
 a small force, and successfully accomplished the object for 
 which we had been sent. By this time "Jeb" Stuart, the bril- 
 
146 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 liant Confederate cavalry leader, by moving on roads parallel 
 to ours, had outstripped us and planted himself in our path at 
 Yellow Tavern, seven miles from Richmond. 
 
 The battle here was very severe and the casualties many. 
 On the side of the enemy, General Gordon was killed, and the 
 gallant and renowned Stuart mortally wounded. Following 
 up his successes, Sheridan penetrated to the outer defenses of 
 Richmond, causing the greatest excitement and consternation 
 there. We could plainly hear the ringing of the church bells 
 and the puffing of the locomotives, and from subsequent in- 
 formation it would seem that the city could have been easily 
 captured because of the small force left for its defense. 
 
 On the morning of the twelfth it was proposed to recross 
 the Chickahominy, but the bridge was found destroyed, and 
 had to be rebuilt under a heavy fire from a force of the enemy 
 on the opposite side, while at the same time we were harassed 
 by attacking troops from the direction of Richmond. For a 
 few hours it was a season of anxiety to General Sheridan 
 lest he should be attacked by an increasing force before the 
 completed bridge afforded him an opportunity to go on his 
 way. The story was current among us that when the bridge 
 was finished and our troops were about to cross, the General 
 seized a bottle, and as he was about to lift it to his mouth 
 with a "Here's to you Johnnies," a stray bullet effectually 
 shattered it. Nothing daunted, it is further related that the 
 General, turning in the direction from which the missile came, 
 quickly substituted for his salutation, the exclamation and re- 
 proach, "That's d d unhandsome of you, Johnny." 
 
 We reached Haxall's Landing on the banks of the James 
 on the fourteenth, but not without sharp fighting with some 
 of the enemy's infantry and dismounted cavalry who had 
 advanced from their work to intercept us. Here we had an 
 opportunity for much needed sleep, and we were very grate- 
 ful. Since leaving the Wilderness, our marching and fight- 
 ing had been almost continuous, and both rider and horse, to 
 say nothing of the patient mule, were utterly exhausted. It is 
 a notable fact that during the movement of an army one sel- 
 dom sees a wild animal or venomous reptile, even though 
 wild the region and thick the forest. On this occasion, how- 
 ever, soon after reaching camp, while quietly slumbering un- 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 147 
 
 der my low and narrow shelter tent, I was aroused by a loud 
 cry from some one, and looking round was startled by the 
 sight of a very large flat-headed snake, which had entered 
 the tent and raised up his head in close proximity to mine. I 
 cleared the entrance instantly, fortunately without touching 
 the snake, and soon had the satisfaction of killing the intruder. 
 He measured four feet and some inches and was pronounced 
 a very poisonous fellow. 
 
 On the seventeenth of May, quite refreshed and well sup- 
 plied with rations, the cavalry retraced its steps to rejoin the 
 main army, which, with little opposition, it accomplished on 
 the twenty-fourth. The army of the Potomac at this time 
 found itself in a peculiar position. It had crossed to the 
 south bank of the South Anna River in two different sections, 
 and then confronted Lee's intrenched forces. The peculiarity 
 of the situation was that our army not only had the river in 
 its rear, but an intrenched division of the enemy, like a wedge, 
 extended to the river, widely separating the two sections of 
 the Union Army. It is readily seen, therefore, that for one 
 part to support the other it would be necessary to cross the 
 river twice. The position was thoroughly unsatisfactory and 
 not devoid of peril, and on the night of the twenty-fifth, in 
 the most intense darkness, the withdrawal was successfully 
 accomplished. 
 
 Crossing the Pamunkey River on the twenty-seventh, we 
 halted, and soon a thousand camp fires were brightly gleam- 
 ing in the valleys and along the hillsides. One of the most 
 important duties of the soldier, however, was to see that his 
 horse was secure, and to this end every man was eager to 
 obtain as quickly as possible a portion of a rail or some small 
 limb of a tree, and utilize it as a stake. Imagine ten thousand 
 men, more or less, driving down these stakes simultaneously. 
 In the clear night air, the sound reaches one from near and 
 far, now echoing and re-echoing in a single crushing volume, 
 and again with a rapid and irregular clatter quite indescrib- 
 able. In the midst of all this confusion and fancied security 
 there was the startling report of a bursting shell among us. In 
 an instant every sound was hushed. The cessation of active 
 life was as real and the silence as profound as when all the 
 inmates in the palace of the King went to sleep for a thousand 
 
i 4 8 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 years. The awakening also was almost as sudden. For a 
 moment there was strained expectation, with a thousand arms 
 held high in air, then a single blow, then another, and imme- 
 diately the air was again resounding with sturdy strokes. 
 It seems that the fire at our brigade headquarters had been 
 kindled over an unnoticed and unexploded shell, thrown in 
 some previous cavalry skirmish, and in its explosion one of 
 our own officers, detailed temporarily for staff duty, was 
 severely wounded. I venture to say that seldom in the whole 
 history of the war did the explosion of a single shell excite 
 more attention and comment. 
 
 The following day witnessed one of the severest and 
 longest cavalry engagements of the campaign. General Sheri- 
 dan, in pursuance of orders of "feel the enemy," pushed for- 
 ward our division (Gregg's) on the road from Hanovertown 
 to Richmond. Near a place called Hawes' Shop a large force 
 of rebel cavalry (Fitzhugh Lee's and Hampton's divisions) 
 were found dismounted and occupying temporary breastworks 
 of rail. My post of duty in the beginning of the contest was 
 with the regiment at the front, as usual, and when finally di- 
 rected to the field hospital in the rear, to assist there, I found 
 an old house filled and the yard strewn with wounded men 
 who had either been operated upon or who were patiently 
 waiting their turn to be placed upon the repulsive-looking 
 tables. Here for the first, but not for the last, time I regret 
 to say, it was my unpleasant experience to see a hospital with 
 its protective flag flying above, and filled with the wounded 
 and dying, exposed to the fire of artillery. Fortunately the 
 cannonading was of brief continuance, but long enough to 
 inflict some damage; how much I am not aware, as my horse, 
 which I had remounted a few minutes previously to return to 
 the firing line, became so unmanageable at the sound of a 
 bursting shell that he bore me quickly away. The direction 
 taken by the affrighted animal acquits me of intentionally run- 
 ning away, for I was carried towards a still hotter fire, and it 
 was fully a mile before the animal could be subdued. 
 
 Can I ever forget that shell? I heard it coming from be- 
 hind, shrieking like a thousand devils. I remember thinking 
 that I was done for. Another surgeon was riding by my 
 side, our knees nearly touching, yet the shell fell between 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 149 
 
 our two horses, exploding as it touched the ground. The 
 horse of my fellow surgeon was literally disemboweled, while 
 my own horse was untouched, but the shock was terrible. The 
 surgeon himself was unhurt. Years after one old soldier 
 who was there told me that he could never forget the sight 
 of the wounded horse, rearing high in air, with the blood 
 pouring in streams from the severed arteries. 
 
 It was here, during a lull in the fighting, that our plain- 
 spoken Colonel sent back a reply to the commanding general, 
 which I understood he never forgot. 
 
 Staff Officer — "General Sheridan wishes to know, Colonel, 
 how you are getting along." 
 
 Colonel — "You tell the general that we are licking the bile 
 out of them." 
 
 This reply was literally transmitted by the faithful aid. A 
 few years after the war, the members of the legislature of 
 Ohio, of which body the Colonel was one, were introduced to 
 the General, and upon the former being presented, Sheridan 
 quickly remembered him and good-humoredly brought him to 
 task for the language in which his official information had 
 been couched. 
 
 For the next few days the cavalry were incessantly active. 
 The disastrous assault of Cold Harbor occurred, and in this 
 they took part, losing heavily in killed and wounded; and 
 almost immediately after were ordered to proceed along the 
 Central Railroad of Virginia, damage it as much as possible, 
 and then join the command of General Hunter in the lower 
 Valley. After this we were again to return to the Army of 
 the Potomac, wherever it was. Only a part of this duty were 
 we able successfully to perform. Our route lay along the 
 north bank of the North Anna, and on the afternoon of the 
 tenth of June we crossed the river at Carpenter's Ford and 
 encamped near the line of the Virginia Central Railway, not 
 far from Trevilian Station. We now found ourselves op- 
 posed by a large force of cavalry under Hampton and Lee, 
 who had followed closely on interior lines to intercept us. On 
 the morning of the eleventh the opposing forces met, and 
 throughout all that day the fighting was desperate and the 
 losses large. The advantage was on our side, but learning 
 from prisoners that General Hunter was not in a position to 
 
150 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 be readily reached, and that we were likely to be opposed by 
 both Ewell and Breckinridge, General Sheridan decided to 
 withdraw under the cover of darkness. Another reason for 
 our withdrawal, as I afterwards learned, was the want of am- 
 munition. 
 
 It was just twilight when my regiment was sent out to do 
 picket duty and cover the withdrawal of the rest of the troops. 
 The dust raised must have been seen by our watchful foe, for 
 a storm of shell was opened upon us, which for a few moments 
 was as fearful as anything we had experienced. Shells ex- 
 ploded around and above us, and the brilliant illumination in 
 the twilight added to the impressiveness of the scene. The 
 firing was quickly over, but while it lasted it seemed as if the 
 regiment would be annihilated. Many of us were struck in 
 face and body by bits of flying bark and branches from the 
 trees, for we were passing through a tract of woods, and I saw 
 a small tree completely severed. The fact that not a man was 
 injured illustrates how out of all proportion to the damage 
 inflicted may be the noise and demoralizing effect of an artil- 
 lery fire. 
 
 After midnight the withdrawal was skilfully accomplished 
 and with entire secrecy, and a retrograde march commenced, 
 which in some respects was more painful than anything we 
 had before or would hereafter experience. We had captured 
 some five hundred prisoners, and were encumbered with about 
 six hundred wounded men; of these ninety were too severely 
 injured to be moved, and, together with the enemy's wounded 
 that had fallen into our hands, were left behind in charge of 
 surgeons detailed for that purpose. We were far from our 
 base of supplies, and six hundred helpless men suffering from 
 injuries of almost every conceivable character had to be trans- 
 ported for days over rough roads in ambulances and in army 
 wagons without springs, and in the heat and thick dust of 
 summer. 
 
 Look not for the extremest horrors of war upon the battle- 
 field, however awful the carnage or cruel the adversary, but 
 find it rather in some of the experiences of prison life, or the 
 unutterable and prolonged agonies of a retrograde march, 
 such as ours of eight days' duration. From sunrise to sunset 
 the long cavalcade of canvas-covered vehicles toiled along 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 151 
 
 with jar and jolt, enveloped in clouds of dust and eliciting 
 from the wretched sufferers a continuous succession of groans 
 and heart-rending outcries. Soldiers in general know little of 
 such scenes as these, familiar only to the surgeons and the at- 
 tendants. The excitement and dangers of the battle over, 
 the resultant suffering is quickly removed and left to proper 
 care. Our brave and humane old Colonel had occasion to 
 ride forward along the line of the moving ambulances. He 
 returned actually pale with suppressed excitement, and ex- 
 claimed, "My God! No consideration would tempt me to 
 go over that course again and see the sights and hear the 
 groans that I have this day seen and heard." 
 
 And here, without my invidious distinction, attention may 
 be called to the work of the medical staff of the army, who 
 labored without hope of special preferment or possibility of 
 distinction. They shared the fatigue, and much of the danger 
 of the campaign, and in emergencies their labors were almost 
 to the limit of human endurance. On this very march, for 
 example, after a hard day's ride, when all others were sleep- 
 ing, the surgeons collected about the ambulances and by the 
 dim light of candles dressed each wound with gentle care. 
 Oh, the memory of the horrid odors that came from decaying 
 and gangrenous wounds, for it must be remembered that in 
 those days there was no blessed antiseptic known, and men 
 died like sheep for want of some staying process. Every 
 effort was made to save the lives of those who were not too 
 far gone. The dying were passed by except to minister to 
 their immediate wants, and the dead were quickly buried. 
 
 As I recall at this distance of time, those nights of toil, 
 with wagons against the dark background, crowded with 
 wounded, and surgeons here and there, bending low over the 
 sufferers and by the dim light of candles engaged in their 
 humane ministrations, the scene loses none of its weird and 
 solemn impressiveness. 
 
 We passed over the recent battlefield of Spottsylvania, 
 where the destructive effects of shot and shell were plainly 
 visible. Broken branches of trees were on every hand. Many 
 trees were almost completely denuded of bark and foliage, 
 some were riddled with bullets, and others were felled to the 
 ground by the shots. Brigadier General Grant of the Ver- 
 
i 5 2 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 mont brigade thus graphically describes the close and deadly 
 fighting at the celebrated "Angle" : "It was not only a des- 
 perate struggle, but it was literally a hand-to-hand fight. 
 Nothing but the piled-up logs or breastworks separated the 
 combatants. Our men would reach over the logs, and fire 
 into the faces of the enemy, would stab over with their 
 bayonets, and many were shot and stabbed through the crev- 
 ices and holes between the logs. Men mounted the works, 
 and, with muskets rapidly handed them, kept up a continuous 
 fire until they were shot down, when others would take their 
 places and continue the deadly work. Several times during 
 the day the enemy would show the white flag about the works, 
 and when our fire slackened, jump over and surrender, and 
 others were crowded down to fill their places. It was there 
 that the somewhat celebrated tree preserved in the war 
 museum of Washington was cut in two by bullets; there that 
 the brush and logs were cut to pieces and whipped into basket 
 stuff; there that the enemy's ditches and cross-sections were 
 filled with dead men several deep. I was at the Angle the 
 next day. The sight was terrible and sickening, much worse 
 than at Bloody Lane (Antietam). There a great many men 
 were lying in the road and across the rails of the torn down 
 fences, and out in the cornfield, but they were not piled up 
 several deep, and their flesh was not so torn and mangled as 
 at the 'Angle.' " 
 
 Glad enough were we to reach our supplies at the "White 
 House" on the twenty-first, where we passed the night. (The 
 "White House" was the property of Robert E. Lee.) On 
 the twenty-second an immense train of nine hundred wagons 
 started to join the main army. The cavalry was ordered to 
 protect these trains until they had crossed the James at Ber- 
 muda Hundied on pontoon bridges. After crossing the 
 Chickahominy at Jones's Bridge, General Torbert with one 
 division was held with the train, while General Gregg with 
 our division was sent to a place called St. Mary's Church to 
 protect an uncovered flank. Our own brigade, under General 
 Davies, was stationed in an open space on slightly rising 
 ground, in the center of which was a shabby little house, the 
 inmates consisting of an invalid, with his wife and several 
 children. They were thoroughly alarmed at the threatening 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 153 
 
 outlook, as well they might be. When the conflict began this 
 family sought refuge in the cellar, and emerged after it was all 
 over unharmed. We were here confronted again by our agile 
 and valiant opponents, the cavalry divisions of Hampton and 
 Lee, who were eager to obtain some of the rich pickings in 
 the trains moving along "so near and yet so far." 
 
 Several hundred yards in our front was the edge of a dense 
 forest, and from the frequent interchange of shots between 
 our advance pickets and the concealed foe, it was apparent 
 that danger lurked in those dark recesses. The morning and 
 a portion of the afternoon wore wearily away. The train to 
 be protected had nearly passed, and the troops were drawn 
 up ready to retire, when suddenly the enemy opened a furious 
 fusillade from the woods. Henceforth, until darkness ended 
 the conflict, it was with us a series of stands and retreats, for 
 the foe greatly outnumbered our forces. At every position 
 lost by us, the enemy planted his artillery, and vigorously 
 bombarded our retreating troops, inflicting some damage, but 
 the main effect was to increase the speed of the retreating 
 trains and non-combatants. 
 
 In the beginning the usual field hospital had been estab- 
 lished a mile or so in the rear, and there the wounded were 
 brought. Orders soon came to move further on, and the 
 wounded were relifted into the ambulances and carried to a 
 place supposed to be secure; but presently an aid dashed up 
 and in great excitement, cried to us to "get out of here," as 
 the Confederates were close at hand. A few bursting shells 
 gave emphasis to these words, and with no delay, the wounded 
 were once again hustled into the waiting ambulances. The 
 last one had disappeared, and I was about to follow, when 
 four men came up bearing a wounded man upon a shutter. 
 Dismounting and kneeling by his side, I found him to be my 
 good friend, Adjutant Baldwin, who gave me such words of 
 cheer when I first joined the regiment. He was suffering 
 with what was evidently a fatal wound in the side. He rec- 
 ognized me only by my voice, and asked in faltering tones if 
 his wound was mortal. My answer was perhaps evasive, but 
 he divined instantly the truth, and in tones intensely pathetic, 
 and which seem to me as real now as then, he said: "My 
 time, then, has come; I must die." At this time men were 
 
154 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 madly rushing to the rear, and on a crest of ground not far 
 away, the enemy plainly could be seen. The "boys," though 
 quite exhausted, willingly lifted the dying man again in a last 
 attempt to place him beyond the reach of danger. A loud 
 shout, sharper firing, and the tread of horses, revealed at that 
 moment a body of charging Confederate cavalry directly be- 
 hind us. There was not a moment to lose; recognizing this, 
 the adjutant, raising himself upon his elbow with a last effort, 
 gazed wildly at the approaching foe and exclaimed, "Leave 
 me, boys, leave me," and he was dropped and left to his fate. 
 The horsemen rushed by, but fortunately without injuring 
 him, and the next day we returned in quest of him and found 
 his dead body by the roadside. We learned that he lived but 
 a short time after our departure, and was attended and min- 
 istered to by a kindly old negro. I can never recall without 
 emotion the evidences of the Adjutant's inherent nobility of 
 character as illustrated by his quick cry of "Leave me, boys." 
 When it is remembered that for a period of six weeks dur- 
 ing this campaign not only was it oppressively hot, but that not 
 a drop of rain fell, our hardships will be better appreciated. 
 Springs and ponds were dried, and of many of the larger 
 streams only trickling rills were to be seen. The dust lay 
 ankle-deep upon the highways, and frequently the troops were 
 so completely enveloped in it that objects not many feet dis- 
 tant were invisible. It was fine dust, penetrating eyes, ears, 
 nose and throat, both of man and beast, rendering it difficult 
 to tell the blue coat from the gray. One of the sad and yet 
 seemingly necessary cruelties of the campaign was the sacri- 
 fice of our faithful horses. Whenever they became too ex- 
 hausted to proceed further without rest in our forced marches, 
 or if they became lame, through the loss of a shoe, which 
 could not be replaced, or if the back became too sore to ride, 
 they were immediately shot. This was done to prevent their 
 falling into the hands of the enemy. For this purpose there 
 was always a rear guard, and when the disabled horses fell 
 back, they were immediately shot. On one very hot day dur- 
 ing a terrible march I remember counting some forty-five 
 horses that had been thus disposed of along a course of less 
 than five miles. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 SOON after this, utterly exhausted and ill from the expo- 
 sure of this hard campaign, I was granted a short fur- 
 lough and returned home to Milan, Ohio. When I re- 
 turned to duty I found that General Sheridan had left us. He 
 had been assigned to the Command of the Department of the 
 Shenandoah, and taking with him two of the three cavalry 
 divisions constituting our corps, he began that series of bril- 
 liant movements ending in the practical annihilation of Early's 
 army. 
 
 The second dvision, commanded by General Gregg, was 
 left behind to co-operate with the Army of the Potomac. 
 From this time onward until November, when the army went 
 into winter quarters, the cavalry seconded the infantry in all 
 its undertakings. Strong and persistent efforts were made 
 directly against Richmond and against Petersburg, but more 
 especially against the different lines of railroads running from 
 the South and Southwest into these cities, upon which Lee's 
 army depended for its supplies. Most of these efforts failed, 
 but finally the Weldon railroad was captured after a long and 
 bloody struggle, and our lines thrown across and beyond it. 
 
 The two armies, each strongly entrenched, now confronted 
 each other in the last desperate heroic efforts of the Confed- 
 eracy. To all appearances it was Richmond and Petersburg 
 that were so tenaciously defended by Lee, and so eagerly 
 sought for by Grant, but as events proved, it was the life of 
 his army that the Confederate commander was so desperately 
 defending, and it was "this life rather than any capital city, 
 however important, that the union General was seeking. The 
 winter of 1864-5 was unusually severe, and the suffering from 
 cold and sleet was very great. When in camp, however, we 
 lived in comparative comfort, and as it fell to the cavalry to 
 guard the rear of the lines, its duty was less severe and dan- 
 gerous than that of the infantry who faced each other along 
 the front, almost constantly exposed to storms of shot and 
 shell. We had our trials, however, for no sooner had we 
 begun to congratulate ourselves upon our fortunate position 
 
 155 
 
156 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 as compared with the infantry, than we were unceremoniously 
 packed off on some errand of danger and destruction. For 
 example : Our regiment was on the road to and not far 
 from brigade headquarters. Time, two o'clock in the morn- 
 ing; weather disagreeable with cold and sleet. A horseman 
 rattles by at breakneck speed. All who hear him know well 
 his errand and I confess to a fit of shivering, as under my 
 army blanket I await developments. Simultaneously with the 
 shake at the Colonel's door comes a knock at my own, with 
 the statement from the brigade surgeon that the division 
 has orders to march within an hour with three days' ration 
 and forage. This to the surgeon means that the bugle must 
 sound the "sick call," so that all those who are ill and unable 
 to go may present themselves for examination, and be excused 
 in proper form. In these outlying expeditions, almost in- 
 variably even before our work was accomplished, Confederate 
 cavalry and infantry would be upon us, and then would begin 
 fighting in retreat, the most disagreeable of all forms of 
 combat, since it was difficult in many cases to take off our 
 wounded, and every man labored under the unpleasant appre- 
 hension of becoming a prisoner and a candidate for Anderson- 
 ville, Belle Island or Libby. One night we started for Stony 
 Creek, some few miles away, and after destroying a consider- 
 able amount of property, began the return march. As usual, 
 the foe was quickly on our heels, and with such increasing 
 pressure that it became necessary to take a more positive 
 stand. Therefore the first Maine Cavalry was brought to the 
 rear and distributed along a stretch of rising ground, behind 
 trees and stumps and fences, awaiting the nearer approach 
 of the enemy. This regiment was armed with carbines of the 
 sixteen-shooter pattern, and when it opened fire, each man dis- 
 charging his cartridges in quick sucession, it seemed as if, in- 
 stead of five hundred, there were five thousand hid in ambush. 
 This furious fusillade lasted only a short time, but effectively 
 cooled the ardor of the pursuers, and elicited the remark from 
 a captured "Johnny" that "You 'uns put the butt end of your 
 carbines against your cartridge boxes and fire without 
 stopping." 
 
 Still another picturesque event is but accentuated by time. 
 It was the close of a clear, cold afternoon in the early winter 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 157 
 
 of 1864. The regiment had but an hour before returned from 
 a severe siege of picket duty along the recently captured 
 Weldon railroad that extended to the beleaguered city of 
 Petersburg, and the men, after having cared for their horses, 
 were preparing their own suppers. All were anticipating a 
 quiet night when an order came to prepare to move within an 
 hour. "Boots and saddles" was sounded, and shortly after 
 dusk the regiment wended its way outside the camp, where it 
 found a long line of cavalry waiting for us to lead. 
 
 Of our destination, or on what errand bound, we were, as 
 usual, profoundly ignorant. 
 
 Reams' Station, on the Weldon railroad, the scene of sharp 
 fighting some months before, was soon reached, and as we 
 filed by a number of deserted buildings, torn through and 
 through by shot and shell in the recent struggle, a sight was 
 presented, hideous at any time, but doubly impressive in view 
 of the warlike and perilous errand on which we supposed our- 
 selves bound. Skeletons, seemingly without number, were 
 seen on every hand. Some were almost wholly exposed to 
 view, some were uncovered from the waist upward, while 
 others presented the spectacle of a head only thrust above the 
 soil. The expressions upon the upturned bony faces seemed 
 to alternate from grimaces of ghastly glee to forbidding 
 frowns, as they lay exposed in the bright moonlight or in the 
 shadow of the sentinel-like pine trees and of the moving col- 
 umn of horsemen. Entirely familiar as we all were with 
 varied scenes of horror, few cared to give more than a hurried 
 glance at these evidences of the sharp and bloody struggle in 
 which we had participated the summer before, in the success- 
 ful effort to destroy and hold this Southern line of communi- 
 cation with the cities of Richmond and Petersburg. Up a 
 winding way the head of the column moved until it reached a 
 commanding eminence from which the country for many miles 
 was distinctly visible. The moon, full-orbed, was well above 
 the eastern horizon, flooding the earth with its pale, mystic 
 radiance. Glancing back over our tortuous, ascending route 
 of march, nearly the whole length of the moving line of horse- 
 men, artillery, and ambulances — gleaming white and sug- 
 gestive — could be seen toiling along, while far to the rear 
 glowed many a camp and picket fire. The whole column was 
 
158 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 now urged into a brisk trot, and soon our advance guard 
 struck a weak picket force, which at once fled, leaving us in 
 undisputed possession of a number of dilapidated but spacious 
 outbuildings filled to overflowing with bacon, meal, and other 
 vital necessities for the Confederate soldier. To apply the 
 torch was the work of a moment, and almost instantly the 
 inflammable material was furiously blazing, giving, as we well 
 knew, quick intelligence of our handiwork to the watchful foe. 
 The errand of destruction completed, the column retraced its 
 steps with all possible speed, but not with sufficient rapidity 
 to elude the enemy. On arriving at the clearing to which allu- 
 sion has been made, we found hastily entrenched across the 
 road and along the edge of the wood at right angles to it, a 
 force sufficiently formidable to impede our progress. "Pre- 
 pare to dismount and fight on foot," was the order passed 
 rapidly down the command, and from each company, with 
 varying cadence, the quick, nervous count of "One, two, three, 
 four," so familiar to every cavalryman, was soon ringing out. 
 
 The count finished, the order to dismount was given, to be 
 obeyed by every first, second and third man, while the fourth 
 remained in charge of his own horse and those of his com- 
 panions. 
 
 The fourth man no doubt considered himself fortunate, as 
 he for the time being escaped the danger of battle. On this 
 occasion, when the count began in one of the companies near 
 where I stood, the fourth man, pleased that he was to escape 
 the fight, lustily shouted "Bully!" instead of "four," as he 
 should have done. The others, entering into the humor, fol- 
 lowed suit, and down the company front, from head to foot, 
 rang the cry of "One, two, three, bully!" over and over again. 
 
 The captain, however, was a strict disciplinarian, always 
 ready for a fight and in no humor for any nonsense, and, to 
 the utter discomfiture of each "four," he called out, "Two, 
 three and four dismount ! One remains with horses !" In the 
 skirmish that followed one of the "fours" of this company 
 was killed and another wounded, illustrating on how slight a 
 thing hinges the alternation of weal or woe, of life or death. 
 
 The opposing forces were facing each other along a slight 
 depression or vale running at right angles to the highway upon 
 which we were returning, while in the centre of this vale was a 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 159 
 
 long stretch of low bushes that fringed the borders of a shal- 
 low stream. It was now about midnight, and the moon, half- 
 way or more in its course, brightly illumined the whole field 
 of action. In the foreground a long line could be seen with 
 arms glistening in the cold, pale light; away to the right a 
 group of horsemen (the General in command and staff) ; aides 
 with orders galloping rapidly here and there, and a little to 
 the rear a dense mass of led horses with the men in charge. 
 The ambulances — some in the road and others hastily 
 grouped in a cleared field near by — awaited the order to ad- 
 vance on their errand of mercy, while to the left of these the 
 red-uniformed artillerymen were placing their guns in position. 
 
 The firing from the enemy had all this time been sharp but 
 somewhat desultory, when suddenly from our own side a rat- 
 tling discharge began, increasing in volume as it rolled along 
 the front, and redoubling the fury of the opposing fire. For a 
 short time the conflict was kept up with unceasing vigor, our 
 line slowly advancing to the stream and across it; then as the 
 Confederate fire sensibly slackened, the order to charge was 
 given, and with a cheer the entire column rushed across the 
 open space to the temporary breastworks of rail and to the 
 woods beyond. 
 
 The enemy, whose force was undoubtedly far less than our 
 own, gave way, and the fight was at an end. So suddenly had 
 the contest begun, and so quickly was it over, that it was diffi- 
 cult for the moment to realize the true state of affairs. Over 
 the field and around the tops of the forest trees adjacent 
 circled the fast-vanishing smoke of battle, and the air was 
 charged with sulphurous odors. Scattered over the ground 
 were dark forms, lying prone or in sitting posture — the dead 
 and severely wounded; while others, more lightly hurt, yet 
 bleeding and pale, were making their way to the waiting am- 
 bulances. There were some with shattered limbs to whom 
 every movement was agony. How were the broken bones to 
 be kept in position for the time being? 
 
 One suggested a neighboring cornfield, and brought an 
 armful of dried stalks, which, when split and cut in proper 
 lengths, answered the purpose admirably. 
 
 Some of the wounded were taken inside the hut that occu- 
 pied the clearing. A candle had been lighted, and by its feeble 
 
160 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 glare a wounded soldier was under examination, when to our 
 astonished gaze the floor itself seemed in motion, as if under 
 the influence of a subterranean power. A broad plank was 
 lifted high and thrown to one side, and a woolly head was 
 thrust from out a dark, deep hole. The eyes stared wildly 
 around, and the face was grotesquely anxious, while from the 
 lips issued, in all solemnity and earnestness, "Fore God, gem- 
 men, I'se Union, I is!" We helped the old man out, and then 
 the old woman, and one after the other five little darkies of 
 various sizes. A ludicrous spectacle was, indeed, presented 
 as they issued from their safe retreat frightened and trembling. 
 They were speedily reassured, however, and to show their 
 good will soon had a bright fire blazing and some smoking 
 hoe cake ready. It was long after midnight when the last 
 man was buried, the last wound dressed, and the column of 
 cavalry, artillery and ambulances ready to move. We re- 
 passed the uncovered skeletons at Reams' Station, and at 
 last gladly filed into camp, as the moon, which had witnessed 
 our departure twelve hours before, was gradually disappear- 
 ing below the western horizon. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 OUR regiment had been transferred from the first to the 
 third brigade, commanded by Brigadier General 
 Charles Smith, formerly Colonel of the First Maine 
 Cavalry and after the war remaining in the service as Colonel 
 of the Nineteenth Regular Infantry. The brigade surgeon, 
 Dr. King, was about to leave for an indefinite absence, and 
 to my great surprise I received an order to report to General 
 Smith at Brigade Headquarters and assume chief medical 
 direction. I was not only by far the youngest medical officer 
 in the command, but I think the youngest in service and experi- 
 ence, and why I should have been chosen is to this day a 
 mystery to me. 
 
 General Smith was under forty, and before the war had 
 been a teacher in Maine, his native State. He was a man of 
 great bravery and marked ability, and I was glad to get to 
 know him more intimately. After the war he had political 
 aspirations, and was thought of for the United States Senate, 
 and it was generally understood that his appointment as 
 Colonel in the regular army was a compromise measure. He 
 was quiet and even gentle in his manner, but when aroused 
 was capable of that vigorous language which army life en- 
 genders. 
 
 The general occasionally made a tour of inspection along 
 his portion of the picket line, and on one occasion I accom- 
 panied the party. It was the duty of each vidette to cry 
 "Halt!" to those advancing, and to allow but one to come 
 near to give the countersign. For a time everything went 
 on smoothly, all seeming to understand their duty, until we 
 approached a young fellow, who instead of halting us, simply 
 stared as if overpowered at sight of so many officers advanc- 
 ing towards him. The general kept on, and when near, sud- 
 denly seized and wrenched the carbine from his hand, exclaim- 
 ing: "Now, sir, you are in my power, and I can shoot you." 
 After a sharp lecture as to his duty, however, we passed on. 
 Soon we came to a portion of the line where the relief party 
 
 161 
 
1 62 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 was officered by a captain of the general's own regiment, the 
 First Maine. Orders had been given for those temporarily 
 off duty to be on the alert and ready for any emergency, but 
 we found the carbines lying around promiscuously and the 
 horses tied here and there at random. The captain in charge 
 saluted, and the general, in a mild, quiet tone of voice, said, 
 "Captain, did I not order the carbines to be stacked?" "Yes, 
 sir." "Did I not order the horses to be fastened in line?" 
 
 "Yes, general, I told the men, but " "You told the men," 
 
 thundered the general, with an oath, actually rising in his 
 saddle in his disgust, "You told the men, did you? You are 
 a fine man to command. Hand me your sword and consider 
 yourself under arrest." And back goes the astonished and 
 crestfallen officer under a guard of his own men. 
 
 It was through General Smith that I received my promo- 
 tion from an assistant to a full surgeon, so jumping in rank 
 from a first lieutenant to a major, and in pay from $1,500 to 
 $2,500 yearly. While in the general's tent one evening, he 
 casually said to me : "Doctor, you have no full surgeon with 
 your regiment now, have you?" I replied in the negative, 
 whereupon he said, "Why don't you apply for the position?" 
 I replied that it had never occurred to me; that I was young, 
 was but a short time graduated, and felt my want of experi- 
 ence. "But," continued the general, "You have been in entire 
 medical charge of the regiment through the campaign, and that 
 certainly presupposes competency." I then told him what I 
 had almost forgotten, relating to my examination at Colum- 
 bus, and the recommendation that followed, whereupon, the 
 general with some humor said, "You are too modest, doctor. 
 In the army you must take all you can get. Now let me ad- 
 vise you to sit right down before this table and write to the 
 surgeon general of Ohio and ask him for the commission." 
 I complied, but with no very confident belief that it would 
 amount to anything. This is the rather laconic letter that I 
 sent: 
 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 When I passed my examination at Columbus last spring for 
 medical service in the army, I was one of three recommended 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 163 
 
 for promotion (for proficiency in examination) when a va- 
 cancy should occur. That vacancy has now occurred. 
 Very respectfully, 
 A. D. Rockwell, 
 
 Ass't Surgeon, 6th O.V.C. 
 
 What was my astonishment and delight to receive in less than 
 two weeks a bulky document from the surgeon general's office, 
 containing my commission as major and surgeon. Proudly I 
 speeded to division headquarters and showed it to Dr. Marsh, 
 the division surgeon, where my high expectations were mo- 
 mentarily dashed. Dr. Marsh congratulated me, but at the 
 same time expressed a doubt as to whether the regiment had 
 the necessary complement of men to entitle it to a full surgeon. 
 Fortunately for me, if not for the good of the service, the 
 command was sufficiently strong to justify my claim, and I 
 was duly mustered in. And so for this advance I was in- 
 debted in the last analysis to General Smith, and it strongly 
 illustrates the general fact that in the getting of rewards and 
 preferment I have been unduly negligent and have let slip by 
 many an opportunity. For this I have only myself to blame, 
 and yet not so much blame, perhaps, as it has been through 
 life an inherent temperamental hesitancy and timidity, cloaked 
 sometimes under a forced attitude of assurance. 
 
 While at headquarters this timidity received a rude shock 
 one Thanksgiving Day. General Smith had invited General 
 Gregg, our division commander, with his staff, to dine with 
 him and his staff. It was quite an imposing military array, 
 and as we were about to sit down at the long table with its 
 bounteous repast, he motioned to me to take the head of the 
 table and do the carving, "as I was used to handling the 
 knives." Now, if there was anything at which I was a non- 
 expert, and still am, it was the carving of fowls, and to my 
 dismay I found that the bird before me was a goose. I cer- 
 tainly was a goose not to have entered my protest before 
 attempting the job, but at it I went pursuant to orders. I did 
 my best, but made such a poor hand at it that I begged our 
 host to have pity, and let some layman, with more skill than 
 I possessed with that kind of a knife, take my place. 
 
i6 4 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 It was after the dinner that I overheard a conversation 
 between Generals Gregg and Smith which greatly impressed 
 me, especially in view of what I knew of General Gregg. He 
 was modesty itself and his reputation for calm and steady 
 bravery was of the best. I recall one scene apropos of this. 
 I saw the general during an engagement, sitting on his white 
 horse and surrounded by many of his staff, as calmly smoking 
 his big meerschaum pipe as if on his own porch at home. The 
 enemy got our range, and began dropping shells in our direc- 
 tion thick and fast. The staff gave evidence of more or less 
 excitement, but the general sat unmoved, slowly smoking, nor 
 did he immediately change his attitude. He calmly removed 
 his pipe from his mouth and said, "Be calm, gentlemen, — no 
 occasion for haste," and then deliberately moved away to a 
 more secure position. In admiration I said to myself at the 
 time, "you certainly are a very cool and courageous man." 
 I was not a little surprised then to hear Gregg say to Smith 
 that he was about to resign from the army. "The fact of it 
 is," said Gregg, "I am a good deal of a coward. Every en- 
 gagement tells upon my nervous system to the last degree, 
 and it is only by the exercise of all my will power that I 
 can appear natural and unafraid." The general may have 
 exaggerated this defect or weakness, yet nevertheless, there 
 must have been a measure of truth in what he said, and grant- 
 ing this I have always held that such men illustrate the highest 
 form of courage; duty and a noble pride, triumphing over 
 every inherent obstacle and ignoble sentiment. 
 
 I have always understood that it was not alone this dis- 
 taste for active service that hastened the resignation of Gen- 
 eral Gregg. He had served from the beginning of the war 
 and was never found wanting, but he probably did not possess 
 those brilliant and aggressive qualities so marked in some of 
 the younger officers. He possessed calm courage and sound 
 judgment, but these did not capture the fancy, as did the 
 hurrah and dash of such excellent men as Custer, Kilpatrick 
 and others. As a consequence, such youngsters as these forged 
 ahead of men like Gregg, whose qualifications perhaps were 
 more solid. There is no question but that he was disappointed 
 in a way, and that this disappointment was no unimportant 
 factor in his decision to leave the service. 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 165 
 
 And so the winter of 1864-65 wore away, wearily at times, 
 at least for some of us who had little to do when in camp, 
 but enlivened, as I have already stated, by periodical spurts of 
 activity. 
 
 One fine day I accepted an invitation to accompany an 
 officer under a flag of truce to the picket line of the enemy. 
 The object was to transfer some southern women through the 
 lines. We were received courteously by the Confederate 
 officer, when my attention was attracted towards a lengthy and 
 swarthy individual with long, dark hair, lying at full length 
 upon the ground. He was introduced as Captain Pryor, and 
 as he arose I saw that he looked very much like an Indian. 
 This was the notorious, if not celebrated, Roger A. Pryor, 
 who figured so prominently in Congress before the war as a 
 pronounced southern fire-eater. He had commanded a brig- 
 ade in the Confederate army with the rank of brigadier gen- 
 eral, but here I found him with the rank of a mere captain of 
 scouts. I never knew why, — but it must have been that he 
 was not altogether satisfactory for high command or else 
 his brigade would not have been consolidated with another 
 and he left out in the cold. His wife has written much and 
 interestingly about him and their war experiences, and later 
 about their experiences in the north after the war. I never 
 actually met him again, but once saw him under very different 
 circumstances. It was at the trial of Henry Ward Beecher, 
 where Pryor had been retained as one of the prosecuting 
 counsel. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 ON the twenty-seventh of March, 1865, we heard with 
 pleasure that General Sheridan had again joined the 
 Army of the Potomac with the other two cavalry divi- 
 sions. With these reunited cavalry forces, Sheridan led the 
 van in a chase of a hundred miles or more towards Appomat- 
 tox Court House. In the early morning of the twenty-ninth he 
 moved his cavalry out for the purpose of getting to the right 
 and rear of Lee's army. For some time we stood in a long 
 line, and soon attracted the fire of a spiteful little battery or 
 two in plain sight. At first these shells fell short, but soon 
 one came and exploded just before reaching our part of the 
 line. I saw the fragments coming and felt sure that one par- 
 ticular piece was destined for me. Instead it made directly 
 for my colored servant, or rather for the mule on which he 
 was mounted, and took him squarely in the flank. When the 
 boy saw that missile coming he seemed almost to turn white 
 with fright, while his contortions were so grotesque and his 
 bulging eyes so suggestive of comical terror, if terror can 
 ever be said to be comical, that there was a universal shout of 
 laughter. A third shot was better aimed and its course, too, 
 was directly behind me. There were four horsemen abreast. 
 The first sat erect, and the shell passed in front of him, the 
 second leaned forward over his horse's neck, and the shell 
 carried away his knapsack. It missed the third man, who also 
 probably sat erect, and finally buried itself in the hip of the 
 fourth horse. Still another of these conical six pounders 
 came, and this time found its human mark. It went under 
 the shoulder blades and completely through the body of a 
 soldier. I dismounted and was instantly at his side. He was 
 living and conscious, and yet how a man could live a moment 
 after such a gaping wound I could hardly see. His constant 
 cry was for "water, water," as is always the case with those 
 mortally wounded. He was immediately taken away in an 
 ambulance, but died a few minutes after. Orders now came 
 to change our position, and none too soon, for what good 
 could it do for us to stand inert and helpless in line of fire, 
 
 166 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 167 
 
 except to give the Confederates a chance to practise marks- 
 manship. It has always seemed to me that the affair was 
 stupidly unnecessary. 
 
 Moving thence to Dinwiddie Court House, we encamped 
 for the night in a pouring rain, which continued all the next 
 day, rendering the roads absolutely impassable for artillery 
 and wagons, and necessitating the construction of many miles 
 of corduroy. There, through all the dismal downpour of the 
 thirtieth of March, we stood around in the wet and mud, a 
 supremely uncomfortable and dispirited crowd. And cer- 
 tainly the outlook was not encouraging. The country there- 
 abouts was low and flat, covered with forest and thick under- 
 brush, and abounding in swamps and sluggish streams that 
 drained the water slowly. The soil, in its mixture of clay and 
 mud, was most uncertain and treacherous. The infantry, in 
 desperate efforts to get to Lee's right flank and rear, toiled 
 along manfully, but with exasperating slowness, and if anyone 
 had ventured to assert that within two weeks and within a 
 hundred miles of where we then stood shivering and discon- 
 solate, the army of Northern Virginia would surrender to 
 General Grant, he would have been considered a fit subject for 
 the lunatic asylum. General Sheridan had been given large 
 discretionary powers. As in the Valley, he commanded in- 
 fantry also, and could no longer be considered simply in his 
 capacity as a cavalry leader. On the first of April he fought 
 and won the bloody battle of Five Forks, which was the be- 
 ginning of Lee's utter discomfiture. 
 
 On the morning of the thirty-first of March our brigade 
 moved out to a small stream called Chamberlain's, a mile or 
 so from the court house, and formed along its edge — connect- 
 ing with Davies' brigade a mile above, while the remaining 
 brigade of the division was held in reserve. Here Lee's and 
 Rosser's cavalry divisions succeeded in forcing a passage, but 
 were afterwards driven back with heavy loss. The fighting 
 was very severe. Standing under a large tree, not two hun- 
 dred yards in the rear of the forces that were struggling for 
 the possession of the stream, I had a most excellent oppor- 
 tunity to observe several acts of gallantry. One of these re- 
 lates to the enemy. In an attempt to charge the stream, they 
 were driven back to their cover. One of their men, however, 
 
1 68 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 was left badly wounded in the water and exposed to the fire 
 of both sides. Suddenly a Confederate rushed into the shal- 
 low waters of the stream and bore his helpless comrade safely 
 to the other side, and I imagined for a moment the fire sen- 
 sibly slackened in obedience to an inherent impulse and ad- 
 miration for a gallant act. 
 
 In order to encourage our men the brass band was brought 
 up, and on the other side the Confederates had theirs going 
 also and the strains of "The Union Forever" and "Way 
 Down in Dixie" mingled with the rattle of musketry and 
 cheers of the men. General Sheridan himself here did a char- 
 acteristic act. To encourage the men whose ammunition was 
 running low, he galloped madly, and under fire along a part 
 of the line, bareheaded, with hat in hand. 
 
 Finally, however, the Confederate cavalry, aided by 
 Pickett's division of infantry, succeeded in forcing a passage 
 over the "Run," pierced our line, and pressed our two brig- 
 ades back towards Dinwiddie. This was the first time that 
 I had ever been in such a pell mell retreat. It was getting 
 dark, everything was confusion and disorder, and for all we 
 knew we might be suddenly stampeded even to a greater de- 
 gree; and so we were quite glad to find ourselves soon after 
 in a secure position, with opportunity to break our long fast. 
 
 The hamlet where we camped and from which we had gone 
 out in the morning to battle was called Dinwiddie Court 
 House, the county town. The venerable court house had been 
 sacked, and both recent and ancient documents were scattered 
 over the ground in every direction. A few of these I picked 
 up, some dating back more than two centuries, and they are 
 now in my possession. 
 
 The spirited contest just described was only preliminary 
 to the greater and more historic struggle of the morrow, the 
 battle of Five Forks, which resulted in the capture of the 
 lines of breastworks thrown up to impede our progress, with 
 more than three thousand Confederate prisoners. 
 
 In the meanwhile various fierce assaults, both successful and 
 unsuccessful, had been made by remaining portions of the 
 army against the fortifications encircling the two cities of 
 Richmond and Petersburg, and on the third, General Grant 
 gave orders for what was hoped would be a final and success- 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 169 
 
 ful assault. At three o'clock in the morning, however, it was 
 discovered that General Lee had abandoned every entrench- 
 ment, leaving us in undisputed possession. 
 
 And now began in good earnest the flight of the enemy's 
 army, with ours in close pursuit and General Custer in the 
 van. It was only six days that this race was kept up, until 
 the enemy's remnant on the morning of the ninth, like a lion 
 driven to his lair, made its final desperate struggle. But who 
 shall attempt to describe in minute detail the incessant ac- 
 tivity of the two armies during that brief period? 
 
 Every road for many miles was thronged with the pursued 
 and pursuing. With every nerve strained to highest tension, 
 Lee's objective point was Lynchburg, with its rations and de- 
 fenses. The very poverty of his troops was an aid towards 
 this. Lightly loaded, and impelled by every impulse of self- 
 preservation, they marched with quick step, and although 
 suffering from hunger and the depression of expiring hopes, 
 they for a time repelled with all their old-time vigor and dash, 
 every onslaught of ours. The two armies were now moving 
 parallel with each other along the line of the Appomattox 
 River. Every day had its battle, with smaller affairs not 
 designated. The fight at Scott's Corners occurred on the 
 second, Sweathouse Creek on the third, Tabernacle Church 
 and Amelia Court House on the fourth, Fame's Cross Roads 
 on the fifth, Sailor's Creek on the sixth, Farmville on the 
 seventh, and Appomattox on the ninth. Sailor's Creek was 
 one of the severe cavalry fights of the war. 
 
 The Confederates fought with desperation, but thousands 
 of prisoners were taken including many general officers, among 
 whom was the famous one-legged General Ewell. I was en- 
 gaged in an operation near the roadside, and looking up, I 
 saw these generals as they were being conducted to the rear, 
 and immediately recognized Ewell by his deformity. 
 
 Owing to the rapid movements of the troops and the con- 
 stant fighting the wounded were soon left far behind, and in 
 attending them, I, with my little party of helpers, found my- 
 self many miles to the rear. For a day or two before we 
 overtook the regiment our route lay along roads crowded 
 with marching columns of infantry and artillery, and as we 
 prolonged our chase far into the night, the scene on every 
 
i 7 o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 hand was rare and picturesque beyond description. Passing 
 along the highway, through the encampment of some corps or 
 division, the gleam from innumerable fires would redden the 
 atmosphere for miles. In every direction they could be seen, 
 now blazing up brightly, now glimmering faintly, while in 
 closer proximity every fire had its group of weary men, intent 
 on refreshment and repose. As the light played over the 
 forms and faces of these men and of those that were sleeping, 
 with here and there a blood-stained bandage, as it was reflected 
 from the stacked arms, and penetrating woody recesses, re- 
 vealed still other groups of blue-coated soldiers, scenes were 
 presented well worthy to be reproduced upon canvas. 
 
 American art is progressing, but no one thing more clearly 
 indicates the inferior position it held after our great war than 
 the utter and lamentable lack of any adequate reproduction 
 of its scenes and battles. After the Franco-German War of 
 1870 there were many artistic and truly great representations 
 of the German and French soldiers and of war time in those 
 countries in all its varying phases; but we have had no Detaille 
 or DeNeuville to do the same for our own soldiers. 
 
 We finally overtook our command near Prince Edward 
 Court House, and as I write these words an incident is re- 
 called that is worth telling: 
 
 "When General Sheridan at the head of his troops reached 
 this town, he dismounted at the fence of a stiff old gentleman 
 who was sitting on his high piazza and scowling severely as 
 we rode up. He was the typical southerner of fifty years ago; 
 his long gray hair fell over the collar of his coat. He was 
 arrayed in a swallowtail of a bygone period; a buff linen 
 vest, cut low, and nankeen pantaloons springing far above the 
 feet that were neatly encased in morocco slippers. A bristling 
 shirt frill adorned his bosom, and from the embrasure of 
 his wall-like collar, he shot defiant glances at us as we clattered 
 up the walk to his house. Prince Edward Court House was a 
 stranger to war, and our indignant friend was looking for the 
 first time on the like of us, and certainly he didn't seem to be 
 pleased by our appearance. He bowed in a dignified way to 
 the general, who bobbed at him carelessly, and sat down on a 
 step, drew out the inevitable map, lighted a fresh cigar, and 
 asked our host if any of Lee's troops had been seen about 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 171 
 
 there to-day. "Sir," he said, "as I can truly say that none 
 have been seen by me, I will say so; but if I had seen any, I 
 should feel it my duty to refuse to reply to your question. I 
 cannot give you any information which might work to the dis- 
 advantage of General Lee." This neat little speech, clothed 
 in unexceptionable diction, which no doubt had been awaiting 
 us from the time we tied our horses at the gate, missed fire 
 badly. It was very patriotic and all that, but the general 
 was in no humor to chop patriotism just then so he only gave 
 a soft whistle of surprise, and returned to the attack unscathed. 
 "How far is it to Buffalo River?" "Sir, I don't know." 
 "The devil you don't! — how long have you lived here?" 
 "All my life." "Very well, sir, it is time you did know. 
 Captain, put this gentleman in charge of a guard, and when 
 we move walk him down to Buffalo River and show it to him." 
 And so he was marched off, leaving us a savage glance at part- 
 ing, and that evening tramped five miles away from home to 
 look at a river which was as familiar to him as his own 
 family."* 
 
 And yet I cannot but admire the sturdy fearlessness of the 
 old fellow who did not shirk, but who stood to the last for 
 what he believed to be the right. 
 
 It was reserved for this last short campaign to demonstrate 
 the inestimable value of cavalry most decidedly. In the earlier 
 history of the war it was mainly used for the establishment 
 of cordons around a sleeping infantry force, or for the protec- 
 tion of trains. General Sheridan did much to correct this 
 want of appreciation for a well-managed body of horse, for 
 his idea was that cavalry should not only fight the enemy's 
 cavalry, but his infantry as well should occasion demand. If 
 it had not been for the persistent attacks of the cavalry upon 
 the flank and rear of the rapidly retreating army, there can 
 be no doubt that he would have eluded us. It was the cavalry 
 which, marching night and day, finally forged ahead of the 
 Confederate army, and on the morning of the eighth of April 
 threw itself boldly across the enemy's path. 
 
 That night from their elevated position the sleepless pickets 
 of my own regiment, the Sixth Ohio Cavalry, saw the camp 
 
 *With Sheridan in Lee's Last Campaign — by a Staff officer. 
 
i 7 2 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 fires of what was left of Lee's weary troops, as they flared 
 and finally died away in the amphitheatre below. To be 
 directly in the pathway of a desperate and dangerous enemy 
 at bay is not the most pleasant of positions, but even the rank 
 and file had heard that the infantry supports were being 
 pushed rapidly forward, and knew that the expected morning 
 attack must be held in check at whatever cost. At daybreak 
 the forming of the lines of the foe could be plainly seen and 
 soon our brigade and that of Mackenzie were attacked in 
 front and flank, and so rapidly were we pushed back that it 
 seemed as if, after all, they might escape us. All this time, 
 however, the infantry had been hurrying on with might and 
 main, and at the supreme moment, when the cavalry was giv- 
 ing way in every direction, Lee found two solid lines of in- 
 fantry blocking the course. As the white flag was borne out 
 from the broken ranks of the enemy towards us, how our cheers 
 echoed and re-echoed through the morning air at the thought 
 of peace. 
 
 Who shall describe these things, and who shall describe the 
 unutterable sadness incident to the last conflict of a long 
 struggle? Men who had passed unscathed through four 
 long years of active warfare fell on this last day and 
 closing hour. A personal friend, who had thus far escaped, 
 received on this day a fearful wound, but from which he 
 finally recovered. I myself, as the shells burst thickly around, 
 feeling that the crucial moment had arrived and the end was 
 near, must confess to a more than usual feeling of anxiety 
 as regards personal danger. 
 
 One poor fellow was dying, and upon being told the cause 
 of the cheering that reached his ears, mournfully ejaculated, 
 "Too bad, too bad!" 
 
 It was only a few months before that I had had occasion 
 to proffer assistance to young Colonel Janeway, commanding 
 the First New Jersey Cavalry, who in an engagement had just 
 received his eighth wound. It was a comparatively slight in- 
 jury and I recall that he said to me at the time, "Doctor, I 
 imagine that you are the youngest surgeon in the corps and 
 I am the youngest colonel." He was only about twenty-one 
 years of age, and that he was brave and of splendid promise 
 goes without saying. Urgent appeals from loving friends had 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 173 
 
 extorted from him the promise that if he was ever wounded 
 again he would resign. Shortly before the last shot was fired 
 I saw him gaily riding at the head of his regiment, smoking 
 his cigar, preparatory to leading his men into action. He 
 caught sight of me, and waved his hand in friendly salute. 
 Ten minutes later I was kneeling at his side, as he lay with 
 his ninth wound, dead, with a bullet through his brain. Thus 
 at Appomattox ended the sad and bloody work that attended 
 the progress of Sheridan's cavalry. 
 
 And yet the war was not yet quite ended. Johnston's army 
 was still intact, and confronted Sherman, who was on his 
 march from Savannah to Washington. The cavalry was 
 therefore ordered to join this army then marching northward. 
 With all haste we started, but on reaching the borders of 
 North Carolina, word came to us of Johnston's surrender also. 
 We turned northward again, flushed with victory, yet feeling 
 the calm that comes with the thought that our dangers and 
 hardships were at last over. The return was more or less 
 a joyous picnic, the remembrance of which has mostly faded 
 from my mind. 
 
 One incident I recall with pleasure which confirms Sheri- 
 dan's comradeship for those who fought under him, and his 
 genial bearing towards the private in the ranks. The long 
 line of cavalry had started out one morning, and Sheridan, 
 a little belated, was making his way along the side of the road 
 on which the troops were marching to the head of the column, 
 and I remember that he was astride his favorite "Rienzi" that 
 had carried him on his ride to Winchester, made famous by 
 the poem of Buchanan Read. "How are you? How are 
 you?" I could hear him say to the soldiers in response to 
 their salutes. I was riding alone, the colonel having left his 
 place for a moment, and the general, seeing a beardless boy 
 at the head of the regiment, looked keenly at me and said — 
 "Good morning, Major, a pleasant day," and then, "Are you 
 the surgeon of the regiment?" "Yes, General." "Well, good 
 morning, good morning — good morning," three times, and 
 with a quizzical smile as if to say: "You are a very young 
 man," he galloped on. Many years after at a reception to the 
 army and navy at the White House, I was introduced to the 
 general, and remarked that I was glad to meet him again; 
 
i 7 4 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 that twenty years before I used to see him as he was raiding 
 through Virginia. In a few moments, seeing me standing 
 near, he approached and said: "You were in the army, then?" 
 "Yes," I answered, "I was surgeon of the Sixth Ohio Cav- 
 alry." "I remember the regiment very well," he said, "and 
 it was a good fighting regiment." 
 
 Then with that same quizzical smile which I so well re- 
 membered, he put in words what I imagined he had in mind 
 so many years before — "You must have been a very young 
 man." I asked him if he remembered Stedman, the colonel 
 of the regiment, and the message to which I have already 
 alluded that he sent to him on one occasion. "Indeed I do," 
 and seemed mightily amused at the recollection. 
 
 On the fifteenth of April, 1865, after a leisurely and joy- 
 ous day's march, we struck camp in the late afternoon. A 
 beautiful stream rippled softly along, accentuating the peace- 
 ful conditions and the sense of rest, and while for a moment 
 reposing on its banks and enjoying the quietude of the scene, 
 I was aroused by an unusual bustle and the hum of voices. 
 Excited groups had gathered, and the next moment the appal- 
 ling news of the assassination of President Lincoln reached 
 my ears. Sorrow and burning indignation stirred each bosom, 
 and with us, as with many another group, unthinking and un- 
 worthy thoughts of reprisal and revenge usurped the place of 
 reason. The better nature of the manly man, however, soon 
 conquered these wild bursts of temper, and common sense 
 assured us of the folly of holding the great body of our late 
 enemies to blame for the crazy acts of a few madmen. Yet 
 nothing could bring back to life the great and good man who 
 had for four years guided and presided over the destiny of 
 the nation. The South had lost its best friend, and as through 
 the long succeeding years she groaned under the enactments 
 of an unwise, unjust, and partisan Congress, how she must 
 have longed for such a soul as Abraham Lincoln's. 
 
 Such men stand between a nation and perdition. They "see 
 the invisible justice in the heavens, and know that it is still 
 omnipotent on earth." 
 
 I did not have the good fortune to participate in the Great 
 Review at Washington when the combined armies passed 
 gloriously before the President amid the plaudits of the multi- 
 
A RIDE WITH SHERIDAN 175 
 
 tude. Troops had to be retained in the South to keep order 
 and for the protection of property, and it was not until the 
 seventh of August that the regiment received its final dis- 
 charge at Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 One incident more and the scenes of my army experiences 
 close. Latterly I had had an assistant surgeon. He was a Ger- 
 man — he was also impecunious. In the goodness of my heart 
 I lent him from time to time a little money. He was profuse 
 in his gratitude, and was to pay me in full when he drew his 
 money in Cleveland. 
 
 He was to meet me in the morning at the Paymaster's office. 
 I was there bright and early to meet him, but he was there 
 still earlier, drew his pay, and was off for parts unknown. I 
 never saw nor heard of him again, nor of my fifty dollars. 
 It should have been a valuable experience for me, but, as with 
 many others, the lessons taught by experience are not always 
 thoroughly learned. Through softness of heart, or a foolish 
 confidence in human nature, there have been other dollars of 
 mine that have gone the way of those loaned to my assistant 
 surgeon. 
 
(1919) 
 
Book IV 
 CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 SHORTLY after the close of the War, but before my 
 own discharge, my father, then fifty-five years of age, 
 tired of the hard work of the farm, and influenced also 
 by the fact that his children would be for the most 
 part settled in the East, sold his place, and bought 
 another farm of fifty acres, in NewCanaan, Conn., his old home. 
 For a time he again attempted, in a very simple way, his pro- 
 fession of teaching, but finally gave it up altogether and re- 
 sumed his old occupation of farmer. I am sure that he thor- 
 oughly enjoyed it, but hard physical work at his age proved 
 a severe taskmaster. It stiffens the joints, wastes the muscular 
 tissues, strains the nerves, and to a certain extent, I firmly be- 
 lieve, dulls the intellectual processes. And so my father died 
 at seventy-six an old man. As my mother remarked, "he died 
 of old age." I have always regretted that it seemed neces- 
 sary for him to labor so strenuously with his hands, and yet, 
 as before remarked, there was a compensatory side to it in 
 that he was never more happy than when out in the fields 
 watching the progress of growing things in which he had a 
 part. "Blessed is he who has found his work . . . were 
 it but true hand labor ... let him ask for no other 
 blessedness." 
 
 Immediately after my muster-out in August, 1865, I came 
 East and found my father domiciled in one-half of the old 
 homestead, my grandfather's house in Ridgefield, Conn. It 
 was in the following fall that the home and farm in New 
 Canaan was secured. My grandfather was in his ninetieth 
 year and although physically rather strong, was suffering from 
 a pronounced attack of aphasia. He had practically lost the 
 power of speech and the co-ordination of ideas. The only 
 words that he could utter were, "Yes, I can," and "Oh, my 
 soul," and these he was constantly repeating when he wished 
 
 177 
 
178 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 to express a thought or wished anything done. That his mind 
 worked coherently was quite evident. For example, one 
 morning after breakfast, I observed my grandfather looking 
 out of the window, evidently somewhat disturbed, exclaiming, 
 "Oh, my soul ! Yes, I can." This he kept repeating more and 
 more excitedly, my father vainly trying to interpret his mean- 
 ing. It all sounded so strange that we found it difficult to keep 
 straight faces, and this only heightened the old gentleman's 
 displeasure. Finally, taking father by the arm he led him into 
 the yard, pointed to a large board lying on the ground, and 
 when it was removed he was quite satisfied. The pathology 
 of the condition was then quite unknown to me and even the 
 name, although in later years a great variety of such cases 
 came under my observation. The symptoms were due to pres- 
 sure on a certain cerebral convolution or speech centre, and 
 were a precursor of the near end. 
 
 My grandfather was born in 1776, and before the close of 
 the Revolution he was old enough to see and remember the 
 American soldier of that time in his suit of buff and blue. 
 His father, my great-grandfather, died in 1808. He held a 
 lieutenant's commission, but as it was issued by the Common- 
 wealth of Connecticut, and not by the Continental Congress, 
 it does not entitle his descendants to admission to the "Society 
 of the Cincinnati." Our Loyal Legion has a similar rule, 
 State troops not being admitted to its ranks. This does not 
 seem to be altogether just, since many of these State troops 
 underwent the hardships of campaigns, and the dangers of 
 battles, and still others were subjected to the fiercer ordeal of 
 being prisoners of war. Both my grandfather and great- 
 grandfather sleep in the old burial ground at Ridgefield, where 
 they lived and wrought in their humble and useful way all 
 the days of their lives. My great-great-grandfather is also 
 buried, I am told, somewhere in the same parish, but no one 
 knows just where. No stone now marks his resting place, as 
 none now remain over any of the graves of the four or five 
 predecessors of the two to the first John Rockwell of our 
 name and branch of the family in America. 
 
 The Rockwells in their sphere have been a goodly race, — 
 there can be no doubt about that. No gleam of genius is dis- 
 coverable in the stock nor even evidences of extraordinary 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 179 
 
 talent, but in multiplying it has given to the state its share of 
 sturdy supporters and patriotic defenders, and helped to make 
 the nation great. For nearly three hundred years have we 
 been here, and witnessed the transformation of a vast and in- 
 hospitable wilderness into a great and progressive civilization 
 to which we have contributed at least our tiny share. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE winter of 1865-66 was mostly occupied in attending 
 a third course of lectures at the College of Physicians 
 and Surgeons then located at Fourth Avenue and 
 Twenty-third Street. And very much I stood in need of some 
 further instruction. My preliminary studies in medicine had 
 been very superficial and unsatisfactory, as were all the pre- 
 scribed courses at that time, and in some branches I had abso- 
 lutely no practical experience. Take the important depart- 
 ment of obstetrics, for example. I do not remember that I 
 had ever seen a case of parturition. When, therefore, my 
 friend, the late Dr. E. Darwin Hudson, himself later an 
 expert, asked me if I would assist him in taking charge of a 
 case in one of the poorer parts of the town, I readily con- 
 sented. Hudson was in the graduating class and to its mem- 
 bers the professor occasionally assigned cases of this kind. 
 Hudson had never seen a case, either, and in some trepidation 
 he turned to me for help. I was a graduate of two years. I 
 had been an army surgeon. Surely, here was a young man of 
 large experience and one upon whom to lean in time of 
 trouble. It did not occur to him, I suppose, and I did not refer 
 to the fact that with an army in the field there was scant need 
 for the services of an obstetrician. We found the suffering 
 woman on the top floor of an old tenement and entirely un- 
 attended. The only furniture of the room was a rickety bed 
 (one end of which broke down during the accouchement), a 
 washbowl half filled with dirty water and an old chair. Being 
 the older and of supposed greater experience, I took chief 
 charge. The usual preliminary examination took place, of 
 which I could make neither head nor tail, but I looked wise 
 and pronounced everything shipshape. The hours passed 
 wearily and drearily away, and seeing no signs of any imme- 
 diate ending, we withdrew for a while to the old Earle's Hotel 
 in Canal Street for rest and refreshment. Returning in the 
 course of an hour, and making another examination, I became 
 puzzled and all at sea. I felt the great responsibility of it all, 
 and packed Hudson off in haste to the residence of Dr. 
 
 180 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 181 
 
 Thomas in lower Fifth Avenue to report and to ask for in- 
 structions. In due time he came back with word from the pro- 
 fessor that everything was probably all right and that all we 
 had to do was to wait. We waited, and finally in the early 
 hours of the morn, a new soul was ushered into this waiting 
 world. We washed the babe and dressed it in the few rags 
 we found and went our way. What of the life and career of 
 that boy? If still living he would be fifty-three years of age. 
 Born in poverty and even filth and disgrace, as the world has 
 it, like another Oliver Twist, what chance had he? A victim 
 of an inexorable fate had he lived, let us hope that kind nature 
 soon took him to herself. 
 
 The close of the winter session found me somewhat better 
 equipped for practical service, and in the spring I put out my 
 shingle at my brother's house in 119th Street and Second 
 Avenue, and engaged in active, or in inactive practice, for of 
 patients there were not many. However, I suppose I may 
 have done as well as the average young doctor during the first 
 year, even though the sum total of my receipts amounted to 
 but $400.00. About this time I attended one evening, by in- 
 vitation, a regular meeting of a musical organization of Har- 
 lem. I was introduced to a young lady, plump, pretty and 
 vivacious, by the name of Landon. 
 
 My first remark to her was to the effect that the name of 
 Landon was a familiar one, as one of my best friends was 
 called Landon. My interest was immediately engaged. The 
 more I saw of her the more I liked her, and before many 
 months this acquaintance ripened into an engagement. Octo- 
 ber seventh, 19 18, marked the fiftieth anniversary of our mar- 
 riage, one of the fortunate events of my career since it insured 
 for me a long life of domestic harmony and a family above 
 all price. 
 
 For sixteen years after my marriage, and while my family 
 was growing up, I made my summer home in my father's 
 house. We did not board, but kept house on one side of the 
 rather spacious old structure. Our sleeping as well as living 
 room (although we had the range of the entire house) was big 
 enough — some fifteen by thirty feet, and cool and comfortable. 
 Here for many years we slept the happy hours of night away. 
 The first summer there was a crib beside the bed and a baby in 
 
1 82 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 it. Two years after, this baby was promoted to a small bed 
 on the other side of our own, and another baby occupied the 
 crib. Another two years saw this last baby sleeping with his 
 older brother in the small bed, while baby number three filled 
 the crib. These were all boys, every one, but it would never 
 do to have only one kind and so Dame Fortune sent a girl and 
 with her in a cradle, one in the crib and two in the little bed, 
 we made up a happy family, as cozily fixed as one could 
 wish. We could put our hands on any one of them o' nights, 
 which is more than can be said of the later years. As the first 
 two boys grew older, say eight or nine years, they were given 
 a room upstairs. Such happy days they were for them and for 
 us too, and often I think how fortunate they were, to have a 
 grandfather's house to which to go for their summer home 
 and a grandmother's pantry to which they could make fre- 
 quent visits. Somehow there seems to be no relationship that 
 can quite take their places. Years of development and expe- 
 rience have ripened the fruit. Mellowness and softness and 
 just judgment attend on age or else age is not worth its salt; 
 and so in the grandfather and grandmother of the right sort, 
 the child knows where to find sympathy and favor. More 
 than this, at school and at home, the child is more or less 
 dominated, but somehow or other, when in the home of his 
 grandparents, he himself seems to be the dominant factor, and 
 well he takes advantage of this opportunity. 
 
 While studying at Bellevue, before my graduation, I met 
 during the rounds of the hospital wards a student of the Col- 
 lege of Physicians and Surgeons, by the name of George M. 
 Beard, whose acquaintance ripened into friendship and finally 
 into a professional association, which changed the whole cur- 
 rent of my life. He belonged to the Alpha Delta Phi fra- 
 ternity as did I, and our badges brought us together. Had it 
 not been for this tie the acquaintance probably never would 
 have been formed, and the work of Beard and Rockwell, such 
 as it was, would never have taken form. 
 
 There are arguments against the exclusiveness of secret so- 
 cieties, but in my own experience they have opened up business 
 and social relationships that have added much to the zest and 
 joy of life. 
 
(1882) 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 183 
 
 Dr. Beard was such a unique character that I may as well 
 say something about him here as elsewhere. 
 
 Let me first mention, however, that after our graduation 
 we both entered the service — I in the army as an assistant sur- 
 geon and he in the navy as a "contract surgeon." I suppose 
 neither of us had any special thought of seeing each other 
 again, but one day after the war, we suddenly stumbled on one 
 another in one of the clinics of the town, I think the Demilt, 
 corner of Twenty-third Street and Second Avenue, where our 
 acquaintance was renewed and our friendship cemented. 
 
 Dr. Beard was a most unusual man. He had a face of al- 
 most preternatural gravity, but underneath this deep solem- 
 nity of countenance there lurked such a sense of humor, at times 
 subtle and elusive and again so explosive and rollicking, as to 
 amuse, mystify or disturb, according to the occasion or type 
 of mind affected. As was remarked of Jean Paul Richter so 
 also it may be said of Beard, that at times, he might be said 
 to "live, move and have his being in humor." Beard kept a 
 diary during his youthful years, from about the age of fifteen 
 to his junior year at Yale. His father was a clergyman (Con- 
 gregational), and George was reared in all the strictness and 
 strait-laced orthodoxy of the times. His daughter has per- 
 mitted me to read this diary, and a most interesting and illu- 
 minating production it is. It illustrates how the youthful soul 
 can be submerged in gloom and deprived, through a well-meant 
 but hurtful theology of its birthright of joyous, helpful living. 
 We see a keen intelligence backed by high moral principles, 
 coming gradually into its heritage of rational living, but not 
 without scars. Inwardly he resented this long thraldom, and 
 the pendulum which had swung so long in one direction made 
 an equal arc in the other. While giving up every vestige of 
 belief in the supernatural, he might have made more of the 
 soul of man and of human emotion and sentiment. Nothing 
 seemed to interest him much in literature or books but pure 
 science, accuracy of statement, mathematical precision or cer- 
 tainty. This is not to say that he had not read deeply and 
 largely of the best literature of the world. He modelled his 
 writings on Addison and Macaulay. He alluded to the well- 
 known saying that if one aims to be a master of English let him 
 spend his days and nights in the study of Addison. He fol- 
 
1 84 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 lowed after these masters, and became a clear, brilliant, and 
 rapid writer unsurpassed in his profession. He told his story, 
 whether in the field of legitimate medicine or along psychic 
 lines, with the delightful facility of a Macaulay. No one 
 subject could hold him long after it had ceased to interest 
 him — or after he had taken from it all he thought it capable 
 of giving. 
 
 In the earlier days of Mr. Edison's career, Beard col- 
 laborated with him in investigating what at the time seemed 
 to both of them a strange, mysterious manifestation of elec- 
 tricity, which was termed "etheric force." It led to nothing 
 practical, but his clever and exhaustive discussion of the sub- 
 ject in the pages of the New York Tribune was a notable con- 
 tribution. In the late seventies he coined the term "neuras- 
 thenia," and wrote his classic and memorable monograph on 
 that subject. It is not too much to say that all the subsequent 
 literature both here and abroad on neurasthenia is based on 
 Dr. Beard's original investigations. 
 
 Hypnotism and questions of psychic interest then engaged 
 his ardent attention and keen, discriminating examination, 
 when presently he fell a victim to his all too strenuous and 
 concentrated labors. His contributions to the subject of sea- 
 sickness and hay-fever, his fascinating works on American 
 nervousness, his valuable monograph on the "Legal Respon- 
 sibility of Old Age," with innumerable other contributions, all 
 more or less original and forceful and charming in tone, 
 marked him as a worker and writer of an unusual order. 
 What he would have achieved with a few more years of active 
 work, who can say? 
 
 To return to the subject of Beard's intellectual relation to 
 what the world calls religion and to dogmatic theology, I re- 
 member on one occasion his saying to me, that if now for the 
 first time, he should take up the Bible and attempt to read it, 
 especially the Old Testament, he would be able to make 
 neither head nor tail of it. In a thoroughly sober and test 
 moment he would not, of course, and could not, impeach the 
 greatness and grandeur of this book of books, but it simply 
 illustrates the trend of his mind, his waning interest in studies 
 outside the practical affairs of human thought, and his re- 
 bound or revolt from the hampering teachings of early days. 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 185 
 
 This journal of his is a sort of confessional. At the age of 
 sixteen he was teaching one summer at Manhasset, L. I. In 
 walking to church on a beautiful morning, he saw a number 
 of pleasure boats with their happy occupants. He comments on 
 it as a sad sight, and a sad commentary on human nature, and 
 all through his journal he bewails his tendency towards "sin- 
 ful pleasures" (ice cream parties and other joyful occasions), 
 and in other places fears that he himself will be a castaway. 
 As the years go by there seems to be a gradual relaxation of 
 the severity of his introspections, until finally in his junior 
 years there occurs what may be termed a halfway climax to 
 these questionings. He writes that it is time for him to get 
 to the Bible Study or Prayer Meeting, which he is to lead 
 and then asks the question, "Why is it that these meetings are 
 not better attended by the brighter and quicker-witted men 
 of the College?" Notwithstanding his final views, many of 
 the clergy were among his closest and warmest friends to the 
 end, and his relations with some of them were as intimate as 
 were the relations of that incorrigible heretic, Mark Twain 
 and his lifelong friend, the late Dr. Twichell, the preacher 
 of Hartford. In regard to the affair of the soul and its 
 future, he neither affirmed nor denied. 
 
 "The great beyond" was to him "unknown and unknow- 
 able" in this life, and when death came he met it as behooved 
 a philosopher, with fortitude and serenity. He suffered the 
 severest pain, but this was not sufficient to disturb the clarity 
 of his judgment or to abolish his fellowship or sense of humor. 
 To an old friend who came to see him, he said, "Behold a 
 dying philosopher." To a number of physicians, personal 
 friends, who were about his bedside, he said, "You are all 
 good fellows, but you can't help me." Finally in his last 
 moments, when almost beyond the power of articulation, he 
 faltered, "Oh, that I had the strength to write out the 
 thoughts of a dying man." His funeral was held at the 
 Broadway Tabernacle, of which the celebrated Dr. Taylor 
 was the pastor. His classmate, Joseph Cook, was to have 
 officiated, but was unable to get there. The pallbearers 
 were Dr. William A. Hammond, Dr. Charles Dana and my- 
 self among others. The remarks of Dr. Taylor were to my 
 mind cruel and reprehensible. He said that he was but 
 
1 86 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 slightly acquainted with Dr. Beard, having only met him 
 abroad, and remembering him as a bright young man of large 
 intellectual activities. He spoke of his agnostic views, and 
 then in the presence of his widow, child and friends, delivered 
 a sermon upon the fruits of infidelity, with some sort of the 
 same spirit in which the term would have been used in 
 mediaeval times. It was a foolish and shortsighted thing to 
 do, for Beard was no proselyte and did not publish abroad his 
 views on these affairs of the inner life. As much as any man 
 I ever knew he possessed the "open mind" of Plato, ever 
 seeking knowledge, facts. He loved to talk, but he loved to 
 listen equally well; in truth, he was the best listener, for a 
 man who had so much to say himself, that I ever knew. How- 
 ever great the pressure of professional or literary work, he 
 was always ready to drop everything for the purpose of con- 
 versing. It made but little difference whether the one with 
 whom he was in communication was intellectual or the reverse, 
 he would listen as long as anything was to be said, and no 
 utterance of value or striking manifestation of character 
 escaped him. I was often amused and even amazed at the 
 patience and gravity with which he would listen to the most 
 trivial talk, and the most absurd expression of opinion, but I 
 soon learned that these not infrequently constituted the basis 
 of much that was strong and original in his writings. The 
 power in him to formulate the crude ideas of others seemed 
 to be instinctive. 
 
 Much of the wide and deep meaning represented by com- 
 mon and constantly reiterated expressions, he in some way 
 drew to a point and gave to it a "local habitation and a 
 name." As has been said of him, "he worked because he loved 
 to work," not as a slave but as a child filled with and prompted 
 by filial devotion, and in the very hour of his dissolution he 
 expressed the hope that some one would take up his work at 
 the point he left it and carry it forward. Among the many 
 illustrations of his devotion to work, I recall the fact that 
 soon after the Civil War and in the beginning of our profes- 
 sional relationship, I observed among his effects a pile of manu- 
 scripts which, upon inquiry, I found to be a work of fiction, 
 written for want of something better to do while serving as 
 contract surgeon in the Gulf Squadron. Parts of it were very 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 187 
 
 interesting and it contained many graphic descriptions of life 
 and character. He, however, regarded it as of little account. 
 Its purpose as a vehicle of expression when there was no 
 special work at hand had been served, and he allowed it to 
 become scattered and finally destroyed. 
 
 Such was the facility and accuracy with which his thought 
 struggled to the birth in written language, that his pen was 
 equally ready at his desk or in train or boat, and his manu- 
 script seldom received a correction. But the publisher will 
 not soon forget, nor will I, the sad havoc he made with the 
 proof-sheets, in his additions and emendations, of our joint 
 productions. The reputation for a certain eccentricity which 
 was so universally accorded to Dr. Beard, was in great 
 measure due to the element of subtle humor born with him; 
 for between the intense solemnity of his countenance and the 
 thought about to be uttered there was often such utter incon- 
 gruity that it is not to be wondered at that the stranger or 
 casual acquaintance should look upon him as something of an 
 enigma. For that reason few men in his profession have 
 been so little understood (or rather more grossly mis- 
 understood) as was Beard. He had his faults, as have all of 
 us, but his was one of the most kindly and genial spirits that 
 went in and out amongst us. During the last year or two of 
 his life he was subjected to an amount of abuse, both in public 
 and by private communication, most unmerited. This was 
 mainly due to his presentation of the subject of hypnotism 
 before the sessions of the International Medical Congress 
 in England. His demonstrations were so original and in a 
 way so revolutionary that the ire of the English conservative 
 mind was instantly fired, and he was accused of collusion and 
 all manner of dishonest methods. This antagonism was 
 heightened because of a physical infirmity, deafness, which 
 prevented him from understanding at the time some things 
 that were said, which resulted in his instant replies not always 
 being effective. However, he always made them powerful 
 enough later through the medical press. Amidst it all, how- 
 ever, he was to outward appearances as unconcerned as if 
 every shaft were directed elsewhere. Against those who 
 struck the hardest and with the least provocation the only 
 revenge he ever sought or wished was the exercise, at their 
 
1 88 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 expense, of a little of his inimitable and quaint humor, at 
 times not unmixed, perhaps, with a shade of contempt. On 
 the other hand, tolerance was a notable characteristic of Dr. 
 Beard in his estimate of the life and work of others, practically 
 holding that no character was ever rightly understood until it 
 has first been regarded with both tolerance and sympathy. 
 
 One element of character which contributed not a little to 
 the antagonism which Beard encountered was his positive- 
 ness of statement, which, in the minds of many, could proceed 
 only from intense and offensive egotism. That Dr. Beard 
 was egotistic, in the sense of placing a high value on his own 
 interpretation of certain phenomena in physics and psychology 
 as against the opinion of non-experts in these realms of 
 science, cannot be denied. It was, however, the egotism that 
 comes from the consciousness of a clearer and keener insight, 
 and no better evidence of its inoffensive character is wanted 
 than the fact that those who knew him most intimately found 
 nothing disagreeable in the manner of these expressions of 
 opinion. As he said of himself, "I never argue, I simply 
 assert." This was the result partly of a natural disinclination 
 for polemics, and partly of a settled conviction that the surest 
 way to establish the truth, as he understood it, was boldly 
 and persistently to reiterate it. Many instances could be given 
 where those who were in any way placed in opposition to him 
 would bear unreserved testimony to the height of his conceit; 
 and from their standpoint, this judgment would be correct. 
 On one occasion he was in court giving testimony in favor of 
 the plaintiff in a suit for damages. The defendant's counsel, 
 an astute lawyer, after a severe cross-questioning, in which 
 in every way he attempted to belittle the attainments of the 
 witness, suddenly asked him if he had not been in Germany 
 lately. He answered in the affirmative. "For the purpose 
 of study, I suppose," suggested the lawyer. "On the con- 
 trary, I went there to teach," was the reply. 
 
 At another time, in a somewhat celebrated trial, he had 
 been in the witness stand several hours and had sorely tried 
 the patience of the cross-examiners by his cool assumption 
 of superior knowledge, until with heat one of them finally 
 said, "Then it is to be presumed that all authorities who differ 
 from you in this matter are in error." "It is to be presumed 
 that they are," he answered. 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 189 
 
 Some have said that he sought notoriety and worked self- 
 ishly for his own ends. In regard to this I write in remem- 
 brance of the time, after our separation, when impelled solely 
 by his ever-restless instinct for research he neglected every 
 expedient of private prudence, for the purpose of investiga- 
 tion along lines which could in no possible way bring in any 
 return, and in this he persisted until his practice, which was his 
 only reliance, was so nearly ruined that for the time being he 
 abandoned it for another field. He soon returned to it, how- 
 ever, and with what success is well known. After his death 
 there was found among his papers manuscripts which, for a 
 better name, may be called autobiographical sketches. I refer 
 to them here because they illustrate many phases of his char- 
 acter, and especially this tendency to humorous exaggeration 
 already referred to. 
 
 Anyone who knew Dr. Beard with some degree of intimacy 
 was aware that he seemed utterly destitute of any financial 
 sense, so far as any appreciation of the value of money except- 
 ing as a present necessity. Accordingly there were times in 
 his earlier professional life, and occasionally in more recent 
 periods, during which he was closely beset by clamorous 
 creditors. It was during one of these periods undoubtedly, 
 that the portion of the autobiographical sketch was written 
 referring to the mutual relationships of debtor and creditor. 
 It was not intended for mortal eye, and evidently was dashed 
 off as a vent, in a condition of unusual mental depression. It 
 was giving expression to the rather doubtful humor of the 
 situation that saved the day. A more unique and quaintly 
 humorous exposition of this relationship, I can imagine has 
 seldom been presented. From so much that is original and 
 rare it is difficult to select, but here is one brief extract: 
 
 "I congratulate myself that few persons at my time of life 
 have succeeded amid severe discouragements in honestly 
 acquiring so admirable a band of creditors. In that select 
 circle are found names of whom, if the world is worthy, cer- 
 tainly I am not. It is truly worth all the deprivations and 
 obstacles and misunderstandings I have encountered through 
 this vale of sorrows to have been brought into such an inti- 
 mate relationship, for, next to marriage, debt is the closest 
 of all connections, and tends to make the parties concerned 
 
1 9 o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 thoroughly acquainted. It has been said by those who regard 
 themselves as wise, that you must winter and summer with a 
 man before you can know him, but I will recommend a shorter 
 and surer road to acquaintanceship — the getting in debt to a 
 man, or allowing him to get in debt to you. Such delicate 
 relationships bring out, as I have noticed, the finer, subtler, 
 and least suspected qualities of human nature, that would 
 never reveal themselves to any other test whatever; indeed, 
 no man can be said to know himself until he has been either 
 a debtor or a creditor. 
 
 "Not the least of the charms of the relationship of debtor 
 and creditor, if one may judge from his own experience, is its 
 permanence; in this feature it is certainly superior to wed- 
 lock, or any other earthly relation. Marriages are followed 
 too often by separations, divorces, or at least by infidelities; 
 but my creditors or their representatives are never long away, 
 and they never sue for a divorce, and are faithful unto death." 
 
 Let it not be understood from this sketch that its subject 
 was indifferent to the claims of others. His readiness further 
 on, when the ability came, to meet these obligations, is a 
 sufficient evidence to the contrary, and I have alluded to this 
 somewhat delicate matter that the testimony of one who knew 
 him better than most others might be borne to the essential 
 integrity of his character in this respect; and while with the 
 rest of mankind his imperfections are sufficiently manifest, 
 it is an education, in this as in all ages of greed and gain and 
 backbiting, to have held communion with a man who, so far 
 as all outward evidences were concerned, seemed altogether 
 free from envy, hatred and malice. 
 
 Judged by many an accepted standard, he would be readily 
 enough disposed of and consigned by self-satisfied plodders 
 to the oblivion appointed for all strange and misunderstood 
 things, but tried by the great law of a culture which leads 
 every man to become what from the beginning he was capable 
 of being, resisting all impediments, casting off all foreign 
 adhesions, and showing himself at length in his own shape and 
 stature, be these what they may, judged, I say, by this 
 standard, he represented to his contemporaries who under- 
 stood him an unusually interesting, unique and lovable per- 
 sonality. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 DURING my brief but not uninteresting experience as a 
 general practitioner of medicine I was called one day 
 to see a woman suffering evidently from an inflamma- 
 tion of the brain or its meninges. I spent most of the night 
 at her bedside. She had all her life been a deeply religious 
 woman, and of exemplary character, and yet in her ravings 
 she made use of language both profane and obscene, rarely 
 equalled by the most depraved natures. To me it is still a 
 mystery how such perversions found lodgment and finally 
 outward expression in one whose nature was gentle, and whose 
 training and associations had been unexceptionable. During 
 the evening a fellow member of the same church came in to see 
 her. His name was William Miller, Dr. Miller by courtesy. 
 I had before heard of him as a so-called "electrician," that 
 is, one who treats disease by electricity. I found him a simple- 
 hearted old man of about sixty-five or seventy, who had a 
 great opinion of the value of electricity in medical treatment, 
 and in the case at hand he expressed with some modesty and 
 hesitation the opinion that a good strong application of elec- 
 tricity might be of service. I was amused by many of his 
 absurdities of statement, but was much impressed by his evi- 
 dent honesty, and by his large, yet crude and ill-directed 
 experience, and naturally desired to know more of his methods 
 in a field at that date but little cultivated by the profession. 
 I accepted his invitation to come to his office at 914 Broad- 
 way to study his cases, and see his work. I saw evidences of 
 the good results that followed his stereotyped and simple 
 method of application, for his sole apparatus consisted of an 
 ordinary induction coil which, however, yielded a current of 
 remarkable smoothness. Now this man knew nothing of 
 electrophysiology and kindred departments, nothing of dis- 
 ease, pathology or practical therapeutics. While he had a 
 superficial idea of the effects of the constant current, he had 
 never used it, but had confined himself to the use of the 
 faradic current. So far as concerns scientific electrothe- 
 rapeutics, he existed as a most remarkable example of pro- 
 
 191 
 
i 9 2 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 found ignorance and immense experience, associated with per- 
 fect honesty of intention. He never enunciated an idea; 
 neither had he any conception of the principle on which he 
 worked and through which he wrought cures. He was, how- 
 ever, so thoroughly the master of the method he invariably 
 used, that the truth of the saying, "that it is not so much elec- 
 tricity that cures as the manner of using it," never seemed 
 so clear as when comparing his effective manipulations with 
 the awkward, slipshod methods of others. In many of his 
 cases unquestionably the excellent results that followed were 
 greatly aided by his powerful and skillful manipulating proc- 
 ess, which for all practical purposes was expert and thorough 
 massage. It is unnecessary to say that Beard was greatly 
 interested in my account of this old man, with his novel 
 methods and quaint ways, and we both visited him together, 
 again and again. Here indeed was something new and worth 
 investigating. 
 
 It must be remembered that at this date the whole subject 
 was a veritable terra incognita, and to touch it, as one worthy 
 friend remarked to me, was to imperil one's professional 
 reputation. In entering a field so untried it was very natural 
 that I should desire the moral support of men of character 
 and standing in the profession. One of our most eminent 
 surgeons, Dr. Willard Parker, a most kindly man, broad in 
 his views, and well disposed towards myself, said to me: "It 
 isn't worth your while — any old woman can apply electricity." 
 Another physician and former teacher, equally eminent, and 
 an author of great fame, Dr. Austin Flint, Sr., prematurely 
 exclaimed as I began to speak of the matter to him: "I can 
 not lend my name to any such project." "But I do not wish 
 your name," I replied. "I simply came to tell you what our 
 idea is, and to ask your opinion as to the propriety of endeav- 
 oring to develop the subject of electricity in a legitimate and 
 scientific way." He advised me to keep on in the regular 
 path, and not to meddle with it, but let it remain where it be- 
 longed — in the keeping of the charlatans. And yet, notwith- 
 standing these initial and somewhat disconcerting experiences, 
 both these fine, open-minded men referred many an interesting 
 case to me in after years. 
 
 During all my medical training I do not recall that elec- 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 193 
 
 tricity was ever mentioned in connection with therapeutics or 
 even surgery. All other physical agents, water, air, exercise, 
 heat and cold received due attention, but nature's most subtle, 
 all pervasive and powerful principle remained absolutely 
 neglected, excepting by dishonest empirics and a few emi- 
 nently worthy but uninformed irregular practitioners, like our 
 own good friend Dr. Miller. Medical journals seldom re- 
 ferred to it in any way and of American literature upon the 
 subject, with the exception of Garratt's ponderous and unphil- 
 losophic work there was absolutely none. It was impossible 
 to obtain any form of apparatus for the generation of the 
 galvanic current, and all our earlier efforts in this direction 
 were made with the inconstant, inconvenient and ill-smelling 
 voltiac pile. 
 
 Electricity was known to be of value in stimulating mus- 
 cular contractions, and paralysis was believed to be about the 
 only condition for which its use was in any way indicated. 
 It seems that even before this time, Beard, with his usual 
 curiosity in regard to every strange and misunderstood thing, 
 had become for a time interested in the subject. While still 
 a student at Yale, he had in his own person experienced some 
 benefit from the use of the crude induction coils in the treat- 
 ment of a condition of persistent indigestion and nervousness. 
 He was, therefore, quite ready to co-operate with me in my 
 proposed investigations. After two years of waiting I was 
 beginning to get a foothold in Harlem, and it required some 
 little resolution and courage to burn my bridges, as it were, 
 and enter a new and untried field. Then again I had just 
 become engaged, and needed more than ever to get firmly 
 established. To be sure, the income for the year had been 
 somewhat under $1,000, yet it seemed to me fairly satisfac- 
 tory and a precursor of improvement in the future. And then, 
 again, it was somewhat unconventional and perhaps a little 
 risky to become in any way associated with one who, however 
 honest, was, in the eyes of the profession, little better than a 
 quack. Most of my money had been used in self-support dur- 
 ing the past two years, and the good Miller, gratified that a 
 bona-fide doctor should take any interest in his methods, held 
 out hopes that some of his cases could be directed my way. I 
 came to the decision to break loose; and therefore took down 
 
i 9 4 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 my shingle as a general practitioner and hired a little room on 
 the same floor with Miller. In this way I had the advantage 
 of studying his cases, and at the same time getting some of 
 the overflow. The profits were not very large, for Miller 
 received the munificent fee of one dollar for each patient, and 
 I could not well charge more. When it is remembered, how- 
 ever, that sometimes his daily patients numbered twenty-five 
 or thirty, it is readily understood that he enjoyed a comfort- 
 able yearly income. 
 
 An amusing incident occurred in connection with this subject 
 of fees. When he first began his irregular practice, he charged 
 but fifty cents a visit. Miller was a school-teacher originally, 
 and being of a mechanical turn of mind, became interested in 
 the subject of induction coils. He began to treat people of his 
 acquaintance for some of their little ailments. By degrees, 
 his practice grew, so that he made a business of it, and finally 
 acquired a wide clientele. The doctor himself thought his 
 fee was rather low, and I urged him to raise it to two dollars. 
 I confess to a selfish end in this, because as long as he charged 
 but one dollar I could charge no more. I pointed out the 
 fact that one of his old patients, again coming to him just 
 then, was well-to-do, and a good one to begin on. With some 
 hesitancy the old gentleman consented. She upon whom the 
 experiment was to be tried came at the appointed time, re- 
 ceived her treatment and handed the doctor the usual fee. 
 He said somewhat bashfully that he had raised his price to 
 two dollars. The richly-attired patient surveyed him curiously 
 for a moment, and thrusting the bill into his hand, said, "Go 
 'long, take your money!" The doctor took it, and that was 
 the last attempt he ever made to raise his fee. 
 
 Most of my practice, however, was unremunerative, except- 
 ing as it added little by little to the sum of my, or I should 
 say our, experience. Beard, to be sure, did not have his sign 
 up, but he was as deeply interested as was I, and might be 
 called a silent partner. He was at this time connected with 
 the Demilt Dispensary, and it was his function to send as 
 many of the charity patients as possible to 914 Broadway for 
 electrical treatment and experimentation. And to this day it 
 excites a smile as I again see Beard with his grave face and 
 chuckling interior, ushering half a dozen or more of the un- 
 washed into the little office. In one way we earned all the 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 195 
 
 experience that came to us, for it was no pleasant job to go 
 over the bodies of these unfortunates. It was a crude experi- 
 ence, but we saw all manner of cases, and, of course, kept a 
 detailed account of each, and the results of treatment. Dr. 
 Miller was getting old and thought seriously of giving up his 
 work, and suggested that we should purchase the good will of 
 the business and give him notes for the sum, for we had no 
 money. I suggested that he stay away from the office some 
 day and let me manage the patients that came, as an entering 
 wedge. Alas, for human expectations ! On reaching the 
 office that morning I found half a dozen patients in waiting. 
 I explained to them that Dr. Miller could not come, and that 
 I would attend to his work. Without exception they one by 
 one departed and left me alone, and of all the patients who 
 came in that day not more than one or two dared or cared 
 to trust themselves to the treatment of the youthful-looking 
 substitute. That settled in my mind the feasibility of buying 
 the practice. 
 
 By this time our experience had become such that we de- 
 cided to give it to the world, and selected the New York 
 Medical Record as the medium through which this experience 
 should be disseminated. The result was a series of five ar- 
 ticles through a period of two or three months. We had 
 great hopes, for we felt certain that nothing quite like these 
 papers had ever before appeared; but the interest they excited 
 both here and abroad exceeded our fondest anticipations. 
 The London Lancet and also one or more of the German 
 medical journals republished each article as it appeared; and 
 when finally William Wood and Company issued the com- 
 bined articles in book form, its reception was in the main 
 highly complimentary. There were, however, a few discord- 
 ant notes. 
 
 Among the few the Edinburgh Medical Review was both 
 humorous and unappreciative, if not actually condemnatory. 
 In making applications of the faradic current to sensitive 
 parts which required but a mild current, we explained our 
 method of applying it through our own person. No artificial 
 electrode could equal the hand in flexibility and ready adapta- 
 tion to inequality of surface and in treating delicate women 
 and children, and in all cases where applications were to be 
 made to the head, forehead, eyes, face, and sensitive motor 
 
196 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 points, the use of the hand was invaluable. In making use of 
 this method we had observed that the muscles of our own 
 arms had perceptibly increased in size and strength. In com- 
 menting on this passage, the Review went on to say "notwith- 
 standing this alarming condition of affairs" (the enlargement 
 of the biceps), "in consideration of the fact that the Atlantic 
 Ocean rolls between us and them, we shall not hesitate to 
 express our opinion." Then follows a slashing and destruc- 
 tive criticism. 
 
 About the same time also we wrote a joint article and sent 
 it to Albany to be presented before the coming session of the 
 State Medical Society. Among the committee which passed 
 upon all papers to be read was Dr. Squibb of Brooklyn, the 
 noted drug manufacturer. Upon reading the title he quickly 
 exclaimed: "What! are these men regular?" If it had not 
 been for the more hospitable minds of the board it would 
 probably have been rejected. Not long after, being in an 
 ambitious frame of mind, as Beard expressed it, "to do my 
 part in scientifically evangelizing the world," I conceived the 
 idea of presenting the subject in far-away Brooklyn. I men- 
 tioned the matter to that great and liberal-minded man, Pro- 
 fessor Austin Flint, Sr., professor of the Practice of Medi- 
 cine at Bellevue. "Certainly," he said, "I think you should 
 do so. It is a subject of which the profession knows little or 
 nothing, and I will give you a letter to my friend, Dr. 
 Squibb." 
 
 Armed with this letter, in which I was called "his young 
 friend," I found Dr. Squibb in his great drug establishment, 
 and in person handed it to him. He received me coldly, but as 
 the letter was from so great a man as Dr. Flint he could not 
 actually kick me out, as I felt no doubt he would gladly 
 have done. After reading it he handed it back, and with a 
 sour face said that he did not have much to do with that sort 
 of thing, and suggested that I call on Dr. Reese, as it was 
 more in his line. To Dr. Reese I went, and found a most 
 charming gentleman. It pleased me to hear that he had known 
 of our work and he expressed great pleasure at the thought 
 of my telling them something of which they knew nothing. 
 He said he would bring the matter before the Kings County 
 Medical Society. When he did broach the subject it was im- 
 mediately met by opposition, and the chief opponent was Dr. 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 197 
 
 Squibb, who had told me that he had little to do with the mat- 
 ter. His objections were that the subject of electricity in 
 medicine was one in which they could have no interest, since 
 it was little less than quackery; that it was well known that 
 the young man's chief aim was to drum up practice, and finally 
 that they did not need any information from him. 
 
 Many years after I did read a paper before the Kings 
 County Medical Society by special invitation, but this time 
 Dr. Squibb had long been in heaven, and so missed the oppor- 
 tunity of hearing it. 
 
 Patients now began to come to us in greater numbers, re- 
 ferred to us mainly by members of the profession who had 
 read our contributions, who had faith in our integrity, and 
 who saw the reasonableness of our contention. About this 
 time Dr. Beard received an independent commission from 
 Charles Scribner's Sons to re-write a huge volume on Do- 
 mestic Medicine. He entered upon the task with his custo- 
 mary enthusiasm and dogged industry, and in an incredibly 
 short space of time it was completed. I aided him somewhat, 
 but he received the fairly generous sum that had been offered. 
 Some would have placed it in the bank for a rainy day. But 
 this was against the principles of Dr. Beard, for with him 
 money was a thing not to be hoarded but to be spent. He, 
 therefore, immediately announced his intention of going 
 abroad. I tried to dissuade him, but he persisted, saying with 
 much truth that in visiting men of science abroad, and espe- 
 cially those interested in the work in which we were engaged, 
 he would garner much material that would be of service in the 
 writing of the more comprehensive treatise that we were con- 
 templating. 
 
 He was gone three months. When he bade me goodbye, 
 I was treating a patient. When he returned and unexpectedly 
 entered the office, that identical patient was seated on the stool 
 undergoing treatment. I can see Beard now, with his hands 
 thrown up saying, "For the Lord's sake, have you been treat- 
 ing that man ever since I have been gone?" He brought 
 back a lot of valuable information, but of the eight hundred 
 dollars that he took with him he had but fifty cents left, 
 no money in the bank and none coming to him. The com- 
 plications that ensued and how he managed to surmount them 
 is another story. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 ON October 7th, 1868, I was married by Rev. George 
 Corey, to Susannah Landon, at the residence of her 
 parents, Fifth Avenue and One Hundred and Twenty- 
 fifth Street. On our bridal trip we went first to Philadelphia 
 and thence to Washington. When we arrived in Philadel- 
 phia we found the city in an uproar. There were marching 
 bodies of troops, the crowds were dense, and all traffic was 
 interrupted. It was for a moment a question as to the one for 
 whom these honors were intended, as no recent event was then 
 as auspicious or of so great importance to myself, at least, as 
 my marriage. I soon learned that General McClellan was 
 in town, and it was he that the city was honoring. As for my- 
 self and my bride, there was none to greet us, and not even a 
 cab to hire. It was a long way to the Continental Hotel, for 
 which we were destined. We pushed our way through the 
 crowds, I with a heavy suit case in one hand and an umbrella 
 in the other. Before we reached the hotel, we found it neces- 
 sary to run the gauntlet of the marching columns two or 
 three times. McClellan's quarters were immediately below 
 cur own, and in the evening we were favorably located to hear 
 and see all that took place. 
 
 My old college mate, Rev. Percy Browne, had at that 
 time a pastorate in Philadelphia. As I was registering he 
 accosted me and asked me what I was doing there. I told 
 him that I was on my wedding trip and invited him to meet 
 my wife. About two years after, entering the Fifth Avenue 
 Hotel in New York, I met Percy as he was about to register, 
 and on accosting him found he was on his wedding trip. Sin- 
 gular coincidence. He invited me to meet his wife, and so 
 the honors were even. 
 
 In Washington we stopped for a few days with the Bur- 
 chells, cousins of my wife, who treated us with true Southern 
 hospitality, and it is an interesting fact that in later years 
 they extended hospitality to nearly all my children on similar 
 joyful occasions. 
 
 We called upon President Johnson at the White House. 
 
 198 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 199 
 
 It was during the impeachment trial. The following Sunday 
 morning, while Mr. Burchell and I were walking near the 
 grounds of the Treasury Building, he said, "There is the 
 President, let us speak to him." He knew him well and I 
 was again introduced. The President looked rather sober, 
 since it was a critical time, and when Mr. Burchell said, "They 
 are pressing you pretty hard, Mr. President," he replied, 
 "Pretty hard, pretty hard." All honor to the seven Repub- 
 lican senators who had the courage and the honor, in face 
 of threats and a mean and senseless public obloquy, to follow 
 the dictates of conscience. I am no great admirer of Andrew 
 Johnson. He had many faults, but he had virtues, too. He 
 was a fearless and incorruptible patriot, true to the Union 
 throughout the Civil War, and it would have been disgraceful 
 to have deposed him simply for partisan reasons. 
 
 Returning to New York at the conclusion of these halcyon 
 days, I again took up my work with hope and ardor. In my 
 more commonplace way I, too, had "vague yearnings of ambi- 
 tion," such as were ascribed to the poet Burns. Every youth 
 who is worth his salt must have them, and this fine prose 
 poetry of Carlyle in reference to the lowly-born poet awakens 
 answering response in every heart. "Dreamy fancies hang 
 like cloud cities around him; the curtain of existence is slowly 
 rising, in many-colored splendor and gloom, and the auroral 
 light of first love is gilding his horizon, and the music of song 
 is on his path; and so he walks — in glory and in joy, behind 
 his plough upon the mountain side." 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 AFTER the return from the wedding trip we boarded 
 during the winter at my elder brother's, who lived 
 on One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street. Old Harlem 
 then was a very different affair from the Harlem, or no Har- 
 lem, of to-day. It has long outstripped its village title, as has 
 Yorkville. 
 
 Yorkville, in the region of Third Avenue and Eighty-sixth 
 Street, like Harlem, enjoyed a little community life of its own, 
 and the Yorkville Medical Society and the Harlem Medical 
 Society held the same reciprocal relations as any two pro- 
 vincial societies of neighboring villages of the countryside. 
 How everything has changed. Then half a dozen physicians 
 sufficed for the medical needs of our Harlem community. 
 Gregory, Colby, Brockway, Shrady, Farrington, White — these 
 six were the main dependence of the people in times of illness; 
 and when I first went to Harlem as a student in 1863 there 
 may not have been quite so many. At that time almost every- 
 body lived on the East Side, near the Harlem River, to be 
 handy to the steamboat landing at One Hundred and Twen- 
 tieth Street, from which the little steamer conveyed the busi- 
 ness men and clerks to their daily labors in the busy city so far 
 away. How primitive and leisurely it all now seems. And 
 truly there was a charm about it — that sail of ten miles, more 
 or less, every morning and night. Friends met each other, 
 smoked, played cards, joked and talked. Private residences 
 with spacious grounds and boat houses lined the banks of the 
 fine waterway. The eye rested only on scenes of rural quiet- 
 tude. Today the great city has swallowed the villages and 
 rural settlements that bordered the river. The Ghetto has 
 transferred its quarters to quiet Harlem. Almost every foot 
 of ground from river to river is covered with tenements. Chil- 
 dren crowd the sidewalks; a foreign population is seen on 
 every hand and a great body of physicians whom no man can 
 number, mostly Israelitish in character, have taken the places 
 of the old-time Saxon and American doctors whom I have 
 named. 
 
 200 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 201 
 
 Harlem was in those earlier days a place of magnificent 
 distances. We had our sociables and entertainments. We be- 
 longed to the Clarendon set, and afterwards to the "Entre 
 Nous" and in attending the fortnightly meetings and dances, 
 we had at times to traverse long distances, so far apart were 
 some of the houses. Among my friends were John Van 
 Orden, cashier of the newly founded Stuyvesant Bank, and 
 T. W. Wightman, a lawyer of literary tastes. At that time 
 the Eclectic Magazine was reproducing an anonymous serial 
 story entitled "Far from the Madding Crowd." Wight- 
 man called my attention to it as a novel of unusual merit, and 
 after reading it I said to him, "If George Eliot is not the 
 author of the tale, then still another literary light is added 
 to the world's number." It is unnecessary to say that Thomas 
 Hardy was the writer and through this book he entered the 
 hall of fame. No book of his that followed has escaped my 
 attention. 
 
 One morning in the spring of 1869 I met Van Orden on a 
 Fourth Avenue car on his way to the bank. Casually he re- 
 marked, "Wouldn't you like to take a trip to Charleston with 
 me?" I replied, "Yes, if you will pay the bill." "All right," 
 he answered. "I'll do it." He then explained that ten thou- 
 sand dollars had been stolen from the bank, and the thief 
 had been located in Charleston. The bank had decided to 
 send Van Orden, accompanied by the informer and a detec- 
 tive, to make the arrest. He said that Wightman, as the 
 attorney for the bank, would probably go, but that he (Van 
 Orden) would say to the bank authorities that he would like to 
 take along a personal friend for company. Such a request 
 seems very queer to me now, but at all events no objections 
 were raised and that very afternoon, with hasty preparation, 
 we started, the cashier, the attorney and the detective, the in- 
 former, and the friend — that is, myself. 
 
 We reached Charleston only to find that our game had fled 
 and was living in New York or near by. We spent, however, 
 two or three days in this heart of the Confederacy, and were 
 entertained right royally by a jovial banker who was in some 
 way interested in the case. We visited the ruins of old Fort 
 Sumter and were hastily driven from the island by a horde of 
 vicious mosquitoes; and after accomplishing nothing but the 
 
202 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 spending of a thousand dollars of the bank's money, more or 
 less, we started home. 
 
 My wife's family were Methodists, while I was an Epis- 
 copalian, although never very ardent in denominational activ- 
 ities. It was a question to which church we should go. I 
 preferred the "historic" church, and Holy Trinity had just 
 been built on the corner of One Hundred and Twenty-fifth 
 Street and Fifth Avenue. Its first Rector was the Rev. Mr. 
 McVickar, a big-souled man and big in body. The Metho- 
 dists had also just completed a fine building on the corner 
 of One Hundred and Twenty-sixth Street and Madison Ave- 
 nue, and had called the Rev. Dr. Henry B. Ridgeway as its 
 first pastor. We went to Holy Trinity a few times and found 
 Mr. McVickar a bright and ready talker, and charmingly 
 sociable. He belonged to the Low-church order in which I 
 had been reared. He spoke readily without notes. Earnest- 
 ness and evangelical fervor almost of a Methodistic type 
 marked his discourses. Perhaps he was too Methodistic as 
 an Episcopal clergyman for me, for I concluded to go with 
 my wife, and take my Methodism unadulterated. Thereupon 
 we transferred our allegiance to Dr. Ridgeway and St. James'. 
 Nevertheless, for McVickar I have always felt the highest 
 esteem and admiration. He was a true man, lovable and sin- 
 cere, and no higher compliment can be paid him than to state 
 that he became the warm friend of that great, broad apostle 
 of spirituality, Phillips Brooks. McVickar succeeded Brooks 
 as rector of Holy Trinity Church, Philadelphia, and subse- 
 quently became Bishop of Rhode Island. Both of these great 
 and good men are now no more. 
 
 Brooks and McVickar, and Richardson, the eminent archi- 
 tect, were good friends and were in Europe together on one 
 occasion. They were in Germany, and this is the story told of 
 them, a story that was printed in almost every newspaper of 
 the land. Some German, so that story goes, was lecturing to 
 German audiences about America. He was uncomplimentary, 
 saying that the Americans were even undersized. Now our 
 trio were all big men, the shortest being six feet four. By 
 agreement they went to one of these lectures, sitting in dif- 
 ferent parts of the room. After the lecture the great form 
 of McVickar arose, saying that he had been somewhat sur- 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 203 
 
 prised at the statement of the lecturer that Americans were 
 undersized, for, said he, "I am an American and perhaps 
 there are other Americans in this room." Thereupon the 
 stately form of Bishop Brooks arose in his place, with the 
 remark, "I am an American," followed by the still greater 
 height of Richardson, repeating, "I, too, am an American." 
 Some years later, meeting Bishop McVickar, I referred to the 
 story. "Yes," he replied, "it is a very good one, and I wish it 
 were true, but there is not a word of truth in it!" 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 RECENTLY, after a lapse of years, I determined once 
 again to visit old St. James'. We reached the building 
 just before the beginning of the service, and were 
 seated well up to the front, and by fortunate coincidence in 
 the same little pew to which nearly a half century ago I 
 was accustomed to go weekly with my wife and growing 
 family. Only a few remembered faces were seen, and as my 
 eyes wandered over the familiar interior unchanged through 
 all these years, excepting in minor ways, memory had full 
 sway. It was easy to revive the scenes of other days, and it 
 was with deep emotion that I contrasted the past with the 
 present. Almost every face was strange, but in their stead 
 I visualized a multitude of the old forms and faces that stood 
 forth as clearly as if there in actual bodily presence. The old 
 pulpit, how familiar! In it stood the slight form with the 
 thoughtful, scholarly face of the first minister of the new struc- 
 ture, the Rev. Dr. Ridgeway. More than any other man, of 
 the rather long list of succeeding clergymen, he satisfied my 
 spiritual and intellectual needs. He was earnest, sincere, log- 
 ical, and at times eloquent. More than any others that fol- 
 lowed, he often caught a sorrowful glimpse, I imagined, of 
 the inadequacy of the doctrines in which he was reared and 
 which it was his duty to preach. His was a sensitive soul 
 and his nature of the purest type, making him not quite at 
 home in the semi-politico-religious conventions of his church. 
 Fortunately for him and his peace of mind, as it seems to 
 me, he found relief from the stress and strain of an itinerant 
 ministry in the presidency of a divinity school of his denomi- 
 nation, in Evanston, 111., where he enjoyed for the rest of 
 his life the quiet dignity of intellectual pursuits. His memory 
 is very pleasant to me. His successor, Cyrus Foss, was quite 
 another type of man, and yet they had for each other a strong 
 friendly feeling. Indeed they both came to St. James' from 
 pastorates at St. Paul's, the wealthiest among the Methodist 
 churches of the city. 
 
 Dr. Foss was a strong man, both in intellect and will, and 
 
 204 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 205 
 
 this combination made him powerful in the conferences of his 
 church, and was a stepping stone to its most coveted and 
 highest honors. He subsequently became president of Wes- 
 leyan University, and finally a bishop. His preaching was 
 uniformly good and he had eloquent periods. 
 
 Apropos of this, I recall that when he was about to leave 
 St. James' for the college he called at my office, and rather to 
 my astonishment, and with a prefatory remark, commenda- 
 tory of my intelligence as a listener he asked for my opinion 
 as to his merits or deficiencies as a preacher. Here was a 
 poser — asking me, a young fellow, to pass upon the proficiency 
 or deficiency of a much older man distinguished in his calling. 
 I do not remember all I said, but I do remember to have 
 said, in comparing him with his friend and my friend, Dr. 
 Ridgeway, that while the latter, on occasion of inspiration, 
 which came all too unfrequently, could rise to heights of stir- 
 ring eloquence reached by but few whom it was my fortune 
 to hear, he (Foss), on the other hand, was more uniformly 
 satisfactory, seldom falling below a high degree of excellence. 
 The vigorous body of Foss, and his optimistic temperament, 
 kept him on a pretty high level, while dear Ridgeway was 
 at the mercy of varying moods of mental and physical depres- 
 sion. I remember that some time before his pastorate at St. 
 James' was ended and while his next destination was unknown, 
 gloom and depression marked his attitude. Some little financial 
 difficulty also had occurred, and in speaking of both to me 
 he said in mournful tones that the future looked rather 
 dark to him. 
 
 Another, Rev. Dr. Henry Baker, who came later, more 
 nearly approached the standard of the two former than any 
 of the others that followed. In gentleness of disposition and 
 kindly tolerance he more resembled Ridgeway than any of 
 the others. He was a very good preacher, too. His gentle 
 and retiring nature gave him no taste for polemics, and, like 
 Ridgeway, unfitted him for the rough-and-tumble debates of 
 church conferences. 
 
 I ought to speak of Rev. George H. Corey, who really pre- 
 ceded Dr. Ridgeway, although he was never really pastor 
 of St. James'. He was pastor of the old wooden structure, 
 which is now perched high in the air at the corner of Lexing- 
 ton Avenue and One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, just 
 
206 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 before the congregation moved into the new structure and the 
 name "125th Street Methodist Episcopal Church" changed to 
 the more fashionable "St. James' " with its new vested choir 
 and ambitious appurtenances. Corey was a character, and I 
 shall always remember him with kindly gratitude because he 
 performed my marriage service. He was a tall, bold, imperi- 
 ous sort of a man, and a good companion in spite of his ego- 
 tism. He possessed a vigorous mind, and his written dis- 
 courses were often strong and to the point. But his voice 
 was harsh, not specially well modulated, and his delivery was 
 not specially graceful. His opinions were given dogmatically 
 and yet he was hospitable to differences of opinion. In his 
 earlier days he was fond of fast horses, and if he had not 
 chosen the ministry he would have enjoyed the racetrack. I 
 once heard him rather briefly summed up by that old war- 
 horse of theological discussion, Rev. Dr. Daniel Curry. 
 After hearing Corey preach the good old doctor said: "I 
 rather like Corey, and if he would get religion he would be 
 all right." 
 
 In his own conference, partly perhaps because of character- 
 istics already noted, he failed to receive due recognition, and 
 was shoved into an unimportant charge, not at all to his liking. 
 Subsequently, however, through the influence of the noted 
 preacher John P. Newman, the friend of General Grant, 
 Corey was called to succeed Newman as pastor of the famous 
 Metropolitan Church, at Washington. This was a piece of 
 great good fortune for him. 
 
 Rev. Wesley R. Davis followed Dr. Foss in the ministry at 
 St. James'. He had an engaging personality. Scrupulously 
 neat in dress, with great fluency of speech, and in the pulpit 
 especially impressive, solemn at times even to the point of 
 gloom, he became the center around which many of the women 
 of his congregation worshipped in ecstatic admiration. After 
 leaving St. James' he succeeded George H. Hepworth as min- 
 ister of a Congregational church of large membership. Sub- 
 sequently he went to Albany as pastor of a Dutch Reformed 
 Church there. 
 
 After Davis in the pastorate of St. James' came Rev. 
 Dr. James M. King. He, too, was no ordinary man. As a 
 preacher I never found him very interesting. His sermons 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 207 
 
 were generally read and were more like formal essays, but in 
 debate and in expressions of opinion he was all but resistless. 
 His likes and dislikes were equally strong. He was a good 
 liker and a good hater. If in trouble and in need of a de- 
 fender, fortunate he who had Dr. King on his side. As he was 
 both strong and fearless and full of color, every man knew 
 just where he stood, and as he was, it must be confessed, 
 opinionated and aggressive, he excited intense opposition. In 
 other words, he was not a little lacking in tact, and so opposing 
 forces in the church conferences grew, and he missed the prize 
 for which all good Methodists who are in any degree eligible 
 are always fighting, a bishopric. We were very good friends, 
 indeed, and I have often wondered why so many of these fine 
 men were such excellent friends of mine, especially as I was 
 never active in any sort of church work, and indeed differed 
 radically from these friends along the line of beliefs and 
 creeds. As an illustration, my friend Ridgeway, of whom I 
 thought so highly and who was a far older man, once said to 
 me, "Doctor, why don't you mingle with us more in the prayer 
 meetings, church work, etc?" My reply was, "Dr. Ridge- 
 way, when you get to know me better you will find the answer 
 without asking for it." And yet after that we were even bet- 
 ter friends than ever, if it were possible, for when he went 
 abroad to the Holy Land for a rest and to gather material for 
 his big book, "The Lord's Land," he left me in charge of his 
 pet society, the "Arigon," the one literary feature of the par- 
 ish, and wrote me some beautiful letters during the course of 
 his travels. How these preachers and teachers of the old St. 
 James' came and went. 
 
 Following Dr. King came Drs. Vail, Tiffany, Baker (of 
 whom I have already spoken), Price, Haynes, and Tipple. 
 Dr. Tiffany was one of the big men of the church, famed 
 for his eloquence and impressive presence, and thought by 
 many to be fit timber for the bishopric. How grand he was as 
 he stood in the pulpit and as Sydney Smith, expressed it, "six 
 feet above criticism," hammering in the dogmas of the church. 
 He believed that every word in the good old Bible was di- 
 rectly inspired by God, and regarded it as a desecration and 
 irreverence if anybody presumed to walk up the aisle when it 
 was being read. 
 
208 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 As I sat that day in our old pew listening half-heartedly 
 to the strange man in the pulpit, with thought dwelling on 
 the past rather than the present, my memory claimed free 
 range. Dreamily I repeopled the scenes of long ago and in 
 every pew saw, as in a vision, familiar faces — the gray heads 
 and bowed forms of age, those in middle age, and others in the 
 proud strength of early manhood, and well-remembered faces 
 of boys and girls. In the pulpit I recognized now the gentle 
 face of the well-beloved Ridgeway, the virile form of Foss, 
 and all the others who for a time followed and held sway, 
 and as one after another I recalled them and the long list of 
 those who listened in the pews, reflecting that the greater num- 
 ber had gone to that bourne from which no traveler returns, 
 I bethought myself of Bryant's noble lines : 
 
 "A mighty hand from an exhaustless urn 
 Pours forth the never ending flood of years 
 Among the nations. How the rushing waves 
 Bear all before them on the foremost edge, 
 And there alone is Life. The present there 
 Tosses and foams, and fills the air with roar 
 Of mingled noises. There are they who toil, 
 And they who strive, and they who feast and they 
 Who hurry to and fro. The sturdy swain — 
 Woodman and delver with the spade, is there — 
 And busy artisan beside his bench — 
 And pallid student with his written roll, 
 A moment on the mounting billow seen, 
 The flood sweeps over them and they are gone." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 MY partnership with Dr. Beard continued eight years. 
 We worked together harmoniously in the main, which 
 speaks rather well for both of us, for Beard was a 
 sort of a genius, while I was rather commonplace and matter 
 of fact. Beard had no idea of values in some of the practical 
 concerns of life. He bought numerous books in the pursuit 
 of our joint investigations, and others for his own special pur- 
 poses, many of which were charged to the firm. What was 
 my surprise, in glancing over these books one day, to find not 
 a few of them mutilated here and there. When Beard wished 
 to quote, instead of copying the quotation, he would clip the 
 extract and paste it in, thus destroying not a few valuable 
 books. He found no fault with my protest against this, and 
 agreed that all such purchases should be in our individual 
 names thereafter. He had assumed obligations for books at 
 a certain publisher's which he found it not easy to meet. 
 Finally, tired with the non-success of the ordinary collectors, 
 a member of the firm, or one high in its councils, came in 
 primed for the encounter, and determined to settle the matter 
 then and there. 
 
 Beard was, as usual, writing when the gentleman entered, 
 and without giving him time to state his business, rose and 
 greeted him with great effusion, telling him how glad he was 
 to see him, etc. When the man had a chance to get in a word, 
 with some severity he made known his errand. Beard was 
 even then a little deaf, although he could, as a rule, hear 
 pretty well when he so desired. With hand behind his ear 
 he affected to misunderstand the purpose of the remarks, and 
 made an altogether irrelevant reply. The man repeated it 
 with growing asperity, and Beard, all this time with hand at 
 ear, replied that he had no complaint to make; that the firm 
 had always served him, that he should continue to buy his 
 books there and would recommend them to his friends. Thus, 
 at cross purposes, the dialogue was kept up for some time, the 
 collector with increasing heat pressing his claim and Beard, 
 with that look of vacancy on his face, which he knew so well 
 
 209 
 
210 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 how to assume, failing seemingly to understand. Finally the 
 exasperated collector started for the door with great disgust 
 depicted on his face. Beard followed, insisted on shaking 
 hands with him, asked him to come again, saying that he 
 remembered that he owed a trifling bill for books, and in 
 due time would pay it, which he failed not to do. 
 
 In due course we found ourselves at 122 Madison Avenue. 
 At this time Beard had an office in Brooklyn, where he spent 
 the morning, coming to the New York office in the afternoon. 
 For some reason best known to himself, he announced his in- 
 tention of spending his morning hours at the New York office. 
 To this I strenuously objected, and very naturally, since we 
 both could not well hold office hours in the same room at the 
 same time. He persisted, when I suggested that rather than 
 that, we had better separate. Beard said, "All right," and 
 the affair was settled then and there, Beard taking an office 
 in Thirty-seventh Street. We were paying $1,600 a year 
 for this office, which I regarded too much for my shoulders 
 then; I rented the use of it at the odd hours to a young 
 physician named Du Bois, who had recently been an interne 
 at the Woman's Hospital, with which I was connected. He 
 was a natty, amiable young man with some monetary re- 
 sources, and was to sleep in the office, getting his meals out- 
 side. He did not like it, and before he had been there a 
 month decided to give up the arrangement. We settled the 
 matter amicably between us and he left with no hard feelings 
 on either side. 
 
 I have stated that Dr. Beard and I had concluded to sepa- 
 rate. This was in 1876 after a harmonious partnership of 
 eight years. On my part it was done with regret, since I had 
 a high conception of the abilities of my friend and partner, 
 and believed it to be advantageous to me, if not to him, to 
 keep together. At all events, the die was cast, and we parted 
 the best of friends. Looking back at it all, the subsequent 
 quarrel and brief estrangement seem thoroughly foolish and 
 unnecessary. The first edition of our book had sold well, 
 both here and in England, and had been translated into Ger- 
 man, as was the case with our first and smaller book entitled 
 the "Medical Use of Electricity." The larger work we 
 called by the more ambitious title of "The Medical and 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 211 
 
 Surgical Uses of Electricity, including Localized and General 
 Faradization, Localized and Central Galvanization, Frank- 
 linization, Electrolysis and Galvano Cautery." The second 
 edition was now going through the press, and as we were 
 no longer in the same office, the proof sheets were first sent 
 to Beard, and after correcting them he sent them to me, or 
 vice versa, as the case might be. Now for some rea- 
 son or other, he seemed to think that he had originated more 
 than I, and suggested that in alluding to things that had been 
 done, instead of saying, "we" it should be written "Dr. Beard" 
 or "Dr. Rockwell" had done this or that. Although not 
 favorable to it, I agreed, and the fun began. We very fre- 
 quently disagreed as to where the credit should be placed. 
 Where I had written, "Dr. Rockwell" he would erase it and 
 write "Dr. Beard," to whom he thought the credit belonged, 
 and I in my turn would re-erase and so the unseemly conflict 
 ran on to the disgust of the printer, and to the detriment of 
 our pockets. William Wood & Co., the publishers, had 
 limited the amount of our corrections to four hundred dol- 
 lars or some such sum. This was ample for all reasonable 
 corrections, but our contentions raised the bill to eight hun- 
 dred, thus costing us four hundred dollars for our little by- 
 play. This is but a single illustration of what foolish things 
 men will do in the thick of the fight, when seeking the bubble 
 (too often only a bauble) called reputation or fame. Dr. 
 Beard is long dead, and the little things that we contended for 
 were not worth the price, and the reputation of neither of us, 
 such as it is, would have been influenced one way or the 
 other, whichever name went into print. At the time, however, 
 so spirited and intense became the conflict that I wrote my 
 old friend the severest sort of a letter. I then thought myself 
 justified, and think so still, but the way Beard took it well 
 illustrates the abounding amiability of his nature. He did not 
 answer the letter, but when our animosity had somewhat sub- 
 sided and some sort of a "rapprochement" had been estab- 
 lished, he said in a good-humored sort of a way, "Whatever 
 possessed you to write me such a letter?" 
 
 We remained good friends ever after. And now comes a 
 very interesting episode in the life of Beard, relating in some 
 measure to myself as well. Although our book subsequently 
 
212 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 went through eleven editions, and was an unqualified success 
 in many ways, this second edition fell rather flat. The sales 
 halted, and were not great, and altogether it seemed as if the 
 profession had lost all faith and interest in the subject of 
 electrotherapeutics. My practice fell off greatly, and Beard, 
 as I clearly saw in my occasional visits to his office, had but. 
 little to do. I shall never forget the year that shortly followed 
 our separation, and Beard had equal cause to remember it, 
 for it was during this period of depression that he wrote those 
 inimitable sketches regarding his finances and his lecturing ex- 
 periences, to which I have already alluded. It was during the 
 winter when money was most needed that there was the great- 
 est dearth of it. 
 
 For five long months my wife was bedridden, subsequent 
 to the birth of our daughter. Expenses increased, but my 
 practice so fell off that I was compelled to borrow to make 
 both ends meet. I think I may say this much for myself, how- 
 ever, that during that winter of depression and gloomy out- 
 look, with four little ones and a sick wife dependent, I did 
 not lose my courage, but kept a serene front before my family. 
 It was at this turn of affairs that Beard in even greater straits 
 called upon me, proposing to sell his interest in our book, 
 upon which we had toiled so long and faithfully. Discour- 
 aged by lack of business and the apparent failure of its second 
 edition, he announced his intention of abandoning the profes- 
 sion of medicine and entering the arena as a popular lecturer 
 on scientific subjects; in a word, to bring science to the level of 
 the average or common mind. His humorous idea was that 
 to interest the public and draw audiences, three things were 
 necessary: first, stories; second, splurge; third and most im- 
 portant, absence of thought! He asserted that to try to make 
 people think would be a deadly obstacle to popular success. 
 
 "But," said I, with friendly frankness, "You do not possess 
 the necessary qualifications for what you propose to do. In 
 the first place you have not a good voice and are not a grace- 
 ful speaker. You might tell stories, but it is foreign to your 
 nature to 'splurge,' and as for absence of thought, you have 
 too much of it in your make-up to assume otherwise. Be- 
 sides," I continued, "what is the use of getting discouraged? 
 Things will pick up and the book with it." Beard's idea was 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 213 
 
 to have some sort of a stereopticon and by showing things 
 upon the screen, to interest the eye and to adapt his explana- 
 tions to the understanding of the average mind. "Then 
 again," I went on, "I shall want your assistance in getting 
 out subsequent editions of the work, if any are called for." 
 
 He replied that he had never really cared for the details of 
 the practice of medicine. Temperamentally he was unsuited 
 for it, and this seemed to be the time to make a change. 
 "But," said I, "even if I wanted to buy you out, how am I 
 to do it? I haven't any money and have been compelled to 
 borrow from home to meet expenses." It is unnecessary to 
 enter into further explanations. The result was that, because 
 of urgent pleadings and under protest, I managed to raise a 
 small sum and the book became mine. I took the risk of 
 having on my hands, if not an elephant, yet something of 
 little value. For months subsequently there were few calls 
 for the work and it seemed that I had paid the doctor all, 
 if not more than it was worth, when, little by little, the sales 
 began to pick up. I continued from time to time my contri- 
 butions to the medical press, and others became interested and 
 the edition was finally all sold. The reviving interest called 
 for a third edition and then a fourth, until now eleven editions 
 stand to its credit, and, although out of print, superseded by 
 other and later productions, it had a career that one can be 
 rather proud of. In the number of years that it stood the 
 test, nearly forty, it has been matched by few purely medical 
 treatises, and in its time both here and abroad was accepted 
 as standard. 
 
 But to return to Beard and his lecturing experiences, than 
 which nothing can be more interesting or delightfully humor- 
 ous, as he recounted them in a long paper, found after his 
 death with other unpublished articles. Beard chose Harlem, 
 where I was then living, as the place of his first adventure. 
 He hired a small hall on Third Avenue, capable of holding 
 one hundred and fifty people. I tried to help and, of course, 
 was promptly on hand. I had even persuaded the clergyman 
 of the church that I then attended to announce the lecture 
 from the pulpit. I found Beard alone, with the caretaker 
 and doorkeeper combined in one. Eight o'clock came, but 
 no audience. Ten minutes more, and still no one. At this 
 
2i 4 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 moment a small boy entered and shyly took the rearmost seat. 
 Surveying the scene and without emotion, Beard calmly an- 
 nounced his intention of beginning the lecture. When he began 
 he had an audience of three; the janitor, myself, and the small 
 boy; when he closed, after an hour of conscientious delivery, 
 there were two; the boy, soon becoming discouraged, had 
 slipped quietly out. Nothing daunted, Beard went from place 
 to place for some months, encouraged here, disappointed 
 there; but on the whole it was a desperately losing game, 
 which he was at last compelled to acknowledge. His humor- 
 ous exaggerated account of these experiences, found among 
 his papers after his death, is a curious compound of phil- 
 osophy and fun. 
 
 Returning to his profession, prosperity turned his way, and 
 was in its full tide when quick death overtook him. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 IN the early seventies I first met that great gynecologist and 
 surgeon, J. Marion Sims, the founder of the Woman's 
 Hospital in the State of New York. He sent me a number 
 of patients to whom my treatment was of some service, when 
 one day, meeting me on the street, he said, "I have been tell- 
 ing the Medical Board of the hospital that we are all behind 
 the times; that our patients should have the benefits of elec- 
 trical treatment," and he asked if I would accept the position 
 of electrotherapeutist of the institution. This was, I im- 
 agine, the first appointment of this nature in this country, and 
 without hesitation I accepted. For many years I did faithful 
 work there, going two or three times a week and treating a 
 multitude of patients. It was, of course, without remunera- 
 tion, as are most hospital positions, and sometimes I found it 
 an irksome grind. Besides Sims, the surgeons were Thomas 
 Addis Emmet, T. Gaillard Thomas and Nathan Bozeman. 
 Very little attention was paid to me or to my work by these 
 men, or the assistant surgeons, or the young house surgeons. 
 I think they all looked at it very much in the light of a harm- 
 less fad and with good-natured tolerance, all except Sims, 
 who was the most discerning and far-seeing man on the board. 
 The patients, at least, soon found out how much relief this 
 form of treatment often afforded their multifarious neurotic 
 systems and conditions of pain, and I had plenty to do and 
 gained much valuable experience. 
 
 During the latter part of my connection with the Woman's 
 Hospital an important medical event occurred which was 
 largely instrumental in finally severing my connection with 
 the institution. As the subject was widely discussed at the 
 time, as much so abroad as here, it is worth the telling. Ec- 
 topic gestation or extra-uterine pregnancy is not of common 
 occurrence, but it is so serious in its nature that without prompt 
 recognition and surgical interference it becomes surely fatal. 
 One morning a messenger hurriedly entered my office and said 
 that I was wanted at the house of Dr. George Peters. Re- 
 pairing there I found Dr. Peters, his young partner, Dr. Mc- 
 
 215 
 
216 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Burney (to become later the famous surgeon), and the already 
 famous T. Gaillard Thomas, and Thomas Addis Emmet. Dr. 
 Thomas seemed to be in charge, and the case was one of 
 ectopic gestation. It seemed that an immediate operation had 
 been decided upon, the patient being a daughter of Dr. Peters. 
 Indeed, the instruments were all in position, and everything in 
 readiness. At the last moment Dr. Thomas bethought himself 
 of electricity, remembering that a single case had been thus 
 treated some years before in Philadelphia. I had heard noth- 
 ing of this, nor did I then know that as early as 1853, Bachetti, 
 in Italy, and in 1866, Hicks in England, had each treated a 
 case. Explaining the situation, Dr. Thomas asked me if I 
 thought it possible to destroy the foetal life, then in the third 
 month. I answered that I thought it not only possible, but 
 highly probable. When he asked me whether it could be done 
 without injury to the patient, I felt a greater hesitancy and 
 sense of responsibility, but finally replied that I believed that 
 it could be done with perfect security. 
 
 I sent to my office for a powerful galvanic apparatus, and 
 the treatment immediately administered was entirely success- 
 ful. Several other similar cases quickly followed, some of 
 them in the practice of Dr. Thomas himself. 
 
 Months passed, and seeing no account of the new procedure 
 in the medical press, I conceived the idea of writing it up my- 
 self, and called on Dr. Thomas for his approval, but he rather 
 curtly announced that he proposed to do it. At the annual 
 meeting of the American Gynecological Association he related 
 the cases, naming me as having used the electricity. Other 
 cases came my way. The new procedure was exciting wide 
 interest, and so I wrote an article for the New York Medical 
 Record, entitled, "The Successful Treatment of Extra-Uterine 
 Pregnancy," in which I gave in detail what had not yet been 
 given, the method and technique of the operation. The article 
 was widely read and much commented on, so that I was called 
 in to treat many other cases. After this I noticed that Dr. 
 Thomas no longer greeted me with his former cordiality, 
 much to my perplexity, and I further noticed, to my discom- 
 fiture, that he no longer referred cases of any kind to me. 
 This was more or less of a blow, since he had in the past sent 
 me many a good patient. The mystery was soon to be ex- 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 217 
 
 plained. A professional friend said to me one day, "What 
 grievance has Dr. Thomas against you?" "I do not know," I 
 answered, "he evidently has something. Why do you ask?" 
 It seems that this friend, Dr. Malcolm McLean, had called 
 Dr. Thomas in consultation in a case of this kind. Dr. Thomas 
 confirmed the diagnosis and asked Dr. McLean what his ideas 
 were in regard to the treatment. McLean said he believed 
 electricity would be the thing. "Why do you think so?" re- 
 turned Thomas. "Because I heard Dr. Rockwell's paper on 
 the subject read before the Harlem Medical Association." At 
 this Dr. Thomas broke forth — "Dr. Rockwell! What does 
 he know about it? I called him simply as a mechanician; be- 
 sides, he published cases that he had no right to publish." The 
 secret of all this was a certain trait not altogether admirable 
 in the character of a man otherwise brilliant and of high 
 eminence in his profession. The term brilliant, I think, fits Dr. 
 Thomas; clever in debate, with remarkable command of lan- 
 guage, he charmed his audience, whether of medical men or 
 the students of his classes, as few men could. Dr. Thomas 
 was one of the most charmingly polite men that I ever knew, 
 but his polite promises were not quite sure of being trans- 
 formed into performances. His associate, Dr. Emmet, was 
 not quite so polite a man, but when he said a thing, he always 
 did it. Now as to the finality of my connection with Dr. 
 Thomas : Dr. Cornelius R. Agnew, the eminent eye specialist 
 and pioneer in that department, one day on meeting me on the 
 street, inquired whether I wished to resign my position at the 
 Woman's Hospital, he being one of the governors on the 
 board. I replied that I had no such thing in my mind. He 
 then told me that Dr. Thomas at a recent meeting had moved 
 that the position of electrotherapeutist be abolished. Dr. 
 Agnew inquired if I had been informed of this, and finding I 
 knew nothing of it, protested and said that such an action with- 
 out my knowledge would be treating me with scant courtesy. 
 He said the office would not be abolished, that I had per- 
 formed the duties acceptably, and that the position was mine 
 so long as I wished to hold it. Others told me the same, but 
 I then and there concluded to resign. I had had enough of it, 
 and was glad to be relieved of the regular attendance and the 
 
2i 8 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 work. I learned afterwards that jealousy on Dr. Thomas' 
 part of his subordinates and associates was no new thing. 
 
 The Church of the Holy Trinity, then located at the corner 
 of Forty-second Street and Madison Avenue, was in these 
 earlier years of my practice under the ministrations of the 
 somewhat noted Stephen H. Tyng, D.D., the younger. His 
 father, Rev. Dr. Stephen H. Tyng, the elder, had been for 
 many years the well-known rector of St. George's, on Stuy- 
 vesant Square. Dr. Tyng, the elder, was a celebrated Low 
 churchman in the days when that title prevailed, and was, of 
 course, the natural inheritor of the narrowness of theological 
 view that then prevailed, and still characterizes, although in 
 less degree, all cast-iron creeds. His son, Stephen, Jr., was 
 also a Low Churchman, of a somewhat peppery and aggressive 
 nature, which kept him much in the public eye and in hot water 
 as well. He had established a dispensary in connection with 
 his church and I was invited to become one of the attending 
 physicians. 
 
 In this way I saw more or less of Dr. Tyng, and finally was 
 called upon to treat his wife, a lady of lovely character and 
 great refinement. She was a daughter, I believe, of Mr. Arthur 
 Tappan, the well-known abolitionist. My association with 
 Mrs. Tyng, together with a subsequent experience, caused me 
 to establish a new rule in regard to fees. It had been my 
 habit to charge neither clergymen nor members of their fami- 
 lies, and this without regard to position or salary. I treated 
 Mrs. Tyng faithfully, at her own residence, and always by 
 special appointment. More than once, however, when I went 
 to the house, the servant would meet me at the door with the 
 remark that Mrs. Tyng was called out that morning and 
 would I come on the morrow? This rankled a little, but I 
 made no sign. Not long after I was consulted by a Rev. Dr. 
 
 , a most charming gentleman, and rector of a church that 
 
 gave him a generous salary. He came to the office. I treated 
 him a number of times and he was most agreeable. One 
 morning, however, he failed to keep his appointment, and with 
 no word of explanation, never came again professionally. I 
 was annoyed, and for the first time in the case of a clergyman, 
 rich or poor, sent him a very moderate bill. A note was 
 handed me, and opening it I found the money in payment of 
 
CIVIL LIFE AND PRACTICE 219 
 
 the clergyman's bill, and a line from him reading as follows, 
 in part — "In a ministerial experience of twenty years this is 
 the first bill I have ever received from a physician for profes- 
 sional services." I was somewhat astonished, and the thought 
 entered my mind that if he had never before paid a cent to the 
 hard-working doctor, it was time he did. I receipted the bill 
 and went to the door myself to give it to the messenger, when 
 to my surprise, the minister himself was in waiting. I said 
 good morning, and handed him his receipt. As I opened 
 the door for him to go, he volunteered the information that 
 it was a pleasant morning, to which I agreed, and the worthy 
 Doctor took his departure. I then and there made up my 
 mind not to treat a clergyman gratuitously simply because he 
 was a clergyman. It is very natural that a parishioner should 
 make no professional charge to his own minister. That is a 
 graceful act of courtesy, but for a worker in special fields of 
 medicine to be asked to give his services to strangers from 
 all over the country, simply because they are ministers, is not 
 just to him nor elevating to the patient. It has been my cus- 
 tom to adapt my fee to the circumstances of my client, and the 
 poor minister as well as the poor layman has always received 
 consideration at my hands. 
 
 About the year 1886 I was offered the professorship of 
 electrotherapeutics at the New York Post Graduate Medi- 
 cal School and Hospital. It was entirely without remunera- 
 tion, as have been all similar positions held by me. Previously 
 there had been no training in this country known as post- 
 graduate instruction, and this institution was founded by an 
 old acquaintance, Dr. D. B. St. John Roosa, an ear specialist 
 of some note, but pre-eminently a man of executive ability, per- 
 suasive manners, and ready speech. As a politician he would, 
 I think, have had a great success, indeed as a member of the 
 Union League Club I have seen his hand in some of its 
 political affairs. 
 
 This professorship, then, I accepted with hesitancy and 
 some misgivings. I think I knew then, and know now, my 
 limitations as well as any living man, and one of them is a 
 want of readiness and aptness as a public speaker. However, 
 I accepted the position, and for four years tried to fill it — how 
 successfully or unsuccessfully I never knew. I am of the opin- 
 
220 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 ion that my so-called lectures were not a great success. I en- 
 deavored to give my hearers as clear an idea as possible of the 
 principles on which electrotherapeutics is based. I went 
 into the subject of the physics of electricity, and of its physi- 
 ology as well, and I seemed to be listened to with interest and 
 was the recipient of applause only when, through the line of 
 least resistance, the attention and curiosity of my audience 
 were excited. How they would crowd around a patient who 
 was being treated by static electricity, and with childish curi- 
 osity watch the pyrotechnics, and give and receive the slight 
 discharges from the person of the one on the insulating stool. 
 When, however, I attempted to explain that wonderful law 
 of Ohm, that North Star of electrotherapeutics, without 
 which no one can be a master, either on the commercial or 
 therapeutic side of electricity, it was quite a different matter, 
 and my audience varied according as I made my lectures super- 
 ficially interesting, or dwelt upon the dry but necessary funda- 
 mentals of the science. After four years of this work I re- 
 signed, and was succeeded by Dr. William J. Morton. 
 
Book V 
 ELECTRO EXECUTION 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 IT had long been conceded that the rope was a barbarous 
 method of execution, but it is always difficult to substitute 
 a new method for an old, and the long contest over this 
 merciful change in the law of the State of New York 
 proved no exception. If the law must kill, let it kill 
 decently. Although no strong advocate for capital punish- 
 ment I revolted at the brutality of the strangulation method. 
 And so, when it came my way to advocate with tongue and pen 
 the passing of this new and humane law, I did so ardently, 
 and after its passage I was equally interested in finding out 
 the best methods of procedure. My connection with this (in 
 a small way) epoch-making change happened in this wise. 
 
 My friend and comrade in the Sixth Ohio Cavalry, Dr. 
 Carlos Macdonald, was at this time at the head of the Lunacy 
 Commission of the state, and it was on his recommendation 
 that I was appointed by the Commissioner of Prisons as one 
 of a committee of three, to advise the state as to the best 
 method of carrying out the provisions of the law. It was at 
 first proposed to appoint me alone, but to this I objected. I 
 was unwilling to take alone the responsibility, and therefore, 
 Professor Laudy was also appointed. Before this appointment 
 I had become somewhat prominently identified with the new 
 procedure. How I came to be selected as a witness for the 
 state I do not know, but one morning I was waited upon at 
 my office, 113 West 34th Street, by Mr. Post, assistant at- 
 torney general of the state, who said he wished to secure my 
 services as a witness for the state, indeed as its principal wit- 
 ness, in defence of the new law. It appears that the great 
 Westinghouse Electric Company was bitterly opposed to it 
 and proposed, if possible, to break it at whatever cost. Why 
 should they wish to do so, it will be asked. At this distance 
 of time, as it turned out, their opposition seems to have 
 been entirely foolish and unnecessary, but at the time it seemed 
 
 221 
 
222 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 to them a wise thing to do, and they were willing to spend 
 hundreds of thousands of dollars to prevent the law from going 
 into effect. They reasoned in this way, perhaps: If the alter- 
 nating current which is the basis of our business is used for 
 this deadly purpose, to the exclusion of the Edison current, it 
 will greatly injure us. The public will be afraid of it, to our 
 detriment, and greatly to the advantage of our rival. So they 
 hired eminent lawyers, gathered together a large number of 
 highly paid witnesses, and the contest began. 
 
 With some reluctance I consented to act as a witness for 
 the state. I felt a very natural timidity in being subjected to 
 the merciless cross-examination of such an expert in that line 
 as Bourke Cockran, but the urgency of the attorney general 
 prevailed, and after I had agreed to come, he apologized for 
 not being able to pay me more than one hundred dollars for 
 my testimony. He said the state treasury was low, the money 
 appropriated for this purpose being almost exhausted. How 
 much some of the distinguished witnesses on the other side 
 were paid for testimonies not very valuable, I never knew, but 
 undoubtedly something greatly in excess of the sum I received, 
 and yet without egotism I think it may safely be asserted that 
 in the main it was my testimony that saved the "law." Bourke 
 Cockran was at that time coming into great prominence as an 
 eloquent advocate and keen cross-examiner, and as I appeared 
 before him and saw seated beside him one of the best-known 
 electricians of the country, who had been hired by the West- 
 inghouse people as a mentor and guide to the wily advocate in 
 things technical and scientific, my apprehensions were but in- 
 tensified. Before going to the court room, I had reasoned with 
 myself in this way: Why be worried? You know far more 
 about the subject than Mr. Cockran. In this way I whistled to 
 keep my courage up, as one will, and entered the arena in a 
 fairly composed state of mind. When, however, I saw the 
 great electrical expert beside him as a coach, my confidence 
 fell a bit. However, I soon rallied, and reflected that while I 
 might not be equal to the eminent expert in my intimate knowl- 
 edge of the physics of electricity, yet I knew enough for prac- 
 tical purposes. On the other hand, however, I felt that in my 
 knowledge of the relation of electricity to the living tissue, to 
 
ELECTRO EXECUTION 223 
 
 nerve and to muscle, I must be far ahead of him; and this, 
 after all, was the important thing. 
 
 The New York Evening Post had about the best epitome 
 of my testimony, which was as follows : 
 
 "The interrupted current of the hearing before Tracy E. 
 Becker, referee, in Bourke Cockran's office in the Equitable 
 Building, for the purpose of preventing murderer Kemmler 
 from being put to death by the alleged cruel and unusual 
 means of electricity, was restored to its circuit at half past 
 ten o'clock in the morning, and flashed along with unusual 
 alternating, high tension energy, as befits a non-continuous 
 current. Dr. A. D. Rockwell, whom Dr. Loomis in his evi- 
 dence, given on Friday last for the criminal, named as an elec- 
 tro-medical authority, was put into the chair by Mr. Post, and 
 his testimony was of the most straightforward nature and en- 
 tirely satisfactory, not to Kemmler or his attorneys. Special 
 investigations into the general subject of electricity, study and 
 experiment had led him (this was his testimony) to the con- 
 clusion that the resistance of the human body to an electric 
 current did not keep up under the application of that current. 
 On the contrary, it fell with a rapidity proportionate to the 
 continuance of the current, and with still greater rapidity in pro- 
 portion to the increase in the energy of the current. Such was 
 the fall in the rapidity of resistance that if a current, say from 
 a galvanic battery of one thousand cells, were applied to a 
 human being, it would, in his judgment, effect an almost in- 
 stantaneous reduction from the subject's maximum to his mini- 
 mum resistance. While the question of resistance must be ad- 
 mitted to be an important one in cases for medico-electric 
 treatment, no manifestation of it was ever an obstacle to any 
 desired application of electricity. But, with all that has been 
 said, or might be said about differences of resistance, he had 
 found that whenever the same voltage of current was used, 
 and the same care taken in the preparation and adjustment of 
 the electrodes, he always obtained approximately the same 
 milliampere measurement of resistance. 
 
 "The electrical resistance of a human being was also largely 
 a matter of appliances. It materially lessens, for instance, as 
 the surface of the electrodes is increased. It was very much 
 heightened, on the other hand, if the adjustment of the elec- 
 
224 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 trodes to the subject was imperfect and the contact defective. 
 It is true that there were from day to day variations of resist- 
 ance in the same individual, but they were easily overcome if 
 known efficient means were used to defeat the merely skin re- 
 sistance. It was true, too, that there were distinct variations 
 in susceptibility to electrical effects among different people. 
 These variations were manifested by exhibitions of nervous- 
 ness in some, sensations of burning in others, contrac- 
 tion of muscles in others; but, said the doctor, this subject 
 would lead us into the wide question of the primary, second- 
 ary, and permanent results when applied to the human system. 
 These variations, however, he regarded more as differences 
 in 'nerve' — in the stoic quality of the individuals — than as 
 registering actual differences of body in relation to electricity. 
 Dr. Rockwell was present at Edison's laboratory in Orange, 
 N. J., when experiments in killing animals were conducted. 
 Four calves, four dogs and one horse were operated upon that 
 day. The dynamos in Mr. Edison's laboratory were used, 
 and the current was the alternating current. At the request 
 of some of the scientific men present, Dr. Rockwell made sug- 
 gestions as to the best method of placing the electrodes in 
 position. The result of the experiments was instantaneous 
 death in every case except one. In this case there was some 
 accidental derangement of the electrodes, and the solution of 
 sulphate of zinc, with which the sponges covering the elec- 
 trodes were saturated, ran down the hide of the animal, and 
 diverted a portion of the current. Another shock, unattended 
 by this accident, killed the animal. He was absolutely con- 
 vinced that in these cases death was instantaneous. A current 
 of one thousand volts was used upon the horse, and from four 
 hundred to one thousand upon the other animals. Then Mr. 
 Post focused things for Dr. Rockwell in the specific, crucial 
 question with which he always winds up, and the doctor an- 
 swered that it was his unhesitating opinion that an electric 
 current of sufficient strength could be generated by artificial 
 means, and could be applied to the body in such a way as to 
 produce instant death without pain, in every case, and without 
 mutilation from burning. 
 
 "If, as execution by electricity contemplated, electrodes 
 were affixed to the head and feet of a man who had been 
 
ELECTRO EXECUTION 225 
 
 placed in a recumbent position in a chair, and an electric cur- 
 rent was then applied to him, it would diffuse itself generally 
 throughout his body along the paths of least resistance. These 
 were the blood and the muscular tissues, which were the ele- 
 ments most fully charged with the saline solutions of the body. 
 The portions which offered the major resistance were the 
 bones and the skin. As to the kind of current to be preferred 
 for use in executions, his experiences, though confined to low 
 pressure, approved the alternating as being the most deadly. 
 He would advise, in inflicting capital punishment with elec- 
 tricity, that electrodes should be used large enough to cover 
 the whole surface of the subject's brain; that they should have 
 metal backs, and should have interposed between them and 
 the points of contact with the subject a thickness of sculptor's 
 clay, or absorbent cotton, thoroughly moistened with salt or 
 sulphate of zinc. He would be very much astonished if after 
 all this were done, an alternating current of one thousand volts 
 failed to kill instantly. The immediate deadliness of one 
 thousand five hundred volts he did not doubt for a moment. 
 
 "The pathological effect upon the body of a fatal current, 
 would be a mechanical action upon the tender interior tissues, 
 tearing them apart; the stoppage of the heart by paralysis of 
 the nerve centers, and consequent cessation of respiration." 
 Apparently nothing further could add to the clearness and 
 directness of Dr. Rockwell's testimony and to the wisdom of 
 Mr. Gerry and his commission, and Mr. Post turned him over 
 to Mr. Cockran. That counsellor immediately applied to Dr. 
 Rockwell all the instruments of cross-examining torture known 
 to the inquisitorial chambers of his brain. The Doctor was 
 compelled to admit that, as he had never vivisected, all his 
 knowledge of the pathological effects of electricity upon the 
 human body was derived from his reading. Perhaps the 
 keenest torture inflicted by Mr. Cockran were the questions 
 relating to the professional standing of electro-medical experts 
 who had previously testified. "Hem, — Yes," the Doctor did 
 know of Dr. Gray. "Isn't he a great authority on Medical 
 Electricity?" asked Mr. Cockran. "He makes a specialty 
 of nervous diseases," evasively responded Dr. Rockwell. "Is 
 not Dr. Sachs recognized as an expert of high authority?" de- 
 manded Mr. Cockran. Dr. Rockwell paled and compressed 
 
226 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 his lips. "Dr. Sachs is a neurologist," he finally answered, 
 "but I am not aware that he is a high authority on electricity." 
 Mr. Cockran went on into the various subjects of Mr. Post's 
 examination, questioning like an agnostic and trying his best 
 to get Dr. Rockwell to answer like one. 
 
 "The tremendous lightning bolt proven by the fact of its 
 denuding Alfred West of his clothing (as Mr. West testified 
 on Friday last) was a subject of which Mr. Cockran never 
 tired. Dr. Rockwell said that it only showed that the 
 periphery of Mr. West's body was more affected than the 
 nerve centres." 
 
 "Mr. Cockran: — What is a periphery? 
 
 "Dr. Rockwell: — The outside of a thing." 
 
 And thus ended the much dreaded ordeal, begun with some 
 fear and trembling but from which I emerged somewhat ex- 
 hilarated and with a sense of mental alertness rather in excess 
 of what I had thought to be mine. 
 
 As an illustration of how much bluff there is in legal affairs, 
 I recall a certain question put to me by Mr. Cockran. I do 
 not now recall the exact nature of it, but he required an answer 
 either Yes or No. I did not fall into the trap, for I instantly 
 saw that either an affirmative or negative answer would put 
 me at a disadvantage and weaken my cause. I, therefore, re- 
 plied that it would be necessary for me to qualify my answer. 
 With great sternneess and force the eloquent pleader said, 
 "No, sir, the answer must be either Yes or No, without quali- 
 fication." To my mind, untrained in the law, visions of con- 
 tempt of court flashed before me, but after a moment's hesita- 
 tion, I said, "Mr. Cockran, that is an utterly senseless ques- 
 tion and you know it, and I refuse to answer." Mr. Cockran's 
 aspect and attitude immediately changed and he dropped the 
 subject, much to my relief. 
 
 On the whole he conducted the cross-examination like a 
 gentleman and with fairness, and when I left my seat, I halted 
 a moment and said, "Mr. Cockran, I have to thank you for 
 not carving me all to pieces to-day." "Oh, doctor," he re- 
 plied, "we don't do that here." Then adding, "but you have 
 been the best witness that we have had upon the stand." To 
 say that I was not gratified in receiving such a compliment 
 from my cross-examiner, especially since my testimony bore 
 
ELECTRO EXECUTION 227 
 
 heavily against his case, would hardly be in accordance with 
 the truth. I was still further pleased when Mr. Post told me 
 that I had rendered the state a great service. 
 
 The Post's report of my testimony was correct excepting 
 in one particular, which refers to my friends Drs. Landon 
 Carter Gray and Bernard Sachs, for although I was in 
 no way intimate with them, we were on the most friendly 
 terms. They were both of them able men, and Sachs, in par- 
 ticular, I have always regarded as a man of exceptional ability. 
 They were neurologists of eminence, but had not devoted spe- 
 cial study to electricity and electrical methods; and so when 
 asked as to their fitness in this department I felt justified in 
 saying that it was not of a high standard. But there was no 
 "paling," and "compressed lips." The reporter either drew 
 upon his imagination or said it to give interest and piquancy 
 to what he wrote. I was told that Dr. Gray felt very much 
 hurt on reading my testimony, and so I wrote him saying that 
 the implied innuendo was made out of whole cloth; that 
 neither my speech or action justified any such interpretation. 
 "But," I continued, "much as I appreciate your abilities in 
 other directions, I do not consider you an authority on the 
 subject of the relation of electricity to the human body." 
 
 Gray promptly acknowledged my letter, characterizing it as 
 "frank and manly," and so the affair ended with no break in 
 our ordinarily pleasant relations. Gray, indeed, was grossly 
 ignorant in the matter, and he well understood that I knew 
 it. But a short time before this he asked me how many milli- 
 amperes of current it would be safe to apply to the head. I 
 told him that with proper precaution one could use fifty and 
 even more. He was greatly astonished at my temerity, saying 
 that in his experience one or two was the limit. He thus 
 learned a thing or two, and when on the stand he was asked 
 what strength of current could be applied without injury to 
 the human body, he replied five hundred milli-amperes, or 
 some such amount. This was all true enough, but serves to 
 show how quickly (in some few weeks) he graduated as an 
 expert in this particular line, and received what, I doubt not, 
 was a very handsome fee from a great corporation for knowl- 
 edge he did not possess. 
 
 Among the witnesses for the Westinghouse people was a 
 
228 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 General Michael Kerwin. Indeed the General preceded me 
 by just a day on the witness stand, and the fact of his appear- 
 ing just then was an exceedingly interesting episode. I had 
 known him in the Civil War as the Colonel of a Pennsylvania 
 cavalry regiment. During a short illness of mine in 1864, he 
 occupied an adjoining cot in a hospital tent at City Point, Va. 
 He was suffering from complete paralysis of one side of the 
 body, due to a lightning stroke. This bolt first struck a tree, 
 killed five horses, and paralyzed the Major (as his rank was 
 at that time). He finally recovered, and in the last campaign 
 of the war, as I was sitting on my horse by the roadside watch- 
 ing the troops as they hurried along, I saw the Colonel at the 
 head of his regiment. He saw me, and turning aside for the 
 moment he touched the sign of the eagle on his shoulder, and 
 proudly said, "You see, Doctor, I have my reward." From 
 that day, some twenty-five years, I had neither seen or heard 
 of Kerwin, and it was an interesting coincidence that we should 
 both be called as witnesses as to the power of electricity to 
 kill. The capital that Mr. Cockran hoped to get out of Ker- 
 win's testimony related to the fact that if a bolt from Heaven 
 failed to kill him, how could we be sure that the far lower 
 potential of artificial electricity could always be relied upon. 
 His testimony did not, of course, stand the test of analysis, but 
 was indeed quite worthless. Subsequently Kerwin became 
 United States Pension Agent for this district, and in renewing 
 our acquaintance we laughed together over the futility of his 
 evidence, although he probably did not see it exactly in the 
 same light as did I. 
 
 Following this testimony of mine for the state, as already 
 mentioned, I was appointed as one of the committee to deter- 
 mine the best method of carrying the law into effect. In our 
 investigations we visited and executed animals at Edison's 
 laboratory, in Orange, New Jersey, Sing Sing prison, Clinton 
 prison at Dannemora, and Auburn prison, at Auburn, New 
 York. 
 
 It is something of a privilege to have witnessed at the 
 Edison plant the first feeble attempts to reproduce the human 
 voice, and the first phonograph attempts to represent the world 
 in motion. I spoke a few words into a crude talking-ma- 
 chine, and it was an amazing thing to have returned to me the 
 very words spoken. I knew it was my own voice, but the 
 
ELECTRO EXECUTION 229 
 
 sound seemed strange to me and beyond recognition. It is no 
 less interesting to have been among the first to have seen the 
 beginnings of the world-wide wonders of the moving-picture 
 business. 
 
 After our visits to the different prisons were completed, in 
 which we saw executed some nineteen animals of all sizes and 
 kinds, the committee reported that they were unanimously of 
 the opinion that the electrical machines there installed would 
 fulfill their purpose. The results of the test are given in the 
 following table. 
 
 Sing Sing Auburn Clinton 
 
 Commercial voltage 1*560 1,680 i>i70 
 
 Mean voltage 1^404 i>5I2 I ?°53 
 
 Maximum voltage 2,206 2,376 1,655 
 
 Speed of dynamo 15650 1,900 i>5oo 
 
 Speed of excitor 2,100 2,700 1,800 
 
 The dynamo tested at Sing Sing was an alternating current 
 intended to supply 750 incandescent lamps of 16 candle- 
 power each. At Auburn and Clinton the dynamos were each 
 intended to supply 650 incandescent lamps of 16 candle-power 
 each. The committee suggested the following necessary alter- 
 ations to the machinery: The shafting should be adjusted and 
 put in line, the pulleys balanced, and the engines adjusted to 
 procure a uniform motion and necessary speed. With these 
 changes the dynamos could be made to fulfill the contract. At 
 Auburn prison, among other animals that were killed, the 
 deadly energy of the current was tested on a calf and also on 
 a horse, the latter weighing about 1,000 pounds. Placing one 
 electrode on the forehead of the horse, and the other on the 
 outer aspect of the hind leg, just above the gambrel joint, a 
 current of electro-motive force of 1,200 volts was passed. 
 Death was instantaneous. In order to throw light on the 
 question as to the possibility of resuscitation after apparent 
 death by electricity, Dr. George C. Fell of Buffalo was in- 
 vited to be present with an apparatus devised by him for the 
 purpose. Immediately after the calf had received the electric 
 stroke, Dr. Fell opened the windpipe and inserted the tube of 
 the apparatus, and for a half an hour kept up forced respira- 
 tion, but failed to elicit any evidence of life. This demon- 
 
2 3 o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 strated that the condition was not one of suspended animation, 
 but of death. At Sing Sing we attempted to kill an old 
 horse, which the owner, a daughter of the warden, was 
 willing to sacrifice. The electrodes, having been applied, a 
 current of 1,200 volts was turned on, when greatly to our 
 surprise, the animal, instead of falling dead as in the previous 
 case, dropped to his knees and then struggled to his feet, 
 seemingly not much the worse for the stroke. All were greatly 
 astonished and perplexed, but a glance sufficed to explain the 
 reason of the failure. The lower electrode had been insecurely 
 fastened, and when the current was turned on was lying on the 
 damp stone floor near the hoof of the animal, which conse- 
 quently received but a fraction of the full force of the current. 
 In falling he had struck his head and was bleeding profusely. 
 The electrode was readjusted and a second stroke thoroughly 
 did the work. It was fortunate that no reporters were pres- 
 ent, and we who were there agreed to keep our lips closed. If 
 the accident had gotten into the papers, it would have gone 
 through the press from one end of the country to the other, 
 to the prejudice of the law. 
 
 At Clinton prison a young bull weighing about 600 pounds 
 was instantly killed by a current of 900 volts. On receiving 
 the full force of the current the animal fell, and instantly the 
 muscles relaxed owing to a drop in the voltage from 900 to 
 400. The period of contact, however, was continued for ten 
 seconds, but as experiments have shown that a current of 400 
 volts is hardly sufficient to kill one of the larger animals, the 
 conclusion that the bull was killed by the instantaneous impact 
 of 900 volts is inevitable. 
 
 The first man to be executed by the new method was the 
 murderer Kemmler at Auburn prison. When the witnesses 
 reached that city, we found a postponement awaiting us, and 
 when the execution took place I was unable to be present. 
 There was more or less bungling in this first attempt. Death 
 seemed not quite so instantaneous as was hoped, and there 
 was distinct evidence of burning flesh, but the press through- 
 out the country greatly exaggerated every defect and raised 
 a cry of indignation. It is not too much to say, perhaps, that 
 the mistake of those having the matter in charge was in not 
 following the suggestions which by request I made in our first 
 
ELECTRO EXECUTION 231 
 
 experiments at Edison's laboratory. In the case of Kemmler, 
 instead of placing the electrodes on the head and calf of the 
 leg, the clumsy and inefficient method was adopted of placing 
 the lower electrode at the small of the back, and if my memory 
 serves me, the other covered the back of the neck. The other, 
 the best method, adopted at the next execution and still pre- 
 vailing, is far more effective, in that we get the most perfect 
 adaptation of the electrodes and the best conduction. 
 
 A short time subsequently four murderers were to be exe- 
 cuted at Sing Sing, and the severe comments on the first killing 
 threw Warden Brush into little less than a panic. Very much 
 disturbed, he came to New York to see me, begging that I 
 would help him out. This I promised to do, and suggested 
 electrodes of another form, insisting also that they be placed 
 on the parts of the body that I had before indicated. I at- 
 tended the killing of these four criminals, my first and last 
 attendance at an execution. I had no desire to go, excepting 
 as I was very naturally curious to see with my own eyes the 
 success of the method, to establish which, I with my associates 
 Dr. Macdonald and Professor Laudy, had given so much time 
 and attention. It is a solemn thing to see a human being, 
 helpless and ashen pale, deliberately stricken to death through 
 the impersonal, awful, resistless power, the arm of the law. 
 And yet, as one after the other, these miserable victims of 
 fate and their own ungovernable passions took their places in 
 the death-chair, and were quickly sent into the unknown, a 
 species of dreamlike apathy seemed to steal over me. It all 
 seemed so unreal and without human touch that I could fancy 
 myself wafted to the middle ages, and to the inquisitorial 
 chamber. As one after another, in quick succession, these 
 poor specimens of our race came in with vacant expression and 
 staring eyes which looked nowhere, I experienced a feeling of 
 shame and blood-guiltiness. As never before the awful mean- 
 ing of the terms "immutable" and "irrevocable" was driven in. 
 What if one of these men was not truly guilty, or if technically 
 guilty, yet not fully so, for a man can be a murderer in name, 
 yet not in heart? Many a man has been so. Whatever the 
 case, no human power could now avail, and each man was 
 as sure of his fate as if entering the final swirl of the mael- 
 strom. 
 
232 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 The practical reason which brought me there, however, was 
 fully satisfied. What I had before asserted, "If the law must 
 kill, let it kill decently," was an accomplished fact. All the 
 horrors of hanging — the first terrible fatal fall, the gradual 
 choking, the blackening face, and protruding tongue, and 
 above all the convulsive, agonizing and long-drawn-out 
 struggle, were absent. It is truly astonishing that such a bar- 
 barous method of execution should have been so long tolerated 
 by a civilized and Christianized people, and all honor to Mr. 
 Gerry and his supporters for their advocacy of a better law. 
 
 Aside from the knowledge that a human life is being sacri- 
 ficed, there is nothing revolting in the sight. With face cov- 
 ered and person securely bound, the victim awaits the final 
 stroke, and the translation from life to death is quicker than 
 thought, and with a mathematical impossibility of pain. All 
 that the onlooker sees is a quick, darting forward of the body 
 for the few inches allowed by the leeway of its bonds and 
 there in a perfectly motionless attitude it remains until the cur- 
 rent ceases. Then the body returns to its original position as 
 quietly as a child sinking to its sleep. The certainty that no 
 pain can be experienced under a lethal dose of electricity is 
 evident from the fact that, while nerve force travels at the rate 
 of but ioo feet a second, electricity travels at the rate of 
 160,000 miles a second. The brain, therefore, can have ab- 
 solutely no time to experience a sensation, since the electrical 
 current travels a million times faster than the nerve current. 
 
Book VI 
 A TRIP ABROAD 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 COMMON as a trip now is across the Atlantic, yet 
 to the American of Anglo-Saxon birth who for the 
 first time sets foot on English soil it is one of the 
 notable events of his life. Here his ancestors lived 
 and died, and as never before he appreciates the fact 
 that, differ as we may in the unimportant, we are in essentials 
 one people. If this idea is not strongly impressed in the be- 
 ginning, let him cross the Channel and sojourn for a time 
 among those who speak in unknown tongues, and he will return 
 to England almost as to his own country. After my visit to 
 the Continent, I recall with what a homelike feeling of security 
 and satisfaction I again found myself in London. What though 
 its atmosphere was heavier and its hues more somber, could 
 I not speak understandingly with every man, was its literature 
 not mine, and was not every historic association of the great 
 town and nation preliminary to the Pilgrim fathers, to the 
 heroic struggle of the Revolution, and of the Civil War that 
 followed? 
 
 In 1895 I found myself somewhat impaired in health, and 
 it occurred to my son, then a student at college, that an ocean 
 voyage and its accompanying change would do me good. This 
 idea was prompted by the fact that the professor of the depart- 
 ment of English literature was about to take the trip 
 and would be glad of my company. The arrangements were 
 made, and on the last day of July we sailed on the Germanic 
 of the White Star Line. Aware of my susceptibility to "mal 
 de mer," I decided to use the remedy that I had so often pre- 
 scribed for others, namely, the bromide of sodium. The idea 
 was more or less original with Dr. Beard. He had written 
 much about it, and sometime before, at the instance of the 
 steamship company, some 10,000 booklets dealing with the 
 subject, both theoretically and practically, were printed and 
 distributed broadcast. The theory was and still is that sea- 
 
 233 
 
234 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 sickness is primarily a brain disturbance due to shock to the 
 cerebral nerve cells, and that the drug, by obtunding the sen- 
 sorium, acted as a local anaesthetic. However this may be, 
 experience had fully confirmed the fact that the treatment was 
 of no little value in many cases. Long before this I remember 
 listening to a paper by Professor Fordyce Barker on sea- 
 seasickness, and his method, which had been found of service, 
 was in a measure based on the same pathological principle. 
 It was the habit of Dr. Barker to go abroad every year, and 
 later Dr. Beard did also, and so the attention of both these 
 keen observers and alert minds was naturally drawn to the 
 subject. Dr. Barker's method was this: He required his 
 patients to board the vessel the night before sailing, go to bed 
 and stay there for twenty-four hours after sailing without 
 lifting the head from the pillow. Moreover the head must 
 be toward the bow of the boat, on the principle that as it 
 plunged forward the blood would press less heavily on the 
 brain tissues than in the reverse position. The water in a 
 bottle moved rapidly forward presses to the rear, and the 
 analogy of the blood in the body acting in the same way under 
 similar circumstances has its weight. This method undoubt- 
 edly proved effective in many cases, but its disadvantages 
 were many and obvious. The disadvantage of the bromide 
 method also will be seen when the procedure is told. In order 
 to get results, the salt must be taken according to certain rules. 
 Beginning three days before sailing thirty grains of the bro- 
 mide must be taken three times a day. The object is to get 
 thoroughly under the influence of the drug before leaving the 
 shore. This influence is seen mainly in a tendency to sleepi- 
 ness, associated often with slight unsteadiness in the limbs and 
 some dryness of the throat. In other words, it is the physio- 
 logical action of the drug that we are seeking, rather than any 
 exact amount. When that is attained, a certain proportion 
 and I think a large proportion, of cases that would be ill with- 
 out it, are rendered immune for the time being to the action 
 of the waves. One who is going to sea for the first time and 
 knows not whether he will be sick, naturally hesitates to drug 
 himself on an uncertainty, but he who has had experience 
 and is sure of his fate will be only too glad to avail himself 
 of any hope of relief. As one who has had a somewhat large 
 
A TRIP ABROAD 235 
 
 experience in prescribing this treatment to others and has 
 experienced its good effect in his own person, I have no hesi- 
 tation in standing sponsor for its value. 
 
 On shipboard, when alone and still under the influence of 
 the drug, one does get singularly drowsy, and a very pleasant 
 feeling it is, but when joined by another and engaged in con- 
 versation, or when the interest is excited in any way, the sleepy 
 feeling seems to pass away. The layman, however, who at- 
 tempts this treatment, excepting under proper direction, is 
 more likely than not to fail in attaining his object. There is 
 more or less of further advice and warning needed which can 
 be given satisfactorily only by a physician of experience. Com- 
 fortable and calm under the sedative influence of the drug, I 
 watched the receding shores, and, when darkness closed 
 around, we were far out at sea. It was like most voyages, 
 quiet and uneventful, and just suited to a complete and healthy 
 rest. I am always glad to meet persons of unusual intelligence 
 or distinction, and I availed myself on this occasion of making 
 the acquaintance of two men of large reputation and ability. 
 One was General Benjamin F. Bristow, who served with 
 honor through the years of the Civil War, and subsequently 
 became secretary of the treasury in the administration of 
 General Grant. He was politically active in the years follow- 
 ing, and was in line for the Presidential nomination, but 
 failed in his ambition. Bristow seeing by my Loyal Legion 
 button that I, too, had been in the army became very friendly. 
 The little button has often that effect. Bristow never had 
 high command. He may have been a brigade commander, 
 but at the battle of Shiloh his rank was that of Colonel. It 
 will be remembered that at that battle our forces were sur- 
 prised by the enemy and driven back, so that at nightfall they 
 formed a semi-circle with the two flanks resting on the river. 
 With its back to the river and a victorious army in its front, 
 the Union Army was in a position of real peril. According to 
 Bristow, General McPherson, afterwards killed at Atlanta, 
 rode up and excitedly told of happenings at the front that de- 
 manded immediate attention. Grant listened apathetically, 
 and continued calmly smoking without reply. The two were 
 warm friends and McPherson, who was at that time on 
 Grant's staff, asked the latter somewhat impatiently what he 
 
236 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 was going to do about it. Removing his cigar from his mouth, 
 Grant calmly replied, "Mac, I am going to attack them at 
 sunrise, and by G — d, how surprised they will be." Now all 
 such little episodes of history are interesting and I have no 
 question that in substance what Bristow told me was correct. 
 To McPherson, the staff officer, the position of our army was 
 more or less appalling, with its back to the river and no power 
 of retreat in case of its defeat, which seemed probable. Grant, 
 however, evidently knew of the near approach of Buell, and 
 that the morning would find him amply reinforced. But 
 Grant never swore. It was foreign to his nature, and I doubt 
 whether the epithet, "By G — d" ever passed his mouth. Here, 
 perhaps, Bristow unconsciously embellished Grant's reply to 
 give it greater piquancy, and was influenced by the way he 
 would have expressed himself under similar circumstances. 
 
 The other interesting person that I met was "Boss" Shep- 
 herd, so called. Just a moment before the steamer left her 
 dock, a carriage rapidly approached and a large, imposing 
 figure stepped quickly from it, paid the driver and hastened 
 aboard. My attention was attracted because of the masterful 
 bearing of the man and his late arrival. Soon after I learned 
 his name, and one day in the smoking room I offered him a 
 light for his cigar, and our acquaintance began. I spoke, of 
 course, of the great work he had initiated in beautifying the 
 city of Washington, but did not allude to the unfortunate 
 complications that ensued. Before his time the city of Wash- 
 ington as the capital of a great country, was a disgrace rather 
 than a pride in all that concerns beauty, regularity and cleanli- 
 ness. There were the fine public buildings, to be sure, but by 
 very contrast they only heightened the surrounding squalor. 
 Mr. Shepherd took the bull by the horns. With authority 
 and without, he went boldly and vigorously to work. He tore 
 down and upbuilded, straightening and widening streets, and 
 establishing innumerable little park spots of beauty, until he 
 transformed the city into one of the most attractive of the 
 world. Only a man of extraordinary energy and capacity 
 could have accomplished such a work, and how far he trans- 
 gressed legal limits I know not; but the work done, he came 
 to grief. He was accused of illegal actions, and, as I seem to 
 remember, stood at one time in imminent danger of trial. This 
 
A TRIP ABROAD 237 
 
 one thing is sure, however, instead of having profited finan- 
 cially by his splendid achievement, the end of his work found 
 him poor. 
 
 Years ago I knew a practising physician, whose name es- 
 capes me, who subsequent to Shepherd's departure from 
 Washington became intimately associated with him. He 
 accompanied him to Mexico, where Shepherd, with character- 
 istic energy and foresight, recouped his lost fortune in the 
 mining fields of that country. In my friendly intercourse 
 with these two men, Bristow and Shepherd, I happened to 
 notice them almost face to face on several occasions, but never 
 saw them once speak, or as much as give each other a look 
 of recognition. This I thought strange, as it was in Grant's 
 administration, while Bristow was a member of the Cabinet, 
 that Shepherd's great work was done. Later I found that 
 the men were not friendly, and that Bristow had been one of 
 his strongest opponents. Each must have occasionally seen 
 me conversing with the other, but I took good care not to men- 
 tion the name of either. Since they have left this earth let 
 us hope that both of these notable characters, so genial and 
 likeable in their private relations, are now where they can 
 enjoy the good fellowship which ought to have been theirs 
 while here. 
 
 My companion, the professor, had brought his own bicycle 
 with him across the ocean, since it was our purpose to wheel 
 our way over the country. I tried to hire one in Liverpool, 
 but not meeting with success, we took the train for Chester 
 and spent the night. After exploring the wonders and an- 
 tiquities of that old and famous town I succeeded in getting a 
 wheel, and we sped on to the town of Ludlow. We stopped 
 at the Feathers Hotel, an old timber-and-plaster house con- 
 taining some panelled rooms with rich ceilings. The professor 
 had selected our route well. He was an experienced traveller, 
 and the valley of the Wye was away from the usual stereo- 
 typed tours. Beautiful and secluded it is, and while hundreds 
 visit Kenilworth, few see the fine old ruin of Ludlow Castle. 
 
 Although I did not cross the Atlantic especially to see 
 this fine old historic ruin, I would gladly have done so. I 
 here met a man about forty years of age, from the adjoining 
 town, who was out for a little trip on his wheel. He said he 
 
2 3 8 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 had never seen Ludlow Castle, but meant to get there some- 
 time. He left early the next morning without doing so, leav- 
 ing it for a later date. He probably will never see it, on the 
 principle that what can be done at any time is never done. 
 The old castle dates back nearly a thousand years, and the 
 mingled romance and fact that make up its history constitute 
 a fascinating tale. In the old times it was the seat of the 
 lords president of Wales, and, being so near to the border 
 of a hostile race, was the centre of many a desperate fight. 
 While the outer walls were staunch and strong, the floors had 
 fallen, but the situation of the room where the masque of 
 "Comus" was first exhibited is pointed out, and also that where 
 the two Princes were confined, those little innocents who, on 
 the accession of Richard III to the throne, were recalled to 
 London to perish mysteriously in the Tower. About this time 
 another professor, a professor of Greek, a friend of my trav- 
 eling companion, joined us. Both were congenial spirits. 
 The newcomer could read the Greek inscriptions and both of 
 them had a smattering, at least, of architectural matters, 
 ancient and modern. They kept much to themselves and I 
 began to have a practical demonstration of the old saying 
 "two is company — three is a crowd." Indeed I had greatly 
 counted on the pleasure I should derive from such close con- 
 tact with a professor of English literature. I could not 
 have asked for a more opportune alliance for, although 
 making no pretensions to proficiency in the great field of litera- 
 ture, yet I do not hesitate to say that I have been for many 
 years one of its worshippers. Although occupying the same 
 stateroom on our way out, for more than a week, we did not 
 see very much of each other excepting at meal time. As his 
 friend joined us at Ludlow and at about the same time also a 
 young man named Rogers, whose father had solicited me to 
 take him along, we grouped accordingly. 
 
 Rogers was a good-natured, happy-go-lucky young fellow, 
 always out of money, but altogether companionable. The late 
 Commissioner Lyman, a patient of mine, was not far wrong 
 in his idea of a traveling companion. When I told him with 
 whom I was to go abroad, he asked, "Do you know him 
 well?" I was compelled to admit that he was a new acquaint- 
 ance, but that I knew of his high character and standing. 
 
A TRIP ABROAD 239 
 
 Lyman asserted that he would not go on a long trip with any 
 man, whatever his reputation, unless he knew him well. 
 "Whatever his virtues," he said, "you two may be cast in dif- 
 ferent molds." This seemed to be the case with the professor 
 and myself, but it soon happened that our companionship, 
 such as it was, was severed. In going down a long stretch of 
 hill between Bristol and Bath, both of us started to coast. 
 When getting up to high speed, I suddenly recalled the fact 
 that my wheel was without brakes, and realized my danger. 
 The hill was long and steep, and, as is the way with English 
 hills, there was a sharp curve some distance ahead. I had had 
 but little experience in using my foot as a brake, but such 
 skill as I had was put into instant use ; in doing so I lost my 
 balance, and found myself going over. Visions of broken 
 bones flashed before me. We were driving along at an alarm- 
 ing rate of speed, and in my fall I brushed the professor, and 
 he, too, fell; but as his speed was far less than mine, no harm 
 was done to him. I, however, sped along the rough ground 
 many feet, and when I arose the blood was trickling abund- 
 antly from a bad wound in the hand, and my clothes were a 
 sight to see. I must have presented rather a sorry spectacle, 
 and was open for some commiseration; but the first words 
 that greeted my ear from my excellent fellow-tourist, the pro- 
 fessor, were in regard to the condition of his wheel. He 
 hoped that it had sustained no injury ! Bath was but five miles 
 further on, and binding up the injured member as best we 
 could, I painfully made my way, guiding the wheel with my 
 uninjured hand. 
 
 From there I went by train to the cathedral town of Wells, 
 our destination for the night, the others following on their 
 wheels. I was glad to see this fine old structure, especially 
 as a direct ancestor (a Bishop Creighton) of an esteemed col- 
 lege mate, one George Creighton Peet, reigned here in years 
 long past. My hand was too badly damaged to continue the 
 trip, and the next day, after looking through the cathedral, I 
 started for London, accompanied by Rogers. 
 
 During this comparatively short trip through rural Eng- 
 land, there was much of interest and delight and the memory 
 of it has always been freshly pleasant. I recall the several 
 evenings spent in an English tap-room or bar-room. I was 
 
2 4 o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 alone in this enjoyment, for my friends, the two professors, 
 evidently disdained this low species of pleasure, preferring 
 architectural discussions of the Gothic and the Norman, of 
 towers, keeps, embattled parapets, and pointed gables. I, too, 
 loved old ruins, and how I gloried in Tintern Abbey ! No 
 remains of former life and movement, simple as the life of the 
 old monks must have been, impressed me more. The ruins 
 are fairly well preserved and there was to me a romantic halo 
 over all. The lovely Wye lends its gentle charm to the scene, 
 and as I gazed upon its quiet waters into which the inmates of 
 the Abbey had so often cast their lines for their Friday's dish 
 of fish, I recalled Wordsworth's beautiful verses on Revisit- 
 ing Tintern Abbey and the banks of the Wye : 
 
 "Five years have passed; five summers, with the length 
 Of five long winters ! and again I hear 
 These waters rolling from their mountain springs 
 With a sweet inland murmur." * * * 
 
 But I am not ashamed to say that I enjoyed the old English 
 inns, and found no places better adapted to study character 
 and to getting into close human touch with the heart of the 
 people than in these century-established meeting places for the 
 brawn and muscle of the countryside. I would not have missed 
 the opportunity, and since then in reading the descriptive pages 
 of Hardy and Phillpotts, and other English writers, I have 
 been able to enjoy their masterly portraitures of types as I 
 could not have done without this experience. 
 
 At Ludlow, calling for a glass of English ale (which by the 
 way I detest; it is flat and tasteless to me) and a cigar, I 
 engaged an honest yeoman in conversation, and told him that 
 I understood that Stanley Weyman, the then celebrated novel- 
 ist, author of the "Red Robe" and other popular works of 
 fiction, was a native of the town. He brightened up and said 
 they were schoolmates when boys, and seemed to take great 
 pride in the fact. Further on, in the tap-room of another 
 inn, I spent an interesting and instructive hour. Unlike some 
 American barrooms, you hear no obscene talk. It would not 
 be tolerated for a moment, for a woman, perhaps the wife or 
 daughter of the proprietor himself, presides over the beer 
 
A TRIP ABROAD 241 
 
 cask. There is, however, plenty of loud talk and acrimon- 
 ious discussion. On this occasion a man under middle age 
 called for his ale and stood at the bar drinking it. He was 
 rather better dressed than the others, and carried a whip in 
 his hand and from what was heard I judged him to be a 
 farmer of the higher class, or some sort of a petty squire. 
 As the discussion waxed warm, our squire became more and 
 more excited. He had one sturdy opponent, and as the argu- 
 ment increased in warmth, language was indulged in and 
 epithets hurled by each at the other that, in an American bar- 
 room, would inevitably have led to violence. I became very 
 uneasy, and thought it about time to go, but to my surprise 
 the violence of the encounter subsided almost as quickly as it 
 had begun, and the two disputants parted seemingly the best 
 of friends. I noted that at the height of the discussion, the 
 bar-maid kept on with her work as if nothing was happening, 
 and the other inmates continued their smoking as placidly as 
 if there was no wordy fire and brimstone in the air. 
 
 In Phillpotts' "Dartmoor" novels, one may find such wordy 
 wars duplicated time and time again. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 IN England and in all the older countries men plod along in 
 the footsteps of their fathers, generation after generation, 
 with little possibility and therefore with little thought of 
 entering a higher social grade. In our country, however, with 
 the ever present thought of the possibility of stepping higher, 
 few are content to rest, and the race of life becomes all haste 
 and unrest. While in the shop of a saddler, in one of the 
 rural towns of England, I engaged the proprietor and his son 
 in conversation as they sat working upon the same bench. 
 The grandson, a little fellow of five, was running in and out, 
 and I remarked that he, too, perhaps, would follow the same 
 trade. "And why not?" said the old man; "my father and 
 grandfather worked and died here, and what is good enough 
 for us is good enough for him." Imagine, if one can, five 
 generations in America, content to work in the same poor 
 shop and along the same restricted lines. Far less rapid 
 would have been our progress in all material developments 
 if our energy had been thus conserved; and yet the quiet and 
 content of that humble home, handed down from father to 
 son since before the independence of America, will always 
 remain a pleasant memory. 
 
 My journey to London in a third-class car, patronized by 
 most sensible Englishmen and by all sensible American tour- 
 ists, hence patronized by comparatively few well-to-do Amer- 
 ican travelers of the nouveaux riche class, was full of novelty 
 to eyes still new to English scenes and English ways. As we 
 swept through a portion of Devon, I thought of it as ground 
 made classic by the genius of Hardy; and as the graceful 
 towers of Salisbury came in sight, by a similar association of 
 ideas, Trollope and his ever-charming tales of old cathedral 
 towns was in my mind. In all my chance association with the 
 English people I found them almost universally courteous and 
 considerate. My bandaged hand attracted the attention of a 
 fine-looking, intelligent gentleman in the compartment, and he 
 politely inquired as to the nature of my injury. From un- 
 mistakable signs, without doubt he knew that I was an Amer- 
 
 242 
 
A TRIP ABROAD 243 
 
 ican, and when I told him I was from New York, he evinced 
 real interest, as evidenced by many questions. He pointed out 
 some places of note along the route, and we parted regretfully 
 at the end of the journey. 
 
 I spent the first night at the Victoria Hotel, and found 
 quite a number of my fellow practitioners of New York there. 
 Among these was Dr. Herman Biggs, the celebrated pathol- 
 ogist, and later head of the State Board of Health, and Dr. 
 Leonard Weber, a well known practitioner and neurologist. 
 Weber was a German, and was on his way home from the 
 place of his nativity. He said that he visited the celebrated 
 savant, Erb, and that the latter, referring to things medical 
 in this country, said that it was too bad that both Beard and 
 Rockwell had passed away. Weber replied that Beard had 
 gone years before, but that Rockwell was very much alive. 
 Even though thought to be dead, I was glad to be remem- 
 bered at all by so distinguished a foreign authority. Because 
 of the injury to my hand I determined to spend the most of 
 my time in London and from this center make little trips here 
 and there, and so took a room and board in Craven Street, 
 just off the Strand. Directly opposite was a house upon which 
 an inscription told that Franklin had lived therein during his 
 sojourn in London. I saw nothing of damp and smoky Lon- 
 don. During my stay there of nineteen days not a drop of 
 rain fell, nor was there the slightest indication of fog. The 
 only rain I saw was during my cycling trip. It was the last 
 day of the rainy season as our party left Ludlow for Here- 
 ford, fifteen miles away. How it did rain that day ! Lower- 
 ing, as we started out, the drops soon began to fall, and those 
 fifteen miles were made over muddy roads and in the face of 
 one of the worst rain-storms that we had ever breasted. 
 Thenceforth the skies were clear, barring those floating 
 moisture clouds so characteristic of the British Isles. 
 
 Everything combined, therefore, to render my stay in Lon- 
 don suitable for thorough and pleasurable sightseeing. Every- 
 day found me in touch with things both new and old, but 
 everything was new to my experience, and as compared to my 
 own country everything savored of the old, of the long ago. 
 The Tower, the Abbey, Houses of Parliament, the old Curi- 
 osity Shop and other scenes of Dickens's immortal stories, a 
 
244 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 night ride to the Whitechapel district, and daily walks through 
 innumerable streets where the sights and the life were all 
 novel, were a continual source of pleasure. One of my most 
 cherished experiences was a visit to Chelsea, and the former 
 home of Carlyle. The house is always open for inspection, 
 and I entered it almost with reverence, for although not with- 
 out his faults, yet here had lived and wrought for many years 
 a great intelligence, yea, a great soul who left an impress not 
 alone upon the thought of England, but upon that of the 
 world. To my liking he was the greatest prose poet of the 
 century, if not of many centuries. The notes of high and lofty 
 thought that he has struck in his incomparable essays, in his 
 "Past and Present," and "Heroes, Hero Worship and the 
 Heroic in History" and other imperishable works, will never 
 be without their blessed and strengthening influence upon the 
 soul of humanity. "When a book," says La Bruyere, "raises 
 your spirits, and inspires you with noble and courageous feel- 
 ings, seek for no other rule to judge the event by; it is good 
 and made by a good workman." Carlyle was denunciatory 
 enough. His times, as indeed all times, call for it, but his 
 clarion notes for reform carried conviction and stirred Par- 
 liament and a sluggish people as never before. 
 
 And so as I stood within this shrine, dedicated to him and 
 to his great work in the world, I thought that this ex- 
 perience alone was worth a voyage across the Atlantic. To 
 quote his own words in his essay on Schiller and in reference 
 to the great ones of earth, "Such men, far more than any 
 Alps or Colosseums, are the true world wonders, which it 
 concerns us to behold clearly and imprint forever on our re- 
 membrance. Great men are the fire pillars in this dark pil- 
 grimage of mankind; they stand as heavenly signs, ever living 
 witnesses of what has been, prophetic tokens of what may still 
 be, the revealed embodied Possibilities of human nature." 
 
 I find myself at last in the very house, in the very room, at 
 the very desk, where the great apostle of reform and of the 
 best in human nature hurled forth his philippics and sarcasm 
 against the stupid evils of the day. There, too, was the old 
 hat he wore, and the cane he carried in his daily walks, and the 
 pen with which he wrote. That Carlyle was not an adept in 
 acoustics and architectural construction is here found in lasting 
 
A TRIP ABROAD 245 
 
 evidence. He worked on the top floor of the house, but was 
 annoyed by the many sounds ascending from the streets. He, 
 therefore, had an inner partition placed all around the upper 
 floor, thus giving an interior sanctum where he thought silence 
 would reign. Alas, it was of no use. The same sounds came 
 as before to the ear and the very considerable money spent 
 proved fruitless. 
 
 A street or two away was the last residence of George 
 Eliot, whose first work that gave her fame, "Adam Bede," I 
 read when little more than a boy, and whose every work there- 
 after I perused with great, if not equal interest. As I passed 
 and then repassed the gateway I tried to visualize the per- 
 sonality of this gifted woman, as, at her Sunday evening 
 receptions, she chatted with the interesting people who 
 thronged her rooms. When Dr. Beard was first in London, 
 interviewing some of the great ones of the town, with but 
 twenty-five cents in his pocket, he had the opportunity of at- 
 tending one of these Eliot receptions. I was immediately 
 interested and plied him with questions as to the personality 
 of the famous woman and his personal impressions and ex- 
 periences. He replied that he had not closely observed her, 
 having been more interested in conversing with Mr. Huxley 
 and other scientific men present. When, however, I expati- 
 ated on her literary fame, he expressed regret that he had not 
 used to better advantage his opportunity to get into closer 
 touch with so renowned a woman. Of course, he knew of 
 George Eliot's fame, but largely read as he was in some of the 
 best literature of the world, I doubt whether he had ever read 
 a book of hers. Fiction did not much attract him, nor 
 did he have for it much regard, although he himself in his 
 early days once wrote a novel which he never attempted to 
 publish. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 IF one wishes to see his friends, let him go abroad. This 
 half truth was impressed upon me by my own experience. 
 I have referred to the various professional friends that I 
 met at the hotel on the day of my arrival in London. A few 
 days later in a chemist's shop on the Strand, whom should I 
 run across but my old college mate and sometime roommate, 
 the well-known Indian, Oronhyatecha of Toronto, whom I 
 have already mentioned. I had not met him for many years, 
 and while it was pleasant to see another familiar face, yet our 
 greetings were pleasantly perfunctory instead of genially cor- 
 dial. He was conducting a touring party of "Royal For- 
 esters," and introduced me to an attractive young girl as his 
 secretary. Other old friends I met, but the fact that my 
 nephew was then residing in London took away, in a measure, 
 the sense of loneliness which occasionally came over me. 
 
 One evening especially I recall. After a day of sightsee- 
 ing, I had returned to my quarters, and after supper, had gone 
 to my room. Suddenly a profound feeling of loneliness and 
 nostalgia stole over me, a half-frightened feeling at the 
 thought of the vast waste of waters that separated me from 
 those best loved. I was wide awake, in no mood for bed, and 
 finding the dreariness almost unbearable, I rushed from the 
 house, hailed a 'bus, which in due course landed me at the lodg- 
 ing of my nephew. It was rather late, and my visit was un- 
 expected, but my reception was none the less cordial. An 
 hour's chat calmed my perturbed spirits, and I returned to 
 my room and to a night of quiet sleep. With him and his chum, 
 we went the following day by coach to Hampton Court and 
 with keen enjoyment explored that historic relic of the times 
 of Henry and Wolsey. Windsor Castle, Eton, Stratford-on- 
 Avon, Kenilworth, Warwick Castle, stock places of interest 
 were visited, but nothing charmed me more than a visit to 
 Stoke Pogis and the old church and churchyard, the scene of 
 Gray's Elegy. The Yew tree was there standing, old, alone, 
 and suggestive. I questioned the driver who drove me along 
 the pleasantly shaded winding road to the place, but he 
 
 246 
 
A TRIP ABROAD 247 
 
 seemed, strangely enough, not to know the name of the poet 
 or of the poem itself. So much for the complacency of human 
 ignorance. I found Goldsmith's memorial just off the busy 
 Strand and riotous Fleet Street, and was much attracted by 
 the fine courtesy of a gentleman of whom I inquired the way. 
 He had a book under his arm and seemed to me, I know not 
 why, as if he might be a barrister. There were some wind- 
 ings, and with great good nature and interest he stopped to 
 give me the directions, but finally said, "it is not out of my 
 way," although it was, "and it will give me great pleasure to 
 save you the trouble of hunting it up." Not a few such simple 
 courtesies were proffered by both men and women, and made 
 upon my mind a most favorable impression. Emerson some- 
 where says that "England is the best of actual nations." 
 Whatever we Americans have of culture, of energy, of mor- 
 ality, of strength, has come to us, I like to believe, more from 
 the English than from any other people. The Englishman is 
 slow to act upon suggestions, even though they seem to be ap- 
 proved by every rational test. He is exasperatingly conserva- 
 tive, and will not change a good thing which has long done 
 him service, for a better, without long and laborious proof. 
 In business life here, a letter of introduction is taken in person. 
 In England it would be sent by post, and a reply awaited desig- 
 nating some time and place for the desired meeting, and the 
 patience of the eager applicant is often sorely put to test be- 
 fore he accomplishes his object. The Englishman seldom 
 hurries, either in his office, on the street, or at his meals. We 
 suffer in this country, more than in any other, from a disease 
 termed "neurasthenia," the so-called American nervousness, 
 which is in reality nervelessness, and a potent factor in its pro- 
 duction is the hurry and worry of professional and business 
 life on this side of the ocean. The English have acquired the 
 virtue of deliberation. All business is conducted in a quiet 
 and leisurely way that seems to an American like child's play, 
 but it is in dead earnest all the same. An English banker will 
 be found in some building not at all like an American bank, 
 and with very few clerks in sight. Nobody rushes breathlessly 
 in and out, yet the amount of business transacted daily in that 
 dingy little building is enormous. 
 
 Two important causative factors, it seems to me, underlie 
 
248 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 these differences in English and American traits, the first of 
 which is climate. An American in England, for example, is 
 frequently surprised to find that he is able to indulge in malt 
 and spirituous liquors to an extent he would never attempt in 
 his own country; while the Englishman, if for any time a resi- 
 dent here, finds to his cost that excesses in eating and drinking 
 impose a heavier tax upon the conservative processes of the 
 body than in the humid atmosphere of his insular home. A 
 gentleman who has made frequent visits to England tells me 
 that on his pedestrian excursions through the country he was 
 accustomed to drink the common English ale with impunity, 
 while in this country, under the same conditions of exercise, 
 he can take but a comparatively small amount without un- 
 pleasant results. The Englishman is less nervous than his 
 American cousin, and therefore more deliberate, not because 
 he is less abstemious in his eating and drinking, but because 
 excesses are less hurtful, in certain directions, in his climate 
 than in ours. No more exact delineator of certain English 
 types and habits has ever written than Anthony Trollope. 
 His "Man about Town," with his enormous capacity for 
 brandy and soda, is a unique creation in a way, and quite puts 
 to shame the comparatively mild potations of his American 
 counterpart. While the Englishman does not escape the in- 
 evitable consequences of such folly, the punishment falls not 
 so much upon the nervous system as upon other organs. 
 With the will, perhaps, to indulge as freely as the Englishman, 
 the American succumbs to alcoholic excesses that are rela- 
 tively far less. As a second causative factor in the produc- 
 tion of these mental and physical characteristics of the Eng- 
 lish and American, I would indicate their different business 
 and social environments, as illustrated by my recent reference 
 to a saddler and his descendants. 
 
 Notwithstanding the almost constant humidity of the Eng- 
 lish atmosphere, it is a very different condition from what we 
 term humidity here. Both the electric tension of the atmos- 
 phere and the barometric pressure are higher, with a rela- 
 tively less depressing influence upon the general system, and 
 the extremes of heat and cold are far less in degree. The 
 effects of this moisture-laden atmosphere are seen, not only in 
 the physical characteristics of the people, but in the aspect of 
 
A TRIP ABROAD 249 
 
 nature. The grasses are more luxuriant and of a deeper 
 green, while the trees show a richer foliage. Centuries of cul- 
 tivation and care have increased the fertility of the land, and 
 the streams flow full and clear. That this should be so in a 
 small island crowded with so large a population, seems a sur- 
 prise, but is also explained by the incessant showers, and the 
 fact that the people are massed largely in towns, leaving the 
 country still delightful in its rural simplicity. 
 
 To describe the inexhaustible panorama of England's 
 varied history and literature as it is unfolded in its old cathe- 
 drals and universities, its castles and abbeys, its prisons and 
 palaces, some still triumphant over time and decay, others 
 magnificent in their ruins, seems a hopeless task, 
 "Soul to soul can never teach, 
 What unto itself was taught." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 IN crossing the Channel on a visit to Paris, I had another per- 
 sonal opportunity to test the efficiency of the bromide treat- 
 ment for seasickness. The accommodations were so vile 
 below that I stayed above during all the four hours of the 
 passage, walking the deck or reclining on the comfortless 
 benches. I was not sick, notwithstanding the waters were 
 rather rough. I might not have been sick had the drug been 
 omitted, but the probability is that my besetting idiosyncrasy 
 would not have permitted me altogether to escape. In the 
 compartment of the train for Paris I made the acquaintance 
 of an Englishman, a young man of about thirty-five, who was 
 taking a short vacation. He was what is termed an untrav- 
 eled Englishman, and this was his first trip outside his native 
 isle. He was a fairly well educated and intelligent man and 
 evinced great curiosity about America, especially New York, 
 from which I hailed. After we had become pretty well ac- 
 quainted during the week, we passed more or less time to- 
 gether, and he said: "You do not seem like an American." 
 He intended this as a compliment, but it did not so appeal to 
 me, although to him I made no protest. His idea of the 
 American had been formed probably by the bold and blatant 
 manners that characterize so many of the newly rich who 
 overrun the Old World. This young man was an excellent 
 type of the best to be found among the so-called middle class 
 in England. As I was twenty years his senior, he became 
 more or less confidential; told me of his wife and two children, 
 something about his business and the good comfortable income 
 that it yielded. He lived in Leicester. On my remarking that 
 I had not had much opportunity to know about the social life 
 of England, he said, "Doctor, I would like to put you up for 
 a few days." The ice being thus broken, he urged me with 
 great warmth to accept his invitation. I told him that I ex- 
 pected to meet friends on my return to London, but promised, 
 if I could come, to let him know. I found it not easy to accept 
 his invitation and indeed had quite forgotten about it, when on 
 my way to Liverpool to take the steamer for home, I stepped 
 
 250 
 
A TRIP ABROAD 251 
 
 from the car at Leicester for a moment to stretch my legs. 
 Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and turning I saw my 
 Paris companion. He took it for granted that I was there in 
 response to his invitation and was very warm in his greeting. 
 He had just boarded the train to go to a neighboring town, 
 and saw me from the window. He expressed real disappoint- 
 ment when I informed him that I was on my way to the 
 steamer. "I told my wife about you," he said, "and she 
 asked me why I didn't write to you. Of course, I could not 
 as I did not know your address." I have always regretted 
 that I did not accept this warm-hearted fellow's invitation, 
 seconded as it was by his excellent wife. I have even for- 
 gotten his name. If living, he would be fifty-five years of age, 
 just my age at the time. 
 
 What has become of him? What has been his career since? 
 If living he would have been rather too old for the late war, 
 but how about his children? I recall that he spoke of them. 
 
 Recrossing the ocean I was glad again to be at home and 
 among those I loved. The sad news of my mother's death 
 was then told me. I had gone to her home in Connecticut, 
 just before sailing, to bid her goodbye. She had appeared to 
 be in her usual health, but on the day I reached London, less 
 than two weeks thereafter, she had quietly passed away, in 
 her eighty-fourth year. Not only to her own children had she 
 been a loving and faithful mother, but out of her great 
 motherly heart, all graciousness and tenderness, she had 
 poured a mother's loving sympathy, patience, and sacrificing 
 service in so rich a portion that every pupil of my father's 
 school felt in no little measure a son's affection for her. 
 
Book VII 
 PERSONAL SKETCHES 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 SALMON P. CHASE EDWIN M. STANTON 
 
 RUTHERFORD B. HAYES THEODORE ROOSEVELT 
 
 WHEN a boy at school in the preparatory depart- 
 ment of Kenyon College, Ohio, I first caught 
 a glimpse of three men destined not only to 
 become famous in our national history, but to 
 achieve international distinction as well. With 
 these men in after years I had the honor and pleasure of agree- 
 able acquaintance. I refer to Chief Justice Salmon P. Chase, 
 Edwin M. Stanton, and ex-President Rutherford B. Hayes. 
 At this time Mr. Chase was governor of Ohio, and Mr. 
 Hayes a rising lawyer of Cincinnati. Mr. Hayes was a com- 
 paratively recent graduate of the college, and the two had 
 come to attend the commencement exercises, the one by special 
 invitation as governor of the state, the other comparatively 
 unknown, yet none the less welcome. The governor was the 
 central figure. Wherever he went, he was followed by an 
 admiring crowd, and many predicted for him greater honors; 
 indeed the highest was confidently believed to be within his 
 reach. I suppose in his wildest dreams of future advancement, 
 our ever modest and unassuming Mr. Hayes, as he sat with 
 the less distinguished alumni on the platform, never once 
 thought of himself as a presidential possibility; yet he finally 
 grasped the prize, while Mr. Chase, with his high ambition 
 and expectation ever before him, failed to reach the goal, 
 like those other great statesmen, Webster, Clay and Blaine. 
 
 Probably no college of its size has sent out more men to 
 achieve high national reputation and international reputation 
 than Kenyon. I have only to mention, besides these three, the 
 names of Stanley Matthews, Judge David Davis and Henry 
 Winter Davis, names of which any university might be proud. 
 It is interesting here to note that the Twenty-third Ohio In- 
 
 253 
 
254 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 fantry had Mr. Hayes for its Colonel, Stanley Matthews for 
 its Lieutenant Colonel and William McKinley for its Major. 
 Its first Colonel was the celebrated General Rosecrans. Two 
 Presidents, one of them a Kenyon man, a great jurist also a 
 Kenyon man, and an army commander from the same regi- 
 ment, is surely an unsual record, seldom matched. 
 
 After leaving Mr. Lincoln's Cabinet, Mr. Chase was ap- 
 pointed by that magnanimous immortal (for Mr. Chase was 
 not as loyal to his chief as he might have been) Chief Justice 
 of the United States. A few years subsequently he suffered 
 a slight stroke of paralysis, from which he never fully recov- 
 ered. He was sent to me for treatment, and the month of our 
 association was one of the most interesting of my life. Mr. 
 Chase was a man of magnificent presence, somewhat cold and 
 lepellent in his greeting to strangers, and yet on occasions of 
 an urbanity that was very attractive. His nature was im- 
 perious, a characteristic that had become accentuated through 
 his high positions and habits of command; but it was now 
 associated with an intense irritability from physical causes. 
 The first few visits were quite unsatisfactory. My patient 
 was evidently suffering from much mental as well as physical 
 depression. He seldom spoke unless spoken to, and then only 
 in monosyllables. Our association was getting to be exceed- 
 ingly monotonous, and to have a great man as a patient was 
 not quite as agreeable as I had hoped. One day Mr. Chase 
 remarked that he did not like to sit in the waiting-room for 
 people to stare at him, and asked if I could not see him at 
 some other hour. I appointed half past twelve, and he was 
 promptly on hand; but in no better or more communicative 
 humor than before. I had tried on a former visit to talk 
 about Kenyon College and our common interest in it, and now 
 ventured to say something about the late Civil War, in which 
 I had been an humble actor and he a great historic figure. 
 But all in vain. The next day at 12:30 the Chief Justice 
 failed to appear, but he came at one o'clock while I was en- 
 gaged with another patient. He tapped vigorously at the 
 door, but I could give no heed until through with the work in 
 hand. On entering the reception-room I found it empty, but 
 saw Mr. Chase leaning against one of the pillars of the porch 
 outside, his carriage gone, and he himself in a seemingly un- 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 255 
 
 happy frame of mind. I joined him, and the following con- 
 versation ensued: 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Chase." No answer. "Won't you 
 walk in?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "I am sorry to have kept you waiting, but you were half 
 an hour behind your time, and I had another appointment at 
 one." 
 
 "I won't wait." 
 
 "Will you come in tomorrow?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Good morning, Sir." And with that I withdrew, very 
 sorry to have offended such a distinguished patient. A few 
 days thereafter I received this laconic note : "When I was at 
 your office on Friday last I was impatient, and, I fear, rude. 
 I regret it. If your engagements take you down this way I 
 should be pleased to see you." 
 
 Now this recital illustrates how a story only partly told 
 may give give a totally wrong impression. My first experi- 
 ences seem to show a man unreasonably irritable and alto- 
 gether disagreeable. But this was not the real Mr. Chase. 
 He was fighting against almost overwhelming odds. There 
 was a physical basis for all this bad temper, and when he 
 realized his discourtesy, the greatness and inherent nobility 
 of his character reasserted itself and he made the "amende 
 honorable." On the following day I went to the Brevoort 
 House, where he was stopping. He received me very cor- 
 dially, in marked contrast to his previous greetings, introduced 
 me to his two daughters, Mrs. Sprague and Miss Chase, apol- 
 ogizing again, saying that I, of course, had my appointments 
 which must be kept. After this there was no more trouble 
 with Mr. Chase. He was altogether agreeable, inviting me 
 to drive on several occasions, and conversing freely on many 
 subjects. He told me about the beginnings of Kenyon Col- 
 lege, and how its founder, his uncle Bishop Chase, used to 
 enforce discipline by caning the boys, after the good (?) old- 
 fashioned English method. He was rather reticent about 
 Mr. Lincoln and the cabinet in which he had been secretary 
 of the treasury. I did not press the matter, for even then I 
 knew of the antagonisms, personal and political, of that 
 
256 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 period. Of his early life and struggles he was fond of talk- 
 ing. He said that he had taught school in Washington when 
 a young man. He knew Webster and Clay and most of the 
 eminent men of that day, and in a sort of musing tone re- 
 marked that "perhaps he might have accomplished more 
 through this acquaintance if his disposition had not been quite 
 so retiring." I replied, "Mr. Chase, it seems to me that a 
 man who has been governor of a great state, secretary of 
 the treasury during a great war, and chief justice of the 
 United States, has accomplished about as much in life and for 
 his country as most men." He made no reply, for even then 
 he was ambitious for the presidency, and his friends, and espe- 
 cially his daughter, Mrs. Sprague, were working strenuously 
 for his nomination. With what admiration and patriotic 
 emotion had I read the great speech of Webster in reply to 
 Hayne, and my patient's description of the scene was thrill- 
 ingly interesting. He said it was the greatest speech he had 
 ever listened to, and unequalled in the impression it made, 
 save perhaps by that of Patrick Henry, and Burke in the 
 impeachment of Warren Hastings. The old Senate Chamber, 
 where the speech was delivered, is now the Chamber of the 
 Supreme Court, and "my seat," said Mr. Chase, "is almost 
 over the spot where Webster stood, and I often re-people 
 the scene." 
 
 Mrs. Gardner G. Howland, who was also coming to see 
 me at this time, one day remarked: "My father wishes to see 
 you, and I shall bring him with me tomorrow morning." At 
 the time appointed, in walked a hale, hearty old gentleman, 
 straight as an arrow, with quick, nervous step, who without 
 any introduction, said in a loud, strong voice : "Doctor, I 
 am ninety-five years of age, and I came to tell you that I saw 
 Benjamin Franklin flying his kite to bring the electricity down 
 from the clouds. I often played in his study with his grand- 
 children, and I remember how heartily he laughed on one 
 occasion when he gave us all a shock of electricity. My 
 father's pew was immediately in front of George Washing- 
 ton's in Christ Church, Philadelphia, and I remember well 
 how the General held me on his knee. I was an intimate 
 friend of Daniel Webster and William Wirt," — and more 
 than that I now fail to recall. 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 257 
 
 This gentleman, himself an able lawyer of Philadelphia, 
 was of the well-known family of the Maryland Merediths, 
 and his brother was, I believe, secretary of state in the cab- 
 inet of one of the earlier presidents. On speaking to Mr. 
 Chase of Mr. Meredith, he was much interested and expressed 
 a desire to meet him, for, although they had never met, 
 both of them had been intimate with Webster, and especially 
 with William Wirt, the great jurist. The following Sunday 
 morning, as I was crossing Washington Park, I met Mr. Chase 
 walking slowly and scanning the houses. He said he was 
 looking up Mr. Meredith, and I was able to point out the 
 house to him. 
 
 It is something in these modern days to have met a man 
 who had been thrown in intimate association not only with 
 such men as Webster, Clay and Wirt, but who even knew 
 Franklin and Washington. How it bridges the centuries ; and 
 once in speaking to the children of a public school on a "Wash- 
 ington day," I was able to interest and amuse them by saying 
 that, if they had never seen Washington, they had at least seen 
 a man who knew a man who knew not only Washington, but 
 Franklin, too. 
 
 The incident of my aged acquaintance, who once sat upon 
 the knee of Washington, recalls the interesting episode told 
 by Washington Irving to George Haven Putnam, when the 
 latter was a boy and visiting with his father at Sunnyside. 
 Washington, on horseback, once passed the Irving home in 
 lower New York, and his little namesake was lifted toward 
 him and a blessing asked and given. Mr. Irving further 
 remarked to his young listener, to his mystification, that he 
 could not now put his finger on the spot touched by Washing- 
 ton. Young Putnam, asking his father for an explanation of 
 this cryptic statement, received answer: "Why, stupid, don't 
 you know he wears a wig?" As this little incident shows his 
 humorous side, so does another told me unfold quite another : 
 
 Washington Irving's great-nephew, once under my profes- 
 sional care, related the story. When a lad he was a visitor 
 at the house of his great relative in Tarrytown, and, during 
 the absence of his uncle, ventured into his study. While ex- 
 amining the things upon the writing table and handling books 
 and papers, he was startled by a stinging stroke. It was from 
 
258 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 the cane of Irving. He had unexpectedly returned, and fol- 
 lowed up the blow by a command to the "young rascal" to 
 "get out," with a warning not to be found there again. 
 
 My acquaintance with ex-President Hayes began in this 
 wise : Entering a car at the Grand Central Station, on my 
 way to Tarrytown, I found but few vacant seats, and halting 
 before one, the occupant of the other half looked up with a 
 pleasant smile and with a motion as if to make room for me. 
 Mr. Hayes had just completed his presidential term, and I 
 was so struck with the resemblance of my neighbor to the 
 ex-President, that, after exchanging a few words, I spoke of 
 it, and asked if he had never been mistaken for him. With a 
 merry twinkle in his eyes, he said, "My name is Hayes." I 
 expressed my pleasure at meeting him, especially as I had the 
 honor of being an alumnus of the same college. "Oh, you 
 are an old Kenyon boy, are you?" And he began immediately 
 to talk about the old college and college days. At the next 
 station Mrs. Rockwell joined me, and, on being introduced to 
 Mr. Hayes, was in turn introduced to Mrs. Hayes, who was 
 seated alone just behind her husband. In the course of the 
 conversation I remarked: "Mr. Hayes, you and I are alike in 
 one respect. Our wives are Methodists and we are Episco- 
 palians," which gave him the opportunity for the apt response, 
 "And like myself, I suppose, you go with the one who has the 
 more religion." 
 
 As a member of the Loyal Legion, of which Mr. Hayes 
 subsequently became the head, I had occasional opportunities 
 thereafter to meet him, and his greeting was always unaffect- 
 edly cordial. It has been the habit among some to decry Mr. 
 Hayes as a "fraudulent president," as an accident, as a man 
 of little force of character and wanting in ability. They who 
 have thus spoken could never have known the man, or they 
 have been actuated by the narrowest sort of partisan politics. 
 While not a great man perhaps, as measured by the standard 
 of some of our greatest statesmen, yet he was a man of pro- 
 nounced talents, excellent judgment, and firmness of purpose. 
 His addresses to the Commandery were well expressed, finely 
 delivered and models of good sense. He was an honest man 
 with a heart, and his whole career illustrates and emphasizes 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 259 
 
 the fact that goodness, nobility of character, without which 
 there is no true greatness, is after all the only real thing; and 
 in the last analysis the world surely recognizes this. The 
 strength and beauty of his character were well illustrated at 
 the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Loyal Legion, celebrated 
 at Philadelphia in 1890. Serious differences of opinion had 
 arisen, bitter feelings had been engendered, and a stormy 
 session was threatened. The storm indeed broke and no one 
 could foresee its results, when Mr. Hayes, with infinite tact 
 and perfect knowledge of every phase of the subject, poured 
 oil on the troubled waters, and brought order out of chaos. 
 Undoubtedly the halo that encompassed the personality of a 
 former head of the nation had its weight; but I do not forget 
 the ease and grace of his manner and the soundness of his 
 contentions. 
 
 Hayes and Cleveland were quite different types of men. 
 The former was more refined, better educated, far more 
 genial, less abrupt and more approachable. But they were the 
 same in sincerity and unassailable integrity. This was the 
 bond that united Mr. Cleveland to Mr. Hayes. Of different 
 political faiths, the former followed the latter in the White 
 House. Their liking for each other was based on mutual re- 
 spect, and when Mr. Hayes died, Mr. Cleveland journeyed 
 to a distant state to be present at the obsequies. It was no 
 perfunctory duty, but prompted by the highest admiration for 
 a noble character. 
 
 That other famous son of Kenyon, Edwin M. Stanton, did 
 not complete his college course. I well remember when he 
 came to Gambier in 1859 t0 enter his son, Edwin M., Jr., in 
 the class of which I was a member. The father had recently 
 defended General Sickles for the murder of Key, and his rep- 
 utation had become nation-wide. I remember so well his 
 stocky figure and bushy beard, as he strolled with his son 
 along the quiet walks of the campus. We had pledged the 
 younger Stanton to the Greek letter society of which I was a 
 member, and had dined and wined him in honor of the event. 
 He was considered an especially valuable acquisition, but we 
 were doomed to disappointment. His father vetoed the elec- 
 tion, and the son finished his course without connecting him- 
 
2 6o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 self with any fraternity. We occupied adjoining rooms in 
 Ascension Hall, and I found him to be, like his father, of 
 strong character and high ability. He stood easily at the head 
 of his class, and had no competitor for the valedictory. No 
 son, however, could well be more unlike a father in tempera- 
 ment. As all the world knows, the great War Secretary was 
 harsh and uncompromising, often seemingly to the point of 
 brutality; while his son was as genial a spirit as ever the sun 
 shone upon. It was very well understood by those who knew 
 him that during the war he was quite overrun with petitions 
 and requests from old college mates, and therefore, although 
 I had passed through Washington a number of times during 
 my army career, I had never called on him. Soon after the 
 close of the war, I again found myself in Washington with 
 the Colonel of my regiment, partly for the purpose of getting 
 some information as to the date of our discharge. The pres- 
 sure on every department was so great that the Colonel tried 
 in vain to get an interview with General Vincent, who alone 
 could give us information; and so I determined to make an 
 effort myself. At the War Department I sent my card to 
 young Stanton, who received me cordially and expressed his 
 wonder that I had not called upon him before, at the same 
 time glancing at my shoulder-straps and offering congratula- 
 tions at my advancement. He asked for my regiment, and 
 when I mentioned the Sixth Ohio Cavalry, he said: "Well, 
 let me see what is said about the Sixth Ohio Cavalry." He 
 selected a volume from among a vast collection in the room, 
 and opening it, read to this effect: 
 
 "The Sixth Ohio Cavalry, a fine fighting regiment, but 
 somewhat lax in discipline." This was or had been quite 
 true. The regiment was, first and last, in fifty-two engage- 
 ments, and was never found wanting; but, as in so many vol- 
 unteer organizations, its former Colonel was friend and 
 neighbor to many of the men. He was fraternal and familiar 
 with the boys, and, although the bravest of the brave in battle, 
 took things easy in camp and on the march. This accurate 
 registration of the characteristics of the thousands of regi- 
 ments that made up the Union army was a revelation. 
 
 When Theodore Roosevelt was appointed one of the police 
 commissioners of New York City I wrote him a note of con- 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 261 
 
 gratulation, saying that in looking over one of my old case 
 books I came across this entry, "Theodore Roosevelt, a bright 
 precocious boy, aged twelve," adding that I well remembered 
 how intelligent were his interrogations, and that I had re- 
 marked to my partner, the late Dr. Geo. M. Beard, that "the 
 little fellow ought to make his mark in the world; but the dif- 
 ficulty is, he has a rich father." I had not seen Mr. Roosevelt 
 since as a lad he came to my office, but I remembered well 
 some things that he said, and I had followed his career with 
 the greatest interest since his entrance into public life. He 
 was an inquisitive lad, in the sense that his mind was always on 
 the alert for some new fact or explanation. I have often had 
 boys ask ordinary questions about electricity, but this boy 
 wanted to know its "nature" and the principles of its thera- 
 peutic use. If I had known him then as well as the world 
 knows him now, the handicap of riches would have seemed 
 a trifling obstacle for the leader of the Rough Riders to over- 
 come. 
 
 To the letter that I wrote to Mr. Roosevelt I received 
 promptly the following reply: "You are very good indeed to 
 have written to me, and I took great pleasure in showing your 
 letter to my wife. I now have five children of my own. Yes, 
 I do remember about the electrical instrument now, although 
 I had forgotten it entirely until your letter revived my 
 memory. I assure you your letter gave me most genuine 
 pleasure, and I much appreciate it." 
 
 Thereafter I did not resist the impulse to offer my congratu- 
 lations to Mr. Roosevelt on every occasion of his political 
 advancement. Replying to a note of mine on his return from 
 the Spanish-American War, in which I referred to my friend, 
 General Chaffee, he wrote: "Chaffee is a trump all the way 
 through." Some years later he signed the commission of his 
 former comrade in arms and superior as Lieutenant General 
 and Chief of Staff, thus for the first time in the history of the 
 United States Army elevating to its chief command one who 
 had joined it as a private soldier. 
 
 At a dinner of the Military Order of the Loyal Legion, 
 shortly after the close of the Spanish war, I was in conversa- 
 tion with the late Colonel Asa Bird Gardiner, when Colonel 
 
262 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Roosevelt was announced and was received with acclamation. 
 He was then candidate for governor. Colonel Gardiner im- 
 mediately left the room and his unfinished dinner, saying that 
 the affair was a campaign trick. When Colonel Roosevelt 
 was told of the occurrence at the time, he good humoredly 
 repeated this nursery rhyme : 
 
 "Little Miss Muffet 
 Sat on a tuffet, 
 
 Eating of curds and whey. 
 There came a big spider 
 And sat down beside her, 
 
 And frightened Miss Muffet away." 
 
 During his term as Governor I wrote to say that I should 
 be in Albany on a certain day, and with his permission would 
 like to call and renew our acquaintance. After sending in 
 my card on the day appointed, Colonel Treadwell, the secre- 
 tary, came to me and wanted to know if it was on business 
 that I wished to see the Governor, adding that it was the last 
 day of the legislative session, and that he was quite over- 
 whelmed with affairs. I replied that my call was social only, 
 and I handed him Mr. Roosevelt's note. When in a few 
 moments I was ushered into the presence of the busy execu- 
 tive, I realized that it was indeed an unfortunate moment for 
 a social call. The large room was literally filled with men, 
 and the scene presented was one of bustling activity. Mr. 
 Roosevelt, who was standing in the centre of the room, 
 greeted me with a hearty handshake and immediately began 
 to talk. He spoke of their family physician, Dr. John T. 
 Metcalfe, about whom I write further on in these sketches, 
 and who had sent the Colonel as a small boy to me for special 
 treatment. He referred with some glee to the remark I had 
 made about him as a boy, to the effect that "he ought to 
 make his way in the world, but the difficulty was that he had a 
 rich father." He said he would like to have me see his boy, 
 Teddy, who was then about the same age as he himself when 
 he was coming to me. "And they do say," he added, "that he 
 is very much like his father." 
 
 Then without any preliminary adieux, he darted forth his 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 263 
 
 hand, and with a "so glad to have seen you," turned like a 
 flash to his interrupted conferences with others. 
 
 Some years after I did have the pleasure of meeting Teddy, 
 Jr., for a moment, and remember him as a charmingly polite 
 boy. He and his fine brothers have since shown themselves to 
 be the best of citizens and the bravest of soldiers. 
 
 It was shortly after the assassination of President McKin- 
 ley. As I was driving along the road leading to the Roosevelt 
 home in Oyster Bay, I saw a bareheaded boy busily engaged 
 in poking up some small animals, and I asked him whose house 
 it was that I saw — "It is Governor Roosevelt's house," he 
 modestly said. "Oh, no," I replied, "You mean President 
 Roosevelt." "Yes," he answered, "President Roosevelt," as 
 if appreciating for the first time the new honor that had come 
 to his father; for the bareheaded boy was Theodore Roose- 
 velt, Jr. 
 
 My perhaps rather intrusive letters to Mr. Roosevelt, in- 
 cluding those written when he was made assistant secretary 
 of the Navy, governor, and vice-president were all duly ac- 
 knowledged; but when he became president it was Mr. Cor- 
 telyou who replied. This was not quite what I wanted, and so 
 shortly before the close of the presidential term I wrote that 
 I would now like a letter from the President himself, adding 
 that I thought myself entitled to this, because when he was a 
 boy, I had told his father that the three things the son needed 
 were change, plenty of fresh air, and exercise. "You had the 
 change soon after in going abroad," I wrote, "and according 
 to current report you still keep up the exercise." In his reply 
 the President said that he was much amused at my memory 
 of the advice I had given to his father. 
 
 The last time that I had the pleasure of meeting Colonel 
 Roosevelt was at the dedication of the Orthopedic Hospital in 
 East Fifty-eighth Street, when he was the speaker. His father 
 had been one of the founders and benefactors of this splendid 
 charity, and as I well remember, was deeply interested in its 
 success. In his address the Colonel alluded to his father as 
 the best man he ever knew! In greeting Mr. Roosevelt after 
 the lecture, I told him that I could say that his father was at 
 least one of the best men that I had ever known. 
 
 Theodore Roosevelt was a great and a good man. If he 
 
264 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 had had no faults he would not have been human, and it is 
 because he was so human that men loved him so much. His 
 supreme service to his country — in the estimation of many — 
 was in being instrumental more than any other man in saving 
 it from the purchase of peace at the cost of honor. 
 
CHAPTER XLI 
 
 WILLIAM T. SHERMAN COMMODORE C. VANDERBILT 
 
 HENRY WARD BEECHER JUDGE WILLIAM FULLERTON 
 
 BENJAMIN F. TRACY 
 
 GENERAL SHERMAN was one of those genial souls 
 who never seem to have a thought of their own mili- 
 tary preeminence. He was quite unlike General How- 
 ard, one of his army commanders in the March to the Sea, a 
 man for whom Sherman had a high regard. 
 
 Howard was a very religious and sincere man, but in his 
 presence and in his conversation I could not divest myself of 
 the feeling that there was a manifest self-consciousness and 
 perhaps vanity in too large a degree for a truly great man. I 
 will not say that he paraded his religious personality, but it 
 seemed to me and I think to others that he emphasized it at 
 inopportune times. I recall an exceedingly interesting meeting 
 of the Loyal Legion when Sherman, Howard, Horace Porter, 
 and other eminent Civil War veterans were present. In some 
 way or other, and through General Howard's initiative, there 
 occurred a certain religious trend to the speeches. Following 
 Howard, Porter gave one of his witty talks. He said one time 
 he was on his way with dispatches for General Grant at Chat- 
 tanooga, when he heard that the great battles were in prog- 
 ress. The train seemed to creep, so anxious was he, when 
 suddenly he recollected that Howard was there, and he knew 
 Howard would take Missionary Ridge. And finally, I recall 
 with what earnestness Sherman spoke, as he said: "Gentle- 
 men, it makes no difference what you call Him, God, Jehovah, 
 or the First Great Cause, the only thing for you and for me 
 is to be good men." 
 
 General Sherman was as sincere and straightforward as a 
 child, and with a character that could not be crushed into any 
 foreign mold; that is to say, he was without affectation. 
 
 Men who might not be considered affected will often do 
 things for effect, but I cannot imagine General Sherman, any 
 more than I can imagine Mr. Beecher, posing for effect. As 
 
 265 
 
266 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 in the poetry of Burns, there were "tears and consuming fire," 
 so in the altogether kind and genial nature of Sherman there 
 lurked the lightning that needed only provocation to blast 
 wherever it struck. His reply to the Confederate General 
 Hood, who accused him of unchivalrous conduct at the siege 
 of Atlanta, instead of a defence was a withering philippic. 
 
 The first of many subsequent meetings with General Sher- 
 man occurred in this wise : Late one evening, I boarded an 
 elevated train at Forty-second Street. There was a great 
 crowd, and on the platform I found myself next to the Gen- 
 eral, who was returning from the Union League Club. Here 
 was my opportunity, and I said, "How do you do, General 
 Sherman." 
 
 "Who is it — who is it?" he asked in a quick, nervous way, 
 using the expression twice, as I found was often his habit. 
 
 "I am quite unknown to you, General. My only claim is 
 that of an old soldier." 
 
 "Well," he said, "I am glad to greet any old soldier." 
 
 And then we talked about Grant and Sheridan, and among 
 other things about the prospective growth of New York. My 
 young son was standing beside him, and in concluding some 
 prophecy in regard to this growth, he said to me, putting his 
 arm over the shoulder of the lad and pressing him to him, 
 "You and I may never see it, but this boy will." A few weeks 
 after, I again met the general on his way home from a gather- 
 ing of the Loyal Legion, and he was alone. I greeted him, 
 and as before he said, "Who is it — who is it?" I gave him 
 my name, and he pointed to my black dress-shirt protector, 
 worn in those days, saying: "I thought you were a preacher." 
 He chatted in a very interesting manner all the way to his 
 station at Seventy-second Street and was especially communi- 
 cative in answer to a question in regard to the preposterous 
 rumor that had spread through the country in the earlier part 
 of the war, as to his supposed mental deficiency. With an un- 
 erring prescience, which was one of his most remarkable gifts, 
 as related at least to his conception of the magnitude and char- 
 acter of the war, he had insisted that an army of two hundred 
 thousand men were needed in the section in which he served, 
 Kentucky and Tennessee. For this he was charged with a cer- 
 tain unsoundness of mind by the press from one end of the 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 267 
 
 country to the other. Indeed it came very nearly ending his 
 military career and the loss to the country of his great abilities. 
 "This accusation," he said, "was one of the most trying I was 
 ever called upon to face," and the tone in which he repeated, 
 "and they called me crazy!" indicated that time had not alto- 
 gether obliterated the sense of wrong. 
 
 As he was about to go, I remarked that it had almost es- 
 caped my mind to give him a message. The boy whom he 
 met some weeks before charged me to be particular to give 
 his regards to his friend, General Sherman. "That's right," 
 said the General, "tell the boy to come in some morning on 
 his way to school and see me." I think no further illustration 
 is necessary to show the truth of my statement, that this great 
 and sometimes rough warrior was as simple and straightfor- 
 ward as a child. To those who wish an acquaintance with his 
 far-reaching vision, I commend the letters that passed between 
 him and his brother, John Sherman, during the years be- 
 tween '61 and '64, during the war. He was without question 
 the most picturesque, at least on the Union side, of the great 
 figures of our Civil War. 
 
 Few personalities have interested me more than that of 
 Commodore Vanderbilt. There were so many stories current 
 of his brusque peculiarities, that when the late Dr. Linsly, 
 his family physician, called and said he would like to have me 
 go and see the Commodore, I expressed some hesitancy. "You 
 need fear nothing," was the reply. "He will treat you well, 
 only he may want to get it done as cheaply as possible." 
 Armed with the doctor's card of introduction, I went to the 
 Commodore's house in Waverley Place, and was told he was 
 in his office on Fourth Street in the rear. Entering the build- 
 ing, I saw him talking with a gentleman in an adjoining room. 
 "Hello there, what do you want?" he called out. I said noth- 
 ing, but handed him the card of introduction. "Oh, you are 
 the doctor, are you ? Well, sit down out there, will you, until I 
 get through?" He soon called me, and began to question me, 
 as if I had been a schoolboy, instead of a young professional 
 man who thought he was achieving some sort of reputation 
 and held the dignity of his position in high regard. I mani- 
 fested no outward objection, for was it not the great and 
 
268 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 unique Commodore, known throughout the land as its richest 
 man? Finally he said, "Well, let's go into the house." He 
 stopped at his stables on the way, patted his horses, of whom 
 he seemed very fond, and led the way up to his "den." And 
 it was truly a den — a den of disorder, plain as a pipe-stem, 
 with its contents scattered around in great disorder. It was 
 evident that the Commodore, like many another man, did not 
 care much for meddlesome interfering in the way of tidying 
 up. "Do you think you can help me?" he asked. "I think I 
 can," was my reply. "What are you going to do?" I told 
 him as briefly as possible. He then pulled from under his 
 desk a little old-fashioned rotary electric machine and wanted 
 to know if I could make it go. I made it "go." "Is it any 
 good for your purpose?" he asked. "It is utterly worthless," 
 I replied. "How much would such a machine as you want to 
 use on me cost?" I mentioned a comparatively small amount. 
 "That's a devilish big price," he commented, "for such a thing 
 as that." He mused a while, and then said aloud, as if to 
 himself, "I wonder what I had better do?" "Mr. Vanderbilt," 
 I said, "would you like to have me tell you what you had better 
 do?" "Yes." "Well, sir, it is very evident that the subject 
 is entirely out of your province. You know nothing about it, 
 and you had better waste no more time, but come to my office 
 and let me treat you according to my best judgment." This 
 reply evidently did not in the least displease the old gentleman. 
 He smiled good-naturedly and said, "Where is your office?" 
 I told him. "I will be there at eleven o'clock sharp to-mor- 
 row morning." Mr. Vanderbilt was punctual to the minute, 
 and thereafter, as long as he came to me, I never needed the 
 clock to tell when it was eleven o'clock. However rough and 
 severe he might sometimes have been to others, to me he was 
 always courteous and agreeable, and while I may be mistaken, 
 I hold the idea that my rather straightforward and independent 
 attitude toward him rather helped me in his esteem than other- 
 wise. He was very fond of talking and did most of it, giving 
 his views positively and without reserve on a great variety of 
 subjects. He seemed interested in my army experiences, and 
 was full of patriotism, and to my word of praise for his munifi- 
 cent gift to the government of a million-dollar steamship, he 
 answered modestly and made light of the whole matter. His 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 269 
 
 opinion of Mr. Chase was that he was a good man, but didn't 
 know much about money. "No," I remarked, with a slight 
 attempt at humor, "he has not succeeded in accumulating a 
 great deal." "I don't mean that," he answered. "Chase was 
 honest, but in the management of the finances of the country 
 he did things the wrong way." Of lawyers he did not seem 
 to have a very exalted opinion. To one of this honorable pro- 
 fession and related to him, he is said to have remarked, "You 
 can be more kinds of a d — n fool than any man I know." In 
 regard to lawyers generally, he said sententiously, with a 
 grammatical lapse not unusual with him, "Lawyers don't 
 know nothing. They talk too much." He illustrated this in 
 a reference to his difficulties with the banking firm of the 
 Barings in England. "I went over," he said, "and took two 
 of the best lawyers in New York with me. We met and we 
 met, and we talked and we talked, and that was all the good 
 it did. So I called my two lawyers to me one day and said 
 to them that we would have one more meeting and one only, 
 and you may talk two hours apiece, but when you have had 
 your say, stop talking and let me talk. We met and each of 
 them talked two hours. When it came my turn," said Mr. 
 Vanderbilt, bringing his hand down rather heavily on the 
 table, "I said: 'I don't sign it!' and that ended the matter." 
 
 The prediction that Mr. Vanderbilt would "want to get it 
 done as cheaply as possible" was not fulfilled. When through, 
 he simply said, "How much do I owe you, sonny?" and paid 
 his bill. Mr. Vanderbilt was about eighty-four years of age 
 and a more venerable and imposing personality was seldom 
 seen. He was tall and well-formed, with regular features, 
 and wi:h his invariable white tie a stranger might readily mis- 
 take him in repose for a distinguished Presbyteran clergyman. 
 
 Various members of the Vanderbilt family came to me sub- 
 sequently for professional aid, but none interested me as did 
 the Commodore, unless I except the Commodore's brother, 
 Captain Jacob Vanderbilt. He, too, looked like a parson, 
 with his white necktie. When his bill was sent he seemed in 
 no haste to settle it. When we met he complained bitterly of 
 the size of the bill, which by the way, was our usual modest 
 charge, said that we were a couple of "beats," referring to Dr. 
 Beard as well, and closed with the threat that he would never 
 
270 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 send any patients to us. Dr. Beard was good enough to say- 
 that he hoped he would not do so if he, Captain Vanderbilt, 
 was a sample. This was not very polite, but not quite so im- 
 polite as the Captain's epithet of "beats." However, our 
 patient was all right at heart. He was perfectly honest in 
 his belief that he was being overcharged, for having placed 
 us on the plane of mere mechanicians, he thought the fee of a 
 mechanician only was due us. 
 
 When I think of the naturalness of General Sherman, I 
 think also of Henry Ward Beecher. These two seem to be 
 the most simply natural men I ever met, and it is altogether 
 probable that one of the explanations of the great hold Mr. 
 Beecher had on his fellow men was this absolute freedom 
 from personal vanity. I was present on that day of his trial 
 when Mr. Fullerton, of the opposing counsel, by every art 
 familiar to this great cross-examiner endeavored to entrap 
 him. Mr. Beecher never seemed to me greater than on that 
 occasion, as calmly and benignantly he grasped the arms of his 
 chair and successfully parried every fierce thrust. When the 
 court adjourned, my companion remarked to Mr. Beecher 
 that "judging from the experience through which he had so 
 successfully passed, the terrors of cross-examination should 
 be over for him." He replied most earnestly, "I cannot say. 
 I hope to be equal to the occasion, but this sort of thing is quite 
 opposed to all my habits and methods of thought." To me, 
 he was the greatest of orators. Others do not rate him so 
 highly. It is a matter of opinion, but if we accept Emerson's 
 definition of eloquence, "him we call an artist, who shall play 
 on an assembly of men, as a master on the keys of a piano, 
 who seeing the people furious, shall soften and compose them, 
 shall draw them when he will to laughter and to tears," then 
 Mr. Beecher must bear away the palm, for his triumphs in 
 this direction have been equalled by no man of his time. With 
 sublime, but unconscious egotism, he said of the howling Man- 
 chester mob, whom he finally subdued by his patience, tact and 
 magnificent oratory, "I knew if I could only get their ear, I 
 should be the master of every man of them." It is somewhat 
 of a coincidence that after the Beecher trial I should have in 
 quick succession two of the prominent opposing counsel as 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 271 
 
 patients — Mr. Fullerton, of the prosecution, and Mr. Ben- 
 jamin Tracy of the defence, afterwards Secretary of the Navy 
 in the cabinet of Mr. Harrison. So bitter was Mr. Fullerton 
 that, during the trial, he refused the proffered hand of Mr. 
 Beecher, and I was therefore not very much surprised at his 
 attitude when the subject was broached. I told him that I was 
 present at the memorable field day of the cross-examination. 
 He looked surprised but said only: "He is a slippery eel," and 
 seemed disinclined to discuss the subject further. I do not 
 wonder that he and all the counsel for the prosecution, includ- 
 ing my old war-time acquaintance, Roger A. Pryor, felt more 
 or less sore over the whole affair. They took the case know- 
 ing that any adequate remuneration was more or less doubt- 
 ful, but willing to run that risk in return for the great promi- 
 nence it would give them throughout the country. It was 
 thought that the trial would last not more than two weeks or 
 at most three. On the contrary it drew its slow length along 
 for many months, ending in their defeat. Who could blame 
 them for feeling deep chagrin? Mr. Tracy, or General Tracy 
 as he liked to be called, for he did valiant service as a soldier, 
 took naturally a very different view. His regard for Mr. 
 Beecher was earnest and sincere. He freely talked about 
 what he knew of the case in its subtle ramifications, "wheels 
 within wheels," as he expressed it, representing a bitter en- 
 mity against Mr. Beecher and a determination to ruin him. 
 An army of damaging testimony was brought against him, 
 including letters of his which might be, and were, doubly in- 
 terpreted according to individual opinion. One critic, not too 
 favorably inclined, admitted that if anyone could write a 
 certain letter that was made much of at the trial, and yet be 
 guiltless of the interpretation put upon it, that man was Mr. 
 Beecher. And this was notably true. This great open-handed, 
 open-hearted lover of his kind wore his heart upon his sleeve, 
 and as he thought and felt, so he spoke and acted, and the 
 world believes in him still. 
 
CHAPTER XLII 
 
 SENATOR JAMES W. GRIMES THE POTTERS MOSES TAYLOR 
 
 DAVID HOADLEY W. E. DODGE PETER STUYVESANT 
 
 GENERAL ARCHIBALD C. NIVEN 
 
 SENATOR JAMES W. GRIMES of Iowa was one of the 
 seven Republican senators who voted against the convic- 
 tion of Andrew Johnson in the impeachment trial. These 
 seven were subjected by their political associates to a moral 
 pressure without precedent. They were threatened in every con- 
 ceivable way, but all stood manfully by their convictions, and 
 by a majority of but one the country was saved the disgrace of 
 unjustly deposing its president. Whatever his faults, and they 
 were many, Andrew Johnson was a sturdy patriot, and as 
 governor of Tennessee had rendered inestimable services to 
 the government, both before and during the rebellion. When 
 Professor Austin Flint wrote me that he had given a letter of 
 introduction to Senator Grimes, I was interested to see what 
 manner of man he was. In manner, appearance and dress, 
 one might at first glance have taken him for a respectable 
 western farmer, but a few moments conversation revealed the 
 fact that one was conversing with a man of more than the 
 usual mentality and one worthy to represent the people in the 
 Senate. I did not appreciate this at once, for in his note to 
 me Dr. Flint referred to the mental depression of his patient, 
 so profound that moral considerations alone prevented him 
 from committing suicide. Like Mr. Chase he soon be- 
 gan to brighten, and as I had met President Johnson, and 
 knew so well the chief justice, who presided at the trial, 
 he evinced no hesitation in speaking with some freedom. He 
 was no great admirer of Mr. Johnson, but his sturdy sense of 
 justice impelled him to go counter to every consideration of 
 the lower political prudence. By voting with his party he had 
 in one sense everything to gain, and nothing to lose, but from 
 the righteous standpoint, the reverse. He did indeed lose his 
 life, for there can be no question but that the stress and strain 
 of that exciting time undermined his physical forces and short- 
 
 272 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 273 
 
 ened his days. Senator Ross, of Kansas, suffered more than 
 any of the seven. His state, to its shame, practically ostracized 
 him, and he died prematurely in Texas, poor and alone. 
 
 It was a good day's work that these men did, but they re- 
 ceived no fair day's wages for it. Their rewards recall those 
 of Milton for writing "Paradise Lost," "ten pounds paid by 
 installments, and a rather close escape from death on the 
 gallows," and Cromwell's "burial under the gallows tree near 
 Tyburn Turnpike, with his head on the gable of Westminster 
 Hall." 
 
 The Potters unquestionably make up one of the notable 
 families of America, so much so that on one occasion William 
 M. Evarts, with his inimitable wit, took occasion to play upon 
 the name. An English Potter, member of Parliament and a 
 distant connection of the American Potters, was given a din- 
 ner by the latter. Mr. Evarts in his speech said that, as he 
 surveyed the various members of the Potter family, the guest 
 of the evening, the Hon. Mr. Potter, the Rev. Dr. Henry 
 Potter, President Eliphalet Potter, General Potter, Clarkson 
 Potter, Howard Potter, and others, he felt very much as did 
 the young minister about to preach his trial sermon. In his 
 trepidation and in trembling voice he began the opening prayer 
 by saying, "O Lord, thou art the clay and we are the Potters." 
 Alonzo Potter, as bishop of Pennsylvania, his brother, Hora- 
 tio Potter, bishop of New York, to be followed by Henry 
 Codman Potter, son of the former, make up a notable ecclesi- 
 astical succession of Princes of the Church in a democracy. All 
 three were men of the very first rank. 
 
 While I had but a slight acquaintance with Bishop Henry 
 Potter, I have had pleasant professional relations with va- 
 rious members of the family, especially with Howard Potter, 
 the banker, and with Mrs. Clarkson Potter, wife of the dis- 
 tinguished lawyer and congressman. Howard Potter pos- 
 sessed in marked degree the tact and high-bred courtesy that 
 distinguished his brothers, the bishop and the congressman. 
 The latter served his country many years in that body which 
 was saved then, as it is now only partially saved, from dis- 
 graceful failure by the leaven of such able, honest, patriotic 
 men as he. Mr. Howard Potter had a unique fancy for mural 
 
274 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 inscriptions, and I remember, while waiting in his drawing 
 room, trying to bring back my lost classic lore by translating 
 the numerous Greek and Latin quotations above and around 
 me. I think I may have slightly offended him on one occa- 
 sion. Passing his house on Park Avenue, one morning on my 
 way to my office, I saw the strange sight of the faultlessly 
 dressed and dignified Mr. Potter perched high up on a ladder 
 resting against his house. He was inspecting some repairs. 
 Seeing me he hastened down and after the first greeting, said 
 he felt some slight symptoms of the old difficulty, and wanted 
 to know if a little more of my treatment might not prove a 
 prophylactic. The term, as coming from a layman (although 
 why should it), excited a humorous vein and I laid special em- 
 phasis on the word prophylactic. He looked at me sharply, 
 as if a little surprised, but made no other sign. That he held 
 no grudge was evidenced by his very pleasant greeting when 
 I met him in London a few years after. 
 
 Among the great fortunes of thirty or forty years ago was 
 that of Moses Taylor. When I saw him professionally he 
 was living on Fifth Avenue, below Twenty-third Street, and 
 had then long passed the meridian of life. Like the Com- 
 modore he was a notable-looking old man — large, dignified 
 and imposing, with fine, clear-cut features, and like the Com- 
 modore, one at whom you would turn and look a second time 
 when passing him on the street. I saw him at his house many 
 times, and he was quite as free and genial in his conversation 
 as Commodore Vanderbilt had been. He was distinctly 
 chatty, and I suppose my coming and going rather interested 
 him and helped to pass the time; for many of these men of 
 note in finance and commerce are woefully helpless and to be 
 pitied when, through age or illness, they are laid upon the 
 shelf. They have no avocation. They have formed no friend- 
 ship with books, and are devoid of internal resources. The 
 past is theirs, but it is too often the past of bitter struggles 
 and hard methods. In speaking of Vanderbilt he said, "I was 
 always afraid of the Commodore." He then alluded to some 
 schemes which the latter wanted to talk over with him once, 
 and how he eluded him. I remember well one expression he 
 used in relation to a certain possible contingency. "I would 
 have jumped down his throat," meaning, I take it, that he 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 275 
 
 would have stopped further discussion and balked the other's 
 intention. As the Commodore left $100,000,000, and Moses 
 only $40,000,000, the former had him at a disadvantage so 
 far as financial strength was concerned. 
 
 An acquaintance of mine in the old days of Harlem, by 
 name Roswell G. Rolston, had become the president of the 
 Farmers' Loan and Trust Company. When I first knew him 
 he was a bank teller, where he came to know Moses Taylor. 
 The latter became interested in him and, through Taylor's in- 
 fluence combined with his own abilities, Rolston attained this 
 highly responsible position. When Mr. Taylor learned of 
 my acquaintance with Rolston, he commissioned me to tell 
 him to come in and see him. "I told Rolston," said he, 
 "after one of his promotions, 'Young man, we are pushing 
 you ahead rather too fast, I am afraid.' " 
 
 When I sent him my account, instead of returning a check 
 he wrote asking for a bill of items. It rather disturbed me, 
 as it seemed to indicate an idea that I had overcharged him. 
 So the items were sent, and a check for the amount promptly 
 returned. It was simply his life-long habit of intimate touch 
 with every detail of business, which was the foundation of his 
 phenomenal success. 
 
 Among the patients of those earlier days, I recall Mr. 
 David Hoadley, who was or who had been the president of 
 the Panama Railroad. I remember him as a quiet, genial 
 gentleman, who talked very interestingly about that narrow 
 connecting strip of land and about the probabilities of a fu- 
 ture canal, in which, like a far-seeing man, he confidently 
 believed. 
 
 Mrs. William E. Dodge came to my office professionally for 
 a time, and Mr. Dodge accompanied her. He was very chatty 
 and agreeable, and, like both Commodore Vanderbilt and 
 Moses Taylor, having passed over the border where reminis- 
 cence takes the place of anticipation and active endeavor, he 
 was fond of talking of past events. Mr. Dodge was a phil- 
 anthropist and a good man, and of such men a nation cannot 
 have too many. Among so many virtues, one of his pardon- 
 able weaknesses was some little vanity when enumerating his 
 various benefactions. Hanging on the wall of our office was 
 
276 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 an engraving of Andover Academy. It caught his eye, and 
 he became immediately interested. "Yes," he said, with non- 
 chalance, "the institution was in need and I helped it out," 
 mentioning quite a generous sum. 
 
 All New Yorkers know the old Dodge mansion on Madison 
 Avenue near Thirty-sixth Street, next to the one occupied by 
 the late J. P. Morgan. It is one of three covering the block. 
 Long subsequently another patient, a Mrs. Colby, nee Col- 
 gate, whose house was on Twenty-third Street facing Madison 
 Avenue, told of the astonishment of the neighbors that Mr. 
 Dodge should build "so far up town," and yet it was only 
 thirteen blocks away. The Avenue was not yet paved, and in 
 wet weather was very muddy; and Thirty-sixth Street as a 
 place of residence seemed rather out of the way. I shall 
 always remember with pleasure the colored butler of Mr. 
 Dodge, whose name was Carr. He interested me for various 
 reasons. In the first place, he had been for many years and 
 during the Civil War in the employ of Stanton, the war 
 secretary, whose son was my classmate. Secondly, his daugh- 
 ter Louise was nursemaid to my own children through a series 
 of years, and few could have been more faithful or depend- 
 able. Thirdly, he was as perfect an example of a gentleman 
 in character and manner as could be found in any society. 
 When on occasions he came to visit his daughter, I always 
 experienced a certain uncomfortable feeling in the presence of 
 his courteous yet deferential attitude, his courtesy being so 
 far superior to that of many of the best of my so-called social 
 equals. I was glad to learn that Mr. Dodge at his death left 
 this faithful servitor well provided for. 
 
 The last time I ever met Mr. Dodge was on the train, as 
 we were approaching Tarrytown, his summer home. I have 
 alluded to my meeting with ex-President Hayes on that occa- 
 sion. Mr. Dodge, whose guest Mr. Hayes then was, came 
 forward to point out Sunnyside to him, the former home of 
 Washington Irving, and I recall with what interest both Mr. 
 and Mrs. Hayes looked for the first time on the home of this 
 popular writer. 
 
 About this time I was reminded of sturdy Peter Stuyvesant 
 of early colonial times, whose portrait, together with the por- 
 traits of four of his lineal decendants, now adorns the walls 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 277 
 
 of the New York Historical Society. My patient was called 
 Peter after his famous ancestor. The old Peter, as history 
 relates, planted a great row of trees, pear trees, I think, part 
 way across the island and along what is now the course of 
 Thirteenth Street. Tradition has it that when the English 
 took possession, he returned to his estate and set out these 
 trees to shut out the lower town from view. However this 
 may be, I remember some forty or more years ago, gazing on 
 a sickly decaying tree, corner of Third Avenue and Thirteenth 
 Street, carefully protected by stout iron railings and said to be 
 the last of the Stuyvesant trees. It has long since vanished, 
 but it is something to have seen this relic of a former time, 
 and to have known the descendant and namesake of him who 
 had it set out, or who possibly did the work with his own 
 hands. The main thing that I can recall about the modern 
 Peter Stuyvesant was that he bewailed his name. He said he 
 was comparatively poor, and yet because of his name, he was 
 thought to be rich and was compelled on all sides to dodge 
 excessive charges and persistent importuning for donations 
 of all kinds, both for public and private charities. 
 
 My acquaintance with General Niven, of Monticello, 
 N. Y., adjutant general of the state, who often came to my 
 office with his daughter, is worth noting because of a story he 
 told me. This story relates to General Grant at the time, 
 before the war, when he was making a precarious livelihood 
 as a real estate agent in St. Louis, under the firm name, if 
 I remember rightly, of Boggs and Grant. 
 
 An intimate friend of General Niven had his law offices in 
 the same building. This man was a judge, distinguished in 
 his profession, and of high social connections. As he passed 
 to and from his office he would often meet Grant or see him 
 sitting idly around. He formed but a moderate opinion of 
 his ability or character. He always nodded politely to him, 
 but would not have thought it according to the fitness of things 
 to assume social relations on exactly equal terms. To him 
 Grant was a harmless, rather shiftless man, who had failed 
 to make good in his profession, and whose present outlook 
 was not encouraging. He little knew the pent-up possibilities 
 in that sphinx-like, modest soul, patiently waiting for some 
 liberating touch. 
 
CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN BURROUGHS LEWIS SIMON STERNE 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER E. DELAFIELD SMITH 
 
 ALBERT BIERSTADT 
 
 MY first impression of George Francis Train, that notable 
 example of exaggerated egotism and unbalanced and 
 ill-directed philanthropic enthusiasm, was gained at a 
 lecture of his at Detroit in the early years of the Civil War. 
 His dress proclaimed his oddity. It was of blue, with glitter- 
 ing brass buttons, and during the address he held a crushable 
 operatic hat in his hand. His subject was the war then on, 
 and how to end it. It was his crazy idea that he should be 
 designated by the President as a committee of one to interview 
 Jefferson Davis. It would seem, therefore, that there was 
 some precedent for Mr. Henry Ford's quixotic idea of his 
 "Peace Ship" journey. Just what Train's scheme was I do 
 not now recall, but he was wonderfully fluent and had con- 
 siderable oratorical skill. It was many years after when I next 
 saw him in New York at a Turkish bath establishment. A 
 number of us were seated in the hot room "in puris naturali- 
 bus" listening to a dogmatic lecture from another on the prin- 
 ciples of health, especially as related to the hot air bath. The 
 speaker was intensely amusing and everyone enjoyed it. He 
 spoke as if with authority and imperiously waved aside every 
 objection. So absurd were some of his hygienic propositions 
 that I finally joined the discussion and pointed out some of 
 his inconsistencies, whereupon he inquired if I were not a physi- 
 cian. When I answered affirmatively, he said no more, but 
 quietly withdrew. I was then told by one of the men that our 
 friend was George Francis Train, and that his fad at that 
 time was to take six Turkish baths a day. 
 
 Train lived at the Ashland House for many years, and he 
 could be seen almost any fine day seated on a bench in Madi- 
 son Square Park surrounded by children, with whom he liked 
 to talk. He would shake hands with them, but with no one 
 over twelve years old, since from children he received a cer- 
 
 278 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 279 
 
 tain beneficial magnetic influence which would be extracted 
 from him by contact with older persons. I never knew how 
 he reconciled this theory with the logical conclusion that the 
 children might suffer a magnetic loss in shaking hands with 
 him. I sometimes stopped and had a word with him, and on 
 one occasion when, surrounded by his youthful comrades, I 
 placed my hand on the back of the bench on which he was 
 sitting, he earnestly requested me to remove it. 
 
 If any man was ever the victim of profound mental aliena- 
 tion, Train was, and yet for many years in earlier days he was 
 the head and front of great street railroad enterprises both 
 here and in England. He was a harmless vagary — with great 
 natural gifts, and it was never thought necessary to con- 
 fine him. 
 
 I am greatly indebted to a patient, Mr. Burroughs Lewis, an 
 English gentleman who first introduced me to the delights of 
 Anthony Trollope. We were talking about literary matters 
 in general, when in reply to a remark of mine that I knew 
 very little about the social life of the English people, he asked 
 me if I had ever read Anthony Trollope. I answered in the 
 negative, and he advised me to take him up, since I would 
 find in his works unsurpassed portraitures of English life and 
 manners. This was forty-five years ago, and I have been 
 reading Trollope ever since. In the midst of so much modern 
 fictional trash, I commend him to the American reader. He 
 is not very deep or profound, and, in comparison with some 
 others, perhaps skims only the surface of human hopes and 
 fears, yet he knew the people and the times in which he lived, 
 and has depicted their salient points so correctly, so vigorously, 
 so charmingly, that one seldom tires even under the prolixity 
 of some of his analytical characterizations. I suppose it 
 would be heresy to rank him with Thackeray, yet far more 
 than Thackeray has he dealt with all English types, urban, 
 suburban, and pure country, and with a Trollope story in one's 
 hand one can get absorbed without excitement, and forget 
 care more easily than with any other author. It will pay to 
 read his autobiography, for a more interesting, frankly ego- 
 tistical one has seldom been written. "Have you ever read 
 the novels of Anthony Trollope?" once wrote Nathaniel 
 
2 8o RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Hawthorne. "It is odd enough," he says, "that my own in- 
 dividual taste is for quite another class of works than those 
 which I myself am able to write. His precisely suit my taste, 
 solid and substantial, written on the strength of beef and 
 through the inspiration of ale, and just as real as if some 
 giant had hewn a great lump out of the earth and put it under 
 a glass case, with all its inhabitants going about their daily 
 business, and not suspecting that they were being made a 
 show of." 
 
 Simon Sterne, whom I had the pleasure of knowing profes- 
 sionally, was a man of fine character and sterling worth. I 
 was especially impressed with his hatred of shams, combined 
 with a touch of cynical humor. In his day he took an active 
 part in the purification of municipal politics, and was one of 
 the founders of the American Free Trade League, writing 
 much on economical subjects. 
 
 Charles Scribner, the publisher, I also remember with much 
 pleasure as an exceedingly kindly, genial man. We agreed 
 that the year 1840 held for us a common interest, as in that 
 year he was graduated at Princeton, and I was born. He was 
 the founder of the house of Scribner & Co., and of the "Scrib- 
 ner's Magazine" which followed the "Hours at Home," so 
 popular in its time. In 1881 he sold the magazine but not the 
 name, which was changed to "The Century," with the proviso 
 that for five years the firm of Scribner and Company could 
 not use its name for any serial publication. 
 
 E. Delafield Smith was another patient, much in the public 
 eye a generation ago, and it was a pleasure to know him and 
 to talk with him. At that time he was corporation counsel 
 for the city of New York, and formerly had been United 
 States district attorney for the Southern District of New 
 York. He was very successful as a lawyer and had large legal 
 ability. He loved literature, too, and was the author of sev- 
 eral poems. In 1862 Nathaniel Gordon, master of the slave 
 ship Eric, was convicted through the efforts of Smith and was 
 hung, and one John Andrews, a leader of the draft riots, was 
 also convicted following his vigorous prosecution. 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 281 
 
 I must not omit to mention the name of Albert Bierstadt, 
 the artist, who in his day had a fame all his own. His sister 
 was the patient, but I saw Mr. Bierstadt often, both in his 
 studio and elsewhere. I found him rather reserved and seem- 
 ingly a somewhat disappointed man. Formerly his pictures 
 had been in great demand and he had received high prices. 
 He had spent a great deal of time in the Far West, and his 
 canvasses represented much of the wild scenery there. In the 
 Capitol at Washington hang several of his great paintings, 
 one of which I remember as being the "Discovery of the Hud- 
 son River." Another, "Lander's Peak in the Rocky Moun- 
 tains," was sold for $25,000 which in those early days was 
 a great price. Bierstadt was a friend of President Arthur, 
 and I am under the impression that one of his large paintings 
 hangs or did hang in the White House through the interest 
 and favor of his friend, the President. His disappointment 
 to which I have alluded was due, I imagine, to the fact that his 
 work was no longer much in favor, and his pictures did not 
 sell well. After my services to his sister had been rendered, 
 and my bill also rendered, she wrote me a note asking me to 
 take a small picture in payment, on the ground that it would 
 be for me "a thing of beauty and a joy forever." Subse- 
 quently Mr. Bierstadt married in his waning days, and there- 
 after I occasionally saw him beside his wife, rolling through 
 the park in a fine equipage, which seemed to indicate that 
 financial troubles were a thing of the past. 
 
CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 S. W. CRAWFORD MARK TWAIN WILLIAM M. TWEED 
 
 STEPHEN H. TYNG, JR. JUDGE H. E. DAVIES 
 
 WILLIAM S. MAYO 
 
 AT the outbreak of the Civil War, S. W. Crawford was 
 a surgeon stationed at Fort Sumter. He was more 
 military than medical in his tastes, however, and when 
 Sumter was bombarded he took to the guns and commanded 
 a battery. Resigning his commission, he entered the line, serv- 
 ing throughout the war and through successive ranks, finally 
 becoming a major general. At Antietam he succeeded Gen- 
 eral Mansfield, who was killed, as division commander. He 
 afterwards commanded the Pennsylvania Reserves, making 
 up the Third Division of the Fifth Army Corps, and I remem- 
 ber him as commanding that division during my service with 
 the Potomac army. Crawford was a faithful if not a brilliant 
 soldier, and the paralysis which ended his life in 1892 may 
 have been partly due to the strain and hardships of his four 
 years campaigning. He was under my professional care in the 
 eighties, and we enjoyed each other's reminiscences of the war, 
 and especially the last campaign ending at Appomattox. His 
 division was in the Fifth Corps, commanded by the unfor- 
 tunate Warren, and while Crawford did not say very much 
 about it, his sympathies were undoubtedly with General War- 
 ren rather than with Sheridan. Warren was a highly trained 
 and capable corps commander, and when Sheridan exercised 
 his prerogative and relieved him of his command, in these clos- 
 ing days of the war, he struck him a deadly blow. It ruined 
 Warren's hopes for the future, for, although a major general 
 of volunteers and one of the best corps commanders, he 
 received no rank in the regulars above that of lieutenant 
 colonel. To what extent Sheridan was justified in removing 
 him and replacing him with Griffin, one of Crawford's fellow 
 division commanders, I am not prepared to say. Sheridan as- 
 serted that Warren was too slow. This much is sure — they 
 never liked each other. They were different types of men, 
 
 282 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 283 
 
 and belonged to different social grades, and could not assimi- 
 late. The court-martial, which Warren subsequently de- 
 manded, made up of experienced officers of high repute, was 
 favorable to him rather than otherwise. Sheridan had said 
 that Warren's manner had not pleased him, showing evidences 
 of indifference. In regard to this, General Chamberlain, who 
 served with the Fifth Corps, and afterwards as governor of 
 Maine, gave evidence before the court that, on the occasion 
 mentioned, General Warren had not been apathetic, but ener- 
 getic. According to this officer, those who did not know Gen- 
 eral Warren's temperament might think him to be negative 
 when he was deeply intent. Instead of showing excitement, 
 he generally showed an intense concentration, and those who 
 did not know him might misjudge this deep concentrated 
 thought and purpose for apathy. It is quite likely, therefore, 
 that this gallant and meritorious officer suffered a great wrong. 
 On Little Round Top, on the battlefield of Gettysburg, stands 
 a statue of Warren. Here at least his fame is secure. It was 
 Warren who saved Little Round Top, which did as much as 
 any one thing to give the North the victory on this decisive 
 battlefield of the war. 
 
 With Mark Twain I had only a buttonhole acquaintance- 
 ship, as is sometimes said of relationships. To my regret I 
 never met him, but on one occasion a sister-in-law, a Mrs. 
 Langdon, of Elmira, was coming to me. Mr. Clemens was 
 in town to deliver a lecture, and my patient said that he was 
 coming to see me the following morning. Everything new 
 excited his curiosity, as I was told, and he wanted to see what 
 my particular method was. When the patient came, however, 
 she was not accompanied by Mark Twain. She explained that 
 the lecture of the preceding evening was a part of a sympo- 
 sium. The lecturer was full of his usual humor, spoke well, 
 and was abundantly applauded. On his way home, however, 
 he was taciturn and moody, declared he had made a fool of 
 himself, and said that the best thing for him to do was to 
 take the first morning train for Hartford. This state of mind, 
 this revulsion of feeling, she added, was with him not unusual. 
 
 A son of William M. Tweed was a pupil of my father, and 
 
284 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 so a schoolmate and playfellow of mine. Tweed, Senior, was 
 at that time, prior to the Civil War, on the bottom rung of 
 the political ladder. He was a chair-maker, and it is my 
 memory that he had some sort of a dingy office on or near 
 lower Broadway, which he used for political purposes. I well 
 remember him in those early days of the fifties, when he came 
 to the school to see his son. He was at that time a young 
 man, but he seemed old to me, and with his great, curved nose 
 and his burly frame, afterwards so familiar to the public, he 
 made a lasting impression. Complaint by his son had been 
 made of poor and insufficient food and hard beds. All un- 
 heralded, Mr. Tweed appeared upon the scene for investiga- 
 tion. He ate at the table, and punched the beds, pronouncing 
 the food good and abundant, and the beds fit for anybody. 
 What words of warning and displeasure were reserved for his 
 son, Richard, whose letter had brought his father forty miles 
 on a needless errand, I do not recall. I do, however, remem- 
 ber my father saying at that time that Mr. Tweed was very 
 slow pay, and that he made frequent visits to his dingy office 
 on Broadway to collect the monies due for his boy's tuition. 
 The golden flow of ill-gotten gains had not yet begun to stream 
 in. In the early seventies, while in the full tide of his political 
 power, I again saw him as he boarded the train at Greenwich, 
 his summer home, and instantly recognized him by the great 
 nose and face made historic by Thomas Nast. The overthrow 
 of Tweed, his arrest, imprisonment, flight, capture, and death, 
 are now matters of history. A great and good work was ac- 
 complished by Tilden, the New York Times, and other agen- 
 cies; but alas! in other forms and under cover does not the 
 same old graft hold sway? 
 
 Mrs. Tyng was a patient of mine at one time, but my ac- 
 quaintance with Dr. Stephen Tyng, Jr., was through my con- 
 nection with the free dispensary supported by his church. Here 
 I did charity work for several years, until my appointment to 
 the Woman's Hospital. The Tyngs were a family of clergy- 
 men, his father being the widely known rector of famous St. 
 George's at Stuyvesant Park, and an aggressive and more or 
 less intolerant churchman. Young Tyng, too, was a "Low 
 Churchman," a term little used now, since the better appella- 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 285 
 
 tion of "broad" prevails. As the jingle went at that time, it 
 was, "low and lazy, broad and hazy, high and crazy," but the 
 Tyngs were far from lazy, and Tyng, Jr., was a perfect dy- 
 namo of aggressive work. He was constantly kicking over the 
 traces, and found great enjoyment in so doing. Against the 
 protestations of a certain Dr. Boggs and Dr. Stubbs, he 
 preached from the pulpit of a Methodist church in New Jer- 
 sey. For this he was tried, convicted, and censured by the 
 bishop. For so slight and trivial an affair it occasioned a lot of 
 talk and newspaper comment, and I recall an editorial in one 
 of the town dailies, headed "Tyng-a-ling, a-ling." His church 
 was a fine, new, brick structure on the quiet corner of Madi- 
 son Avenue and Forty-second Street, now one of the busiest 
 and most congested parts of the city. The church has long 
 since disappeared and the society dissolved, but at the time 
 of my connection it ran its dispensary in a building near by on 
 Forty-third Street. It was at the occasional meetings of the 
 management that I had the opportunity of meeting and talking 
 with Dr. Tyng. He was a comparatively young fellow like 
 myself. About thirty, I should say, but this seemed rather 
 young to be at the head of such a large organization with so 
 many outlying interests. In connection with this trial of his I 
 recall his defiant air, and the remark that he had plucked be- 
 fore the tail feathers of plenty of such fellows as Boggs and 
 Stubbs. Like so many such human engines, he was a great 
 smoker, to the detriment of body, if not of mind. The exact 
 nature of the difficulties that led to the abandonment of his 
 ministrations I am unable to declare, but it always seemed to 
 me a very sad abandonment. He became connected with the 
 Paris branch of the Equitable Life Assurance Society, and 
 died in that city. It was his brother, the Rev. Dudley A. 
 Tyng, who, on his death-bed, used the expression, "Stand up 
 for Jesus," which was heralded and made much of in all 
 religious circles, as was that other expression by a dying 
 Methodist, "Sweeping through the gates." 
 
 Through Mrs. Davies, a patient, I had occasion to know 
 her husband, Judge Henry E. Davies, and I remember when, 
 on first meeting him, I referred to the fact that his son, Gen- 
 eral Henry E., Jr., had commanded the brigade in which I had 
 
286 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 served as surgeon, the great interest and pride he evinced in his 
 son's military career. The family was notable not only because 
 of these two, but a brother of the judge was Charles, the dis- 
 tinguished professor of mathematics at West Point, while an- 
 other brother fought at the first battle of Bull Run and became 
 a major general. In his early life Judge Davies was a part- 
 ner of a son of Chancellor Kent, later becoming corporation 
 counsel and justice of the Supreme Court. My remem- 
 brance of him is that of a man so genial and kindly that you 
 felt immediately comfortable and at home in his presence. 
 His son, the General, of whose brigade my regiment was for 
 a time a part, I did not get to know well until after the war. 
 He was a fearless soldier, and his fine aristocratic bearing, as 
 he headed his command, is fresh before me to this day. Yes, 
 he was aristocratic and exclusive, perhaps a little too much so 
 to suit some of his more plainly-reared fellow soldiers. He 
 was what one would call a natty man, from his carefully 
 twisted imperial to his neatly clad feet, and I was told that, 
 while in permanent camp, he dined apart from his staff. Some 
 called him a martinet, but he was a good soldier. One of his 
 staff I knew well, Henry E. Tremain, from Albany, just a boy, 
 a bright, rollicking, reckless, yet charming fellow. He had 
 just received his promotion to lieutenant colonel in the line, 
 and in his first fight thereafter was wounded. He was brought 
 back in an ambulance, got out unaided, and, as I proffered my 
 arm, he laughed and said, "It doesn't amount to much. I 
 don't need help." Nevertheless, within forty-eight hours he 
 was dead. It is the way of war. 
 
 In his day Dr. William S. Mayo was fairly well known as 
 an author, especially through his novel, "Never Again," which 
 I read just before I formed his acquaintance. It represents 
 very good work, and is quite interesting, although he told me 
 that his best book was "Kaloolah," or "Journeyings to the 
 Djebel Kumri," supposed to be the autobiography of Jonathan 
 Romer, describing his adventures in Africa. He was the 
 author also of "Flood and Field," or "Tales of Battle on 
 Sea and Land." He boarded, with his wife, in "Boss" 
 Tweed's former residence, corner of Forty-third Street and 
 Fifth Avenue, where I made my professional visits to them. 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 287 
 
 He was surrounded by every comfort, even luxury, had nothing 
 to do, seemingly nothing to disturb him, except his discontent 
 with things as they were. He was seldom in an amiable mood, 
 and my most distinct remembrance of him recalls him as he 
 stood looking out of the window watching the pranks of the 
 gusty March wind, complaining of the weather and everything 
 in this country as compared with other lands not his own. 
 
CHAPTER XLV 
 
 DR. R. H. GILBERT FREDERICK LOESER BENJAMIN ALTMAN 
 
 JOHN JAY CAPTAIN E. L. G. ZALINSKI 
 
 THE public who now ride on and are deafened by the 
 eternal clangor of the Metropolitan system of elevated 
 roads, little reck its small beginning, or of him whose 
 name was first associated with it. In the seventies a Dr. R. H. 
 Gilbert came to me professionally. The stress and strain of life 
 had been too much for him. His nervous system was a wreck, 
 and he lived not many years after. He it was who was the 
 originator, or at least the most efficient advocate, of the sys- 
 tem of elevated travel, and the first construction for this sys- 
 tem in this city went by his name. The Ninth Avenue road 
 was originally the Gilbert Road, but his name was soon 
 dropped as he lost control, and now is hardly a memory. The 
 fame and wealth looked for by him went to others. What the 
 merits of the case were I do not know, but I found him a 
 broken and disappointed man, with tales of imperious and un- 
 just treatment. It is simply another illustration, too often 
 seen, that he who originates reaps not always the reward. 
 
 Frederick Loeser was a man of whom I saw much both 
 in a professional and a friendly way, and for whom I had a 
 profound respect and liking. He was gradually getting away 
 from the great Brooklyn business which he had built up with 
 laborious care and foresight, and was beginning to enjoy some 
 of the leisure and bits of travel that he had so well earned. 
 He told me much of his early history. How he had come to 
 this country, poor and friendless, and had taken up the life of 
 a common peddler with his pack on his back. In character 
 he represented the higher type of the Jewish race, although 
 he had no affiliation with the Jewish religion. He was one of 
 the founders of the Society of Ethical Culture, of which 
 Felix Adler is the head in this city, and to many good works 
 he was a liberal contributor. It has been written that a man's 
 "religion is the chief fact with regard to him." But the same 
 writer goes on to say that by religion he does not mean the 
 
 288 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 289 
 
 church creed that is professed or the articles of faith that are 
 signed, "for," adds he, "we see men of all kinds of professed 
 creeds, and no creeds, attain to almost all degrees of worth or 
 worthlessness, under each or any of them." Loeser professed 
 no creed excepting the creed of right living and sane thinking. 
 In a future life he seemed little interested — only in the life 
 that was consciously his. His real feeling about the matter 
 was concisely expressed as we were driving one day on a coun- 
 try road during one of my visits to his country home. An old 
 country farmer with horse and chaise approached, both typical 
 of what had been seen for generations in that country. As we 
 passed, Loeser nodded his head and remarked, "that is my 
 idea of immortality, from father to son, one generation fol- 
 loweth another." I shall always remember him as a man who, 
 although with no creed, appreciated his vital relations to this 
 mysterious universe and his duties here as few men do, and 
 who lived a life that might well be emulated by those who 
 think they have a better understanding of and a closer relation 
 to the Infinite. 
 
 Benjamin Altman was a man of another order. Unques- 
 tionably he had many excellent traits of character, and the 
 Altman collection in the Metropolitan Museum of Art indi- 
 cates his devotion to art. As I met Mr. Altman but once, I 
 can have very little to say about him, but that meeting was in 
 a way so interesting and amusing that I venture to give it. 
 I had heard of Mr. Altman as a masterful and perhaps im- 
 perious man, and when his physician, Dr. Newton Shaffer, the 
 well-known orthopedic surgeon, requested me to see him in 
 consultation, my curiosity was aroused. At the appointed 
 hour I went to his apartments. Mr. Altman eyed me keenly 
 as I met him, and after my examination asked me if I could 
 help him. I answered that I thought I could. "Do you think 
 you can cure me in a week or two?" To this I answered, 
 "No," as he had been ill for a long time. "My opinion is," 
 he said, "if you don't succeed in a week you will not succeed 
 at all." "Mr. Altman," I replied, "you have built up a great 
 business, which clearly shows your commercial ability, but 
 when you tell me in my profession what I can and what I can- 
 not do, you speak from the fullness of your ignorance rather 
 
290 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 than your knowledge." I think we were all rather astonished 
 at my reply, including the attending physician who had called 
 me, and for a moment a painful silence prevailed. Finally 
 Mr. Airman broke the silence by saying that he had been 
 thinking of trying "hot air." "Mr. Altaian, " I said, "if you 
 have your mind on hot air, I would advise you to try it," and 
 so the interview ended. A few days after I met the doctor 
 in the street. "Mr. Altaian," he said, "didn't like what you 
 said to him the other day." "I suppose not," was my reply, 
 "and an apology is due you for speaking as I did to your 
 patient." "Not at all. I am glad you did, for that paid him 
 back for some things he has said to me." I always gaze 
 curiously at the countenance of Mr. Altman, as the eyes look 
 down on one from the wall of the Museum of Art where his 
 picture hangs. It impresses me as being far weaker, but more 
 benignant than when I first encountered him. 
 
 I had often seen John Jay from afar. At the Alpha Delta 
 Phi conventions and banquets he was a familiar figure, and 
 his kindly rubicund face and commanding figure were an asset 
 to any gathering. After a serious accident which he experi- 
 enced, I got to know him better in a professional way. He 
 was the third of his name, and although an eminently modest 
 man he did not conceal an honest pride in his ancestry. He 
 talked of anti-slavery days, and referred to his efforts in ad- 
 vocacy of the admission of a colored church to the Episcopal 
 Convention. In this he followed in the footsteps of his grand- 
 father, Chief Justice Jay, of whom it was said that he did 
 more to abolish negro bondage in his own state than any other 
 man, while his father, Judge William Jay, was foremost in the 
 subsequent anti-slavery movement. John Jay, 3rd, was born 
 in 1 8 17 and died in 1894. He was at one time minister to 
 Austria, and was counsel for many fugitive slaves. The seri- 
 ous accident that rendered him helpless and hastened his end 
 he accepted with the resignation of a well-poised mind, and 
 when I offered him sympathy, he replied in his gentle way, 
 "Yes, it is a good deal of a bore." 
 
 One October day in 1864 I found myself on an overcrowded 
 steamer on my way to rejoin my regiment at the front, during 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 291 
 
 the siege of Petersburg and Richmond. I saw a rosy-cheeked 
 boy of not more than fourteen or fifteen years wandering aim- 
 lessly about. He wore the shoulder-straps of a second lieu- 
 tenant; and, engaging him in conversation, I found that he, 
 too, was returning to duty as one of the staff of General Nel- 
 son A. Miles. He had no stateroom, and I invited him to 
 share mine. It seems that in a spirit of adventure he had a 
 few months before made his way to the front, fraternizing 
 with the non-commissioned officers and enlisted men of Gen- 
 eral Miles' headquarters, and finally attracting the attention 
 of the General himself. Through influence, President Lincoln 
 made him a second lieutenant and now though but a boy he 
 was a full-fledged staff officer, probably the youngest in the 
 Army of the Potomac. At City Point we parted, and a few 
 weeks after, at the battle of Hatcher's Run, I caught a glimpse 
 of him as he galloped over the field on some duty. During 
 the years following the war I often thought of the boy and 
 wondered what had become of him. I could not recall his 
 name, only that it was Polish. At a Loyal Legion gathering 
 many years later I was introduced to Captain E. L. G. Zalin- 
 ski, the somewhat noted inventor of the dynamite gun, and I 
 found the rosy-cheeked boy of 1864 had merged into this 
 stout, bronzed, bearded man of the nineties. Zalinski was a 
 versatile, cheery character, but I believe that his gun did not 
 prove altogether a success. At the early age of forty-six 
 he was stricken with apoplexy and came to me. For some 
 years, even when able to get around only by the aid of a 
 wheel chair and an attendant, he frequently came to Loyal 
 Legion and Post meetings. Always cheerful and optimistic, 
 and ready for a joke, he was game to the last. 
 
CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 REV. THOMAS R. SLICER MONCURE D. CONWAY WILLIAM 
 
 ASTOR J. K. EMMET REV. ISAAC K. FUNK ROBERT 
 
 A. MCCURDY ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL 
 
 THE well-known Unitarian minister, Rev. Thomas R. 
 Slicer, D.D., I have pleasure in referring to in these 
 sketches, not only because of his gifts of thought and 
 ready speech, but because in a professional way I gained a 
 high place in his confidence, perhaps not for any skill or un- 
 usual insight on my part, but on account of a lamentable lack 
 of these on the part of others. The son of a Methodist min- 
 ister of some distinction in Baltimore, Slicer himself became a 
 Methodist minister. In the shouting revivals in an earlier 
 day of that denomination, I remember his zeal and activity 
 in urging the unrepentant to the mourners' bench. His emo- 
 tional nature had full sway without let or hindrance. In a 
 few years he tired of this, and we find him preaching as a 
 Congregational minister, and soon after he became a Uni- 
 tarian. He ministered for some years among a fine people 
 in Providence, R. I. Thence he went to Buffalo, and while 
 there he was active in civil affairs and other good work out- 
 side his church. During this time I attended a medical con- 
 vention at Buffalo and met an old friend, a distinguished sur- 
 geon of that city, who indeed operated upon President 
 McKinley. He was an Episcopalian, my own denomination, 
 and when I asked him about my old friend, Slicer, he imme- 
 diately stiffened. "Slicer," he said, "is a dangerous man, and 
 does more harm to young men in a religious way than any 
 man in Buffalo." It was an amazing estimate of another 
 man's work which could only count for good. It was a strong 
 arraignment of the critical sanity of my good friend, the med- 
 ical doctor, and can only be explained by the fact that he mis- 
 took creeds for religion, and thought that the one was as vital 
 as the other. From Buffalo, Dr. Slicer came to New York 
 as minister of All Souls' Church, to succeed the famous Dr. 
 Bellows, famous not only as a minister but as the founder of 
 
 292 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 293 
 
 the greater Sanitary Commission of the Civil War. While 
 Dr. Slicer was minister in Providence he came to my office 
 in great distress of mind, saying that his physician had told 
 him he was suffering from the beginnings of locomotor ataxia, 
 and that whatever he had to do, he should do quickly. After I 
 had examined him very carefully and thoroughly, he appeal- 
 ingly asked, "What do you think, Doctor?" "Mr. Slicer," I 
 replied, "so far as locomotor ataxia is concerned, you will live 
 a hundred years." The eagerness with which he received this 
 assertion can better be imagined than described. In diagnosis 
 an unpardonable error had been made, causing intense mental 
 suffering. Later in life he again came to me, very blue. He 
 said that a physician had told him that he had synovitis (water 
 on the knee), and that he might be laid up for many months. 
 As there was nothing of the kind, I was able to so reassure 
 him, but who can overestimate the culpability of such igno- 
 rance on the part of the medical man? Notwithstanding my 
 two experiences with the same person, such flagrant examples 
 of false diagnosis, however, are rare. 
 
 The Grolier Club published Slicer's book, "From Poet 
 to Premier," limiting the edition to twelve hundred and fifty 
 copies, one of which he presented to me. In it he writes most 
 interestingly and feelingly of six men, all born in the same 
 year, 1809. The article on Lincoln is especially good, but 
 each is worthy of the personality of which it treats. 
 
 At a meeting of the Authors' Club one evening I had the 
 privilege of sitting with my friend, Dr. Titus Munson Coan, 
 whose guest I was, at the same round table with Dr. Slicer 
 and Moncure D. Conway. Conway had long given up his 
 preaching in London, and although then an old man, was in- 
 tellectually as vigorous as ever. Although bred a Methodist, 
 he was, like Emerson, plainly beyond the traditions even of 
 Unitarianism. He was positively and absolutely materialistic, 
 and that evening these two clever men, holding different views 
 regarding man's destiny, had a free field. Slicer was ready 
 and even brilliant, but compared with the deep, philosophic 
 tone of Conway's arguments, those of Slicer seemed super- 
 ficial and suffered by comparison. Conway would admit of no 
 premises for discussion that were not founded upon demon- 
 strated facts, and so easily held the advantage. 
 
294 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 If it be an honor to hold professional relationships with 
 persons of enormous wealth, then I have been somewhat hon- 
 ored in my time. The overshadowing dignity of a great 
 office ofttimes uplifts the man who holds it, but great wealth 
 alone seldom does so. 
 
 One day a gentleman came to me, soliciting my professional 
 services. He did not give his name, and on leaving paid his 
 fee in cash. He came many times thereafter, but soon left 
 his card on my table, on which was inscribed the name Wil- 
 liam Astor. Mrs. Astor accompanied him one morning, and 
 she, too, became a patient. He was about to sail for Europe, 
 and it was agreed that I should attend his wife, subsequently 
 the famous leader of New York society, at her home, and 
 suggested that, as the treatment might be prolonged, I should 
 make the charges as reasonable as possible. As I had at first, 
 when he came incognito, very much underestimated Mr. 
 Astor's financial status, and had undercharged rather than 
 overcharged him, his precaution seemed to me somewhat un- 
 necessary. At every visit to Mrs. Astor she, too, paid me in 
 cash. I remember seeing her son, John Jacob, then a boy, 
 playing about the house. It was his sad fate to go down with 
 the murdered Lusitania. Never was I made to feel more un- 
 comfortable in any professional association. Not that I was 
 treated with distinct discourtesy, but there hovered in the 
 atmosphere a nameless something which bore heavily upon 
 my amour propre, and which seemed to indicate Mrs. Astor's 
 sense of my inferiority and that my presence was simply toler- 
 ated. A number of visits were made followed by appointments 
 for subsequent days. One morning, however, a servant from 
 the house brought to my office the apparatus which I had been 
 using, and dumped it in the hallway without a word of ex- 
 planation. And thus was I dismissed. I was not sorry for 
 my dismissal, but should have preferred it in some other 
 manner. This William Astor was the second of that name, 
 and the third in descent from the original John Jacob Astor, 
 the founder of the enormous real estate holdings of the Astor 
 family. At that time Mr. Astor lived in a spacious brick 
 "building on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Thirty-fourth 
 Street, and on the other corner was the house of his brother, 
 the second John Jacob Astor, whose son, preferring England 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 295 
 
 to America, has been for many years an English subject. His 
 wealth has yielded him a peerage. The father of these two, 
 William Astor, Sr., at that time lived nearby on the corner 
 of Fifth Avenue and Thirty-fifth Street. 
 
 The William Astor whom I knew seemed to me rather a 
 cypher in affairs civic and social, and devoted to his own 
 amusements such as they were. His name was seldom seen 
 in connection with the ultra-fashionable functions of the day, 
 where his wife's name was supreme. 
 
 The quaint and old-fashioned simplicity of their lowly- 
 born ancestor stands forth in amusing contrast to the aristo- 
 cratic social status of a later generation of Astors. To an 
 acquaintance, worth only a million, Astor is credited with say- 
 ing that the former was just as happy as if he were rich, 
 and that he himself (Astor) got only his board and clothes. 
 In that interesting and informing book, "The Diary of James 
 Gallatin," the American ambassador to France, "Mr. Astor" 
 is often mentioned. The latter evidently had high admiration 
 for the ability and character of Albert Gallatin, the dis- 
 tinguished grandfather of the author of the diary, and wished 
 to take him into partnership with a fifth share in a business 
 whose profits were $100,000 a year. Mr. Gallatin refused 
 and his reputed reason was that, although he respected Mr. 
 Astor, he never could place himself upon the same level with 
 him. "Whereupon," the diarist comments, "I am not sur- 
 prised, as Astor was a butcher's son at Waldorf, came as an 
 emigrant to this country with a pack on his back. He peddled 
 furs, was very clever, and is, I believe, one of the kings of 
 the fur trade. He dined here, and ate his ice cream and peas 
 with a knife." Later he writes : "Really Mr. Astor is dread- 
 ful. Father has to be civil to him (this was in Paris), as in 
 1 8 12-13 ne rendered great services to the Treasury. He 
 came to dejeuner to-day. We were simply en famille, he sit- 
 ting next to Frances. He actually wiped his fingers on the 
 sleeves of her fresh white spencer. Mamma in discreet tones 
 said, 'Oh, Mr. Astor, I must apologize, they have forgotten 
 to give you a serviette.' I think he felt foolish." 
 
 In his day all theatregoers knew of J. K. Emmet, the actor. 
 In his line he was supreme, not only in the crowds he drew, 
 
296 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 but in the money he made. His wife was for a long time a 
 patient of mine, and Emmet, alert, talkative, and good-na- 
 turedly egotistical, frequently came to my office with her. On 
 one occasion I said that I had secured seats for her husband's 
 famous performance, which he had given hundreds of times. 
 She seemed somewhat disappointed since the "great dog" 
 which, as she explained, would add so much to the effective- 
 ness of the play, needed further drilling, and it was not the 
 intention to have him appear until the following performance. 
 In order that we might see him, however, she would get her 
 husband to call a special rehearsal, which I understood was 
 done. At all events, the dog appeared in the play and we 
 flattered ourselves that we were the recipients of an unusual 
 compliment. Emmet began life as a house painter in the 
 West, St. Louis, I think, and of their early married life Mrs. 
 Emmet told me much. In his early stage life, before fame 
 came to him, his hardships were those of many another star. 
 Mrs. Emmet told of their struggles with poverty, and their 
 hard life of travel in fufilling second- or third-class engage- 
 ments. In his palmy days, his income became so great that 
 our actor launched into all sorts of extravagant expenditures. 
 He built a fine mansion in the outskirts of Albany, but when 
 days of distress came and he was obliged to part with it, it 
 came into the possession of a famous democrat, ex-Governor 
 Hill, afterwards senator. 
 
 It was drink that ruined Emmet. He had spells of chronic 
 exaltation. His fame as an actor made him superior in his 
 own estimation to other men. Drink finally overmastered him 
 and wrought his ruin; not all at once, but the intervals of 
 sobriety grew less and less, and the length of the debauch 
 greater and greater. Once, for two years, as Mrs. Emmet 
 told me, he kept in this chronic state, and during this time she 
 did not see him. Finally he returned, worn, ragged and 
 penitent. Notwithstanding these dreadful ways, he seemed 
 to be most fond of his wife, and when money was coming in 
 he would lavish on her anything she wished. He could not 
 be induced, however, to settle upon her any sum of money. 
 He did not wish her to be independent of him, but Mrs. Em- 
 met was wise and far-seeing, for instead of spending every- 
 thing he gave her, she carefully saved until she had some 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 297 
 
 $30,000. I remember her anxiety about her son, who sub- 
 sequently went on the stage and reproduced some of his 
 father's plays. She counselled with me in regard to what 
 she considered some of her son's wayward ways, and con- 
 fessed that even as a boy he was allowed to have his own 
 separate bank account and check book. Finally the boy's bank 
 account was taken away, and he was allowed but fifty cents 
 a week, extremes of treatment which were far from wise. 
 Finally, a separation took place. Later the father died, the 
 victim of his indulgences, and of the mother's fate I never 
 knew. But she, too, probably has passed away long ere this. 
 
 One peculiarity of Emmet's addiction to drink was this: 
 He did not drink convivially. When the "spell" came over 
 him, as his wife called it, he would go alone and drink, and 
 not with boon companions. Poor fellow, it was not vice, I 
 take it, that held him in its grip, but inebriety, a veritable 
 malady, as surely fatal in most cases as the most deadly 
 disease. 
 
 Dr. Isaac K. Funk founded the firm of Funk and Wagnalls, 
 so well known as a publishing house. He came to me for 
 treatment for what is termed white atrophy of the optic nerve. 
 It was finally determined that my treatment could do nothing 
 for him, and he gradually lost his sight. Dr. Funk was in 
 many ways an interesting character, and his business ability 
 was evidenced by his success and prominence as a publisher. 
 He founded the Literary Digest, and issued the Standard 
 Dictionary. He had fads, one of which was simplified spell- 
 ing, and the other, psychic phenomena. He was the author 
 of a book entitled, "The Widow's Mite," a copy of which he 
 presented to me. It was about a coin dating from the time of 
 Christ, and which had been in the possession of Henry Ward 
 Beecher. This coin disappeared, and without going into de- 
 tails and explanations, most of which indeed, as told by Dr. 
 Funk, have escaped me, it is sufficient to say that on the occa- 
 sion of a spiritualistic seance in Brooklyn, at which the doctor 
 was present, the medium said that the coin would be found in 
 a certain obscure corner of the big safe in the publishing house 
 of Funk and Wagnalls. Search was made and it was found. 
 There can be no question concerning Dr. Funk's sincerity and 
 
298 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 honesty. He evidently did not wish to be considered a spirit- 
 ualist, and said that his mind was open and he only told the 
 facts observed along this line of research. I was indeed im- 
 pressed by his sincerity, but could easily see that there was a 
 vein of credulity in his nature that over-matched his reason- 
 ing faculties. He placed too much confidence in human testi- 
 mony and failed to eliminate the sources of error that made 
 null and void the statements of the average man in dealing 
 with the occult. I think he really believed in spiritualistic 
 phenomena, but persuaded himself that he did not quite be- 
 lieve in it, so as not to be classed as a spiritualist. 
 
 To the house of Robert McCurdy, the elder, father of 
 Robert A. McCurdy, former president of the Mutual Life In- 
 surance Company of New York, I was called to see his niece, 
 a Mrs. Salisbury, wife of Professor Salisbury of Yale. Mr. 
 McCurdy was the grandfather of twin sisters, one of whom 
 married Alexander Graham Bell, the well-known inventor of 
 the telephone, and it is because of a certain interesting reminis- 
 cence relating to the latter that I refer to this professional 
 relationship. Mr. McCurdy was chatty and agreeable, and 
 like all elderly persons fond of retrospection. On one of 
 my visits he told me that he had just received a letter from 
 his daughter, Mrs. Bell, who was then abroad. He read it 
 to me with evident pride, for it was cleverly written and 
 abounded in interesting descriptive matter. "In this room," 
 he said, "my granddaughter, Mrs. Bell, when a child, was 
 severely ill with scarlet fever, which left her perfectly deaf." 
 When the twins had grown up, Mr. Bell, then a young man, 
 with neither fame nor fortune, became a frequent visitor. 
 There was no question of his deep interest, and it was sup- 
 posed that the interest centered in the sister who could hear. 
 But no, it was the other who claimed his special affection, and 
 whom he finally married. Mr. McCurdy had much to say 
 about his distinguished son-in-law's subsequent career, all of 
 which is now known to the world. To choose a wife who is 
 deaf, is without question a wonderful tribute to the gifts and 
 graces of the one so chosen. 
 
 I recently read in the morning papers that Alexander 
 Graham Bell, who sent the first telephone message forty-one 
 years ago, and who has now reached his seventieth year, has 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 299 
 
 received the Civic Forum medal of honor for distinguished 
 public service. The original telephone instrument was ex- 
 hibited, and a large map was shown on which was outlined, by 
 means of small electric lights, the course of the transconti- 
 nental telephone line from New York to San Francisco. 
 
 Dr. Bell is a very modest man, and in his speech he en- 
 deavored to share his honors with those who had been asso- 
 ciated with him in developing the telephone; he admitted 
 that he might have some credit for blazing the trail, but was 
 embarrassed with the honor which had been done him, be- 
 cause much of it should go to the many men who have since 
 improved upon and extended its use. "Why," said he, "I am 
 not even able to understand some of the mechanisms which 
 have been introduced into the use of the telephone. When they 
 telephoned from Arlington and were heard at Eiffel Tower 
 in Paris, I could not see how it was done, nor could I under- 
 stand how an operator in Hawaii was able to pick up the 
 message." Dr. Bell told how, shortly after he got the idea 
 of the telephone in 1874, he had called on Professor Henry 
 at the Smithsonian Institution, who was then recognized as the 
 greatest authority on electricity in America. Professor Henry 
 listened to his plan kindly, and told him that he thought he 
 had the germ of a great invention. "I told him that the 
 trouble was that I did not have enough knowledge of elec- 
 tricity," said Dr. Bell. He answered, "Get it." And here 
 comes a rather interesting and unusual proposition. It is to 
 the effect that if he had known much about electricity, he would 
 never have invented the telephone. He would have thrown 
 up the idea as wildly improbable, for his study had been that 
 of sound alone. 
 
CHAPTER XLVII 
 
 ADRIAN ISELIN GEORGE KEMP JAMES B. HAGGIN 
 
 J. HOOKER HAMERSLY THE COLGATES 
 
 ASA PACKER 
 
 ADRIAN ISELIN, Sr., was a fine old New Yorker, 
 who came to me many times and whom I got to know 
 very well, as I did his son-in-law, Col. Delancey Kane, 
 so well known in New York society and in sporting circles a 
 generation ago. Mr. Iselin was of Swiss descent, and was 
 born in Switzerland, I think. He was proud of that little land 
 and of his ancestry. This was evidenced when on one occa- 
 sion there were some false, irresponsible rumors concerning 
 financial irregularity connected with the name of one of his 
 family. "The name of Iselin, such as it is, has remained un- 
 tarnished through five hundred years," said he to me. Mr. 
 Iselin was an ideal patient, and how obedient he was to the 
 behest of his family physician and the suggestion of his wife, 
 I had occasion to know. I had several times relieved him of 
 rheumatic attack by physical methods. It seems that these 
 visits to me were unknown to his family physician, who was an 
 acquaintance of mine. When Mrs. Iselin mentioned the mat- 
 ter to him, he was very much disturbed. "This is all wrong," 
 he said; "I should have been consulted. The treatment is in 
 no way indicated and may do harm, and must be stopped at 
 once." Mr. Iselin, with that fine sense of courtesy that always 
 characterized him, came to my office personally to inform me 
 of the decision of the conclave, but I am very sure that per- 
 sonally he regretted the decision. 
 
 Unquestionably Mr. Iselin was more or less of an aristo- 
 crat, but his was the aristocracy not so much of wealth as of 
 good manners, associated with genuine kindliness of feeling 
 toward his fellow men of whatsoever degree. I was im- 
 pressed by his charitable judgments of men and affairs. He 
 seemed to me a man of great purity of character. 
 
 In the early seventies of the last century, there was a brutal 
 murder which set all New York agog and became almost a 
 
 300 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 301 
 
 national sensation. A gentleman, Avery D. Putnam, was in 
 a Broadway horse car escorting a lady home from the theatre. 
 He had some words with a surly and boisterous young fellow 
 by the name of Foster, who was somewhat under the influ- 
 ence of liquor. As Mr. Putnam alighted from the car, Foster, 
 who had deliberately detached a car hook from its place, 
 was awaiting him and struck him a deadly blow. The mur- 
 derer was caught, and after a long trial was convicted and 
 hanged. The uncle of the criminal was a Mr. George Kemp, 
 a very wealthy wholesale drug merchant, well known in com- 
 mercial circles, and whose descendants are equally well known 
 in the fashionable life of the day. It so happened that the 
 brother of the murdered man, and Mr. Kemp, the uncle of 
 the murderer, were both at the time under my professional 
 care. With the latter the painful subject was never dis- 
 cussed, but Mr. Putnam talked freely about it. There had 
 been an unusual number of arrests without convictions in other 
 murder cases, and the public was in an excitable frame of 
 mind. This murderer had been caught red-handed and the 
 press universally clamored for justice. The Kemp money was 
 poured lavishly out for the defence and for the honor of the 
 name, while the Putnams, without fortune, strove as vigor- 
 ously with tongue and pen for the prosecution. The latter 
 won and the murderer was in due course convicted and exe- 
 cuted. Mr. Putnam, in his conversations with me, disclaimed 
 any feelings of vindictiveness, and his manner and words all 
 supported this statement. He felt that he was performing a 
 sacred duty to the memory of his brother and to the public as 
 well. Mr. Kemp was a large, fine-looking man, altogether 
 a gentleman in appearance, having risen, as I understood, 
 from the humble position of a porter to the head of a great 
 establishment. I think that his natural temperament was 
 rather stern and uncompromising, and this associated with an 
 irritability due to physical causes, often rendered him quick 
 to be unjust. On one occasion he was driven to the office in a 
 cab. He paid the man and a moment after opened the win- 
 dow and called to him, and asserted that he had not received 
 the correct change. The driver defended himself, whereupon 
 Mr. Kemp spoke harshly, called him an evil name, and said 
 he would never hire him again. Glancing down, he saw 
 
3 o2 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 the missing bill on the floor, whereupon, instead of apologiz- 
 ing, or even indicating that he had found the bill, he instantly 
 shut the window, and the poor fellow went away conscious of 
 his innocence, and yet under a cloud. 
 
 Mr. Kemp was, I think, more or less of a "rounder." By 
 a "rounder," I mean a rich patient who goes from one doctor 
 to another, thus helping to fill many pockets without much 
 good to himself. After a while his visits to me ceased for a 
 time. Happening in the office of my former associate, Dr. 
 Beard, one day, Mr. Kemp was announced. Under a cer- 
 tain impulse, not caring to meet him and knowing that he 
 would not care to meet me, I stepped into an adjoining small 
 room, from which there was no egress, and thus found myself 
 imprisoned for a full half hour while Beard was engaged with 
 my former patient. Beard took in the full humor of the situa- 
 tion, drawing my name into the conversation, but I am bound 
 to say that my old patient said nothing that caused any tingling 
 of the ears. Indeed, he soon left Beard and came back to me, 
 of which fact I was not slow to let the latter know. Mr. 
 Kemp was the owner of the Buckingham Hotel, opposite the 
 Catholic Cathedral, in which he took great pride. Entering 
 the hotel one morning, I saw Mr. Kemp at a little distance, 
 and was about passing without again looking when he ac- 
 costed me very pleasantly. I think he was conscious of his 
 occasional lapses from good nature in the past, for when I 
 asked him how he was, he answered that he was feeling very 
 well and was rather more amiable than he used to be. 
 
 The coincidences that occur in one's relationships with other 
 people are often interesting. A Mr. Nash owned a very fine 
 brown-stone house on Fifth Avenue, adjoining the Bucking- 
 ham Hotel, and while coming to me, unburdened his mind of 
 a great grievance. It seems that the owner of the Bucking- 
 ham had discovered that the great front stoop of the dwelling 
 house impinged a few inches on his property. It was doing 
 no harm, and, so long as he had been ignorant of the fact, had 
 occasioned no annoyance. Now, however, he was up in arms. 
 He ordered its instant removal, but the other demurred. Suit 
 was brought, and during the interregnum I was the recipient 
 of both sides of the case. Law, however, was on the side of 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 303 
 
 the Buckingham, and our friend, perforce, removed the en- 
 croaching stones. 
 
 Truly the vagaries of man passeth understanding. Directly 
 in the rear of Mr. Kemp's Fifth Avenue house stood another 
 fine house with two or three windows, one above another, 
 which overlooked the other's backyard. When the Fifth 
 Avenue house was built, its owner ordered the owner of the 
 house in the rear to seal these windows. The other demurred, 
 as in the other case, Mr. Nash had demurred. He had for 
 so long enjoyed the benefits of additional outlook, light, and 
 air that he was loath to give them up. He offered to put in 
 opaque glass windows that would not open, so that light might 
 at least be left him. But Mr. Kemp was inexorable, and as 
 nothing was done, he himself at some expense, erected a cut- 
 out that covered each window from top to bottom. The mis- 
 take was made, however, of fastening this barrier to the 
 other's house, who in exercise of his inalienable right had the 
 fastenings quickly cut away and the whole thing fell to the 
 ground. At still greater expense, Mr. Kemp put up another 
 obscurator not at all interfering with his adversary's house, 
 and to this day it still stands, mute evidence not alone of a 
 tempest in a teapot, but of the foolishness of man. 
 
 In my brief professional relationship with Mr. James B. 
 Haggin, I found him a thoroughly genial and friendly old 
 man. He died recently, joining the vast majority of my old 
 patients of special note. By this, however, it must not be in- 
 ferred that I was in any measure instrumental in causing such 
 a wholesale demise ! In fact it may rather be said that, in 
 spite of me, most of my patients lived to a ripe old age ! 
 Strange to say, I had never heard of such a man as James B. 
 Haggin, and when I called him Hagin, he said shortly, but 
 pleasantly enough, "My name is Haggin, sir, Haggin." He 
 was not very rich, as compared with some other patients men- 
 tioned in these pages — Vanderbilt, Astor, and Moses Taylor; 
 yet his estate settled up for something over twenty millions. 
 He was always a mining man, and the foundation of his for- 
 tune was laid in early California days. He was also one of 
 the leading thoroughbred breeders in the country, and owned 
 tihe well-known Elmendorf Stud Farm at Lexington, Ky. 
 
3 o 4 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 This stock farm, he told me, consisted of about eight thousand 
 acres of land which was appraised after his death at some 
 two million dollars. He was not averse to talking about his 
 early beginnings, and when I asked him some questions about 
 such a great stock farm as he owned, showing my ignorance 
 in such matters, he said he should be glad to have me come 
 to Kentucky some day and see it. His invitation was in- 
 definite and he had about the same expectation of my accept- 
 ing it, I imagine, as did Mr. Astor when he said he would like 
 me to go off with him on his yacht some day. 
 
 If Mr. J. Hooker Hamersley was neither very notable nor 
 very interesting, some members of his family were decidedly 
 so. I saw much of this Mr. Hamersley in the nineties, and 
 something also of his charming wife, who was a Miss Chis- 
 holm, and also a patient of mine. She was a devoted mother, 
 and I recall a remark she made to me regarding her own 
 children — "that whatever befalls, one must stick by them." 
 These two, a boy and a girl, I believe now inherit the family 
 fortune. Mr. Hamersley was very amiable and democratic, 
 and yet quite unmistakably proud of his forbears and the 
 family names. He was very religious so far as creed went, 
 evidently sincere, and a man of good works. In theology, 
 however, he was as narrow as a line, being a rather bigoted 
 adherent of the old-fashioned Low-Church section of Episco- 
 palianism. He was in greater sympathy with any kind of 
 non-conformist faith than with anything savoring of High 
 Churchism. To be a Methodist or a Baptist was better than 
 being a High Churchman. In making that assertion to me 
 I was able to counter it, and so in a way to show the absurdity 
 of such petty distinctions, by referring to the views of an old 
 friend who was himself a High Churchman, good and honest, 
 too. He was a clergyman, and with such prejudices and nar- 
 rowness of view that I verily believe he would have counte- 
 nanced almost atheism and no religion, rather than the reli- 
 gion of one of the outside sects. 
 
 Poor human nature, where too often blind belief means 
 more than evidence! I said that Mr. Hamersley was proud 
 of his name, and in a way rightly so. He claimed to be a 
 direct descendant of Hugo le Kinge, who went to England 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 305 
 
 about 1366, and acquired large estates known as Hamersley, 
 from which the family name was derived. However that may 
 be, his great-grandfather was William Hamersley, who was 
 born in England in 1687, came to this country, became a vestry- 
 man of Trinity, and is buried there, as is his son Andrew and his 
 grandson Lewis Carri Hamersley. John W. Hamersley of 
 the following generation, born in 1808 and father of our 
 John Hooker, led the easy opulent life of his forbears. He 
 had literary ambitions, one of his productions bearing the 
 curious and rather ambiguous title of "Chemical Changes in 
 the Eucharist." Among other families from which Mr. 
 Hamersley claimed descent or intimate connection were the 
 Hookers (the Puritan Hooker who emigrated with his flock 
 and founded Hartford), the Livingstons, Stuyvesants, Beek- 
 mans, Van Cortlands, and De Peysters. I had not the heart 
 to tell him of my own humble ancestry and family connections, 
 of the Smiths, and Comstocks, Benedicts, Keelers, Seeleys, etc. 
 I believe that I did mention the fact that my great-grand- 
 mother was a Hawley, and as this name had become of some 
 social importance and accredited wealth it excited a little in- 
 terest and seemed to raise me a peg in the estimation of my 
 good friend. 
 
 His peculiar religious prejudices were very similar to an 
 old medical acquaintance of mine who, too, was an ardent 
 Low Churchman, as well as strong and old-fashioned in his 
 medical beliefs. Speaking of a well-known and popular Low- 
 Church clergyman, who by all the ties of doctrine he should 
 have loved, he said that he would on no account attend his 
 ministrations because he was a homeopathist. The spicy part 
 of the Hamersley name, however, is associated with Louis, a 
 cousin of James Hooker, who married a Miss Lily Price of 
 Troy, N. Y. She was a daughter of a Commodore Price of 
 the United States Navy, and as a child lived nearly opposite 
 the residence of my wife's family; so as children the two be- 
 came playmates. After her husband's death, she married the 
 Duke of Marlborough, father of the present Duke, who mar- 
 ried Miss Vanderbilt. 
 
 Centenarians are so rare in fact notwithstanding the many 
 claims made for that great age, that a well-authenticated case 
 
3 o6 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 is always notable, and especially if the person is well known 
 to one. Very recently, Mrs. James B. Colgate, widow of the 
 late banker of that name, passed away in her one hundred 
 and second year. Some forty years ago I came to know Mrs. 
 Colgate very well through my professional association with 
 Mrs. Colby, the sister of her husband, James B. Colgate. 
 Mrs. Colgate being the sister of Mr. Colby, there was thus 
 a double relationship. In the winters the Colgates lived with 
 the Colbys in town, while in summer the latter lived with the 
 former in their fine mansion on the banks of the Hudson. 
 The Colgates have always been excellent people, and from 
 Mrs. Colby I learned the facts of her grandfather's flight 
 from England to this country. He was a man of extremely 
 radical views, and so outspoken in his sympathy for America 
 and France in their struggle for liberty that the government 
 decided that he should be suppressed. His name was one of 
 a list of seven men "who were to be made an example of." 
 William Pitt, with whom he went to school as a boy, was his 
 friend, and sent a private messenger from London warning 
 him of his peril and urging him to leave the country. Robert 
 Colgate gave heed, and within two weeks set sail with his 
 family for America. 
 
 In a small way his son began the manufacture of soap, and 
 to-day a great clock in Jersey City which tells the voyager up 
 and down the Hudson the time of day, marks the spot of 
 their factory, grown from small beginnings to one of the 
 greatest business developments of the country. William Col- 
 gate, the father of my patient, started the business in 1806, 
 in a two-story brick building in Dutch Street, and it is now 
 controlled, after a prosperous existence of one hundred and 
 ten years, by his five grandchildren, all brothers and sons of 
 Samuel Colgate, who succeeded his father. James B. Col- 
 gate, the other brother whom I have mentioned, was a banker. 
 His was a great name in the world of Baptists, and he was 
 fond of reminding others of his liberal contributions to that 
 sect and to its institutions, notably Colgate University. 
 
 Mr. Robert Colgate, another brother, I also knew well in 
 a professional way. For many years he suffered from a form 
 of paralysis that rendered him quite helpless, but he was al- 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 307 
 
 ways genial and considerate, free from vanity, with a most 
 pleasing personality in every way. 
 
 Mr. James B. Colgate's invariable order to the waiter in 
 his restaurant downtown, was "roast beef rare and gravy 
 from the dish." One day returning to the Stock Exchange, 
 the young brokers formed in a long line behind him and step- 
 ping in unison roared out, "roast beef rare and gravy from 
 the dish." Perhaps he took it as an evidence of popularity, 
 but I imagine it was a little bit of hazing, innocently derisive. 
 Some years subsequently Robert Colgate, Jr., came to me, 
 and in the course of the treatment quite an incision in the 
 neck had to be made. A quarter of a century afterward, 
 when I went to Flushing to live, I was told that he resided 
 there. I had forgotten his face, but remembered the scar and 
 was able to pick him out in a crowd. He, too, like his father, 
 was genial and kind, and always a gentleman, and my profes- 
 sional association with his aunt, Mrs. Colby, in her long and 
 painful illness, revealed a character of patience and beautiful 
 resignation seldom equalled. 
 
 Asa Packer was a well-known Pennsylvania railroad mag- 
 nate a generation or more ago, and one of the comparatively 
 few multi-millionaires of that time. A single professional 
 relationship with the family will enforce the fact that it is 
 not always worth while to underestimate the value of your 
 own services, which I must admit, has been a rather foolish 
 habit of mine. One of that family was in a very serious con- 
 dition, and her life was in danger. Dr. Marion Sims, the 
 great surgeon, called me in and by the aid of an electrical 
 method, then new, the life of the patient was saved. It was 
 a case technically termed ectopic gestation, which I have 
 spoken of in fuller detail in another part of these memoirs. 
 The operation took but little of my time, but it seemed to me 
 that I might reasonably charge $500. It was with some 
 hesitation and misgiving that I finally adopted the suggestion 
 of my wife that $1,000 was not too much for a multi-million- 
 aire to pay for services that saved the life of his wife, and so 
 a bill of $1,000 was sent. Promptly I received a check for 
 that amount, accompanied by words of appreciation. Al- 
 though Dr. Beard was no longer associated with me in prac- 
 
3 o8 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 tice, yet I frequently saw him and at this time told him of the 
 big fee that I had in mind. "A thousand dollars, a thousand 
 dollars, a thousand dollars," echoed he in his queer way, "if a 
 thousand dollars, why not twenty-five hundred." I demurred. 
 "Come," he said, "you charge $2,500, and when you get it 
 turn over $500 of it to me for being instrumental in doubling 
 your money." "On one condition," I replied, "if I do not get 
 it, you are to pay me the $500." 
 
CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 LIEUTENANT GENERAL ADNA R. CHAFFEE MAJOR GENERAL 
 
 WILLIAM H. CARTER STEWART L. WOODFORD DR. JOHN 
 
 T. METCALFE GENERAL THOMAS W. SWEENEY 
 
 IT is one of my most treasured remembrances that for more 
 than forty years I was honored with the more or less inti- 
 mate friendship of the gallant soldier and true man, Gen- 
 eral A. R. Chaffee, the only man who ever rose from the ranks 
 of the regular army to its head. There .were few quite like 
 him, and his character and career ought ever to be an inspira- 
 tion especially to the youth of our land. A few years ago I at- 
 tended a regimental reunion at Warren, Ohio. Pointing 
 across the street to the entrance of the court house, a veteran 
 said to me, "Through that door, at the very outbreak of the 
 Civil War, I saw young Chaffee pass to enlist in the regular 
 army, where he served from almost the first battle to the clos- 
 ing scene at Appomattox." 
 
 General Chaffee never forgot his humble beginning as a 
 soldier, and always his sympathies were with the man in the 
 ranks. Though a stern and strict disciplinarian, he was no 
 martinet. When about to leave the Philippines to take com- 
 mand of the Department of the East, he bade his friends 
 good-bye and turned to go. Suddenly he remembered the 
 faithful sentry at the door. He retraced his steps, held out 
 his hand, and said, "Good-bye, my man. It's a long step from 
 an enlisted man to Major General, but I took it and so may 
 you. Do your level best." A little thing to do, but under 
 the circumstances, how rare, and what an inspiration and 
 never forgettable fact in that enlisted man's career. 
 
 But Chaffee was a rare man, and self-made, and it is no 
 mean distinction to have arisen (and to be the only man who 
 has thus arisen) from the ranks of the regular army to its 
 head. He always seemed to me the personification of duty. 
 He stood through his whole career for it. He was a man of 
 action, and scorned all underhanded methods. He was mod- 
 
 309 
 
310 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 esty itself, and as brave as he was modest. He was never 
 a seeker after preferment. 
 
 What he gained he gained through worthy deeds. At the 
 outset of the Spanish-American War, when he was appointed 
 Brigadier General of Volunteers, he expressed regret that it 
 came before he had earned it, failing to see that he had in real- 
 ity earned it long years before. He was without envious feeling. 
 When commander of the Military Department of the East, 
 subsequently to his good work in China and the Philippines, 
 I askd what were his chances for the lieutenant generalship. 
 His answer was characteristic. "I am not kicking. General 
 
 will probably get it. He deserves it." One of his 
 
 brother officers once said in my hearing, "More than any 
 other officer in the United States Army, Chaffee measures up 
 to every duty he is called upon to do." 
 
 I take pleasure in the thought that for forty years we have 
 corresponded in whatever portion of the globe he happened 
 to be. I have just finished looking over again many of these 
 letters. Among the first is a long one, written some forty 
 years ago, when as captain or major he was serving in the 
 wild far West as the Indian agent for the government. His 
 account of that wild life and the characteristics of the Indians 
 is most interesting, but what impressed me especially was his 
 fearless and uncompromising stand in opposition to the uni- 
 versal and scandalous treatment of these defenseless wards of 
 the nation. 
 
 Cruelty, hypocrisy, insincerity, undue self-assertion, the 
 shirking of any duty, all these were foreign to his nature. 
 And so, when at Peking he was aroused at what he believed 
 unnecessary slaughter by some of the German contingent, he 
 rode up to the commanding officer and bluntly said: "This is 
 not war; it is murder." 
 
 A letter from my cousin, Captain Bertrand Rockwell, of 
 Kansas City, and a brother-in-law of General Chaffee, throws 
 an interesting sidelight on the General's career. "Secretary 
 Hay's suggestion to Root," he writes, "to send my brother- 
 in-law, General Chaffee, to China, was wise and fortunate. 
 Hay's insistence and Chaffee's "My men will move to-mor- 
 row morning at daylight if we go alone," undoubtedly saved 
 the legation at Peking. In Sir Robert Hart's "These from 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 311 
 
 the Land of Sinim," is found the following: "If the Allied 
 forces had arrived on the 15th, and not on the 14th, not one 
 of the refugees would have escaped to tell the story of the 
 catastrophe, and worse endings than imagination pictures 
 might have been theirs." The Captain goes on to say, "while 
 Chaffee was on his way to China, I travelled with him from 
 Omaha to San Francisco, and felt that I would never see him 
 again, as I could not understand how six thousand Americans 
 and sixteen thousand others could successfully go against 
 four hundred million Chinese, and I asked what his orders 
 were. He said, 'The only orders I have now is to go after 
 Conger, the American ambassador, and get him. No doubt 
 will have more at San Francisco, and Nagasaki.' I have a 
 letter from Secretary Hay in which he says that, while 
 Chaffee's treatment of Waldersee was not diplomatic, and 
 he had to criticise, he didn't condemn, in fact silently ap- 
 proved." 
 
 General Chaffee married my cousin, Miss Annie Rockwell, 
 many years ago. It is she who tells me this story: His first 
 wife lived but a few years, during which time she was with 
 him at some far-distant frontier post. Unlike the discipline 
 of later years, the officers had little to do. Time hung 
 heavily on their hands, and to pass dreary hours there was 
 much gambling. At a late hour the Captain, as he was then, 
 came to his quarters and found his wife sitting up for him 
 and weeping. There was no need to ask the reason why, so 
 he threw into her lap his winnings for the night, amounting 
 to $600.00, and told her to take it and stop crying. In sur- 
 prise she asked if it was hers to do with as she pleased, and 
 being answered in the affirmative, she threw the whole amount 
 into the blazing fire where it was promptly consumed. From 
 that day until his death the Captain never again played cards 
 for money. Through and through he was an honor to his 
 country, to his profession of arms, and to our common hu- 
 manity. As Colonel Roosevelt after the Spanish War wrote 
 of him — "He is a trump all the way through." 
 
 On a day in the spring or summer of 1868, a young fel- 
 low came into our office, then located at 914 Broadway, 
 introducing himself as Carter from the State of Tennes- 
 
312 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 see. He told me that he held an appointment to the 
 Military Academy at West Point, from President Andrew 
 Johnson, but feared that the condition of his health might 
 prevent his being accepted. This greatly disturbed him, and 
 contributed still further to the gravity of the neurotic condi- 
 tion that gripped him. He was an excellent example of the 
 neurasthenic state about which at that time so little was 
 known, but which through the genius of Beard was soon to 
 become a household word. A course of treatment seemed 
 somewhat to benefit him, but as the day approached when it 
 became necessary to present himself at West Point for ex- 
 amination, he grew increasingly nervous. It so happened that 
 the examining surgeon at the Academy was Dr. E. J. Marsh, 
 who had been during the war, surgeon-in-chief of my division. 
 We were good friends, and armed with a letter from me to 
 Marsh, young Carter made his way, tremblingly I imagine, 
 towards the goal of his hopes and fears. In this letter, I made 
 out as strong a case for my patient as possible, asserting that 
 the disease was absolutely functional, and that time and care 
 only were needed to restore him to complete health. To what 
 degree my strong words were of avail I never knew, but the 
 young man was admitted, and for years I neither saw nor 
 heard about him. 
 
 During the Spanish-American War my cousin, Mrs. Chaffee, 
 the wife of the General, then in Cuba, was a guest at our home 
 in Flushing. One morning she received a letter from a Colonel 
 Carter, at that time Assistant Adjutant General at Washington. 
 I told my cousin of my relationship with the boy Carter in 
 years gone by, and wondered if the two could be the same. 
 In a subsequent letter to Mrs. Chaffee, he acknowledged the 
 identity and was good enough to say that he "was so glad that 
 her Dr. Rockwell was his Dr. Rockwell." Possibly he would 
 have passed the medical examination without my aid, but I 
 like to think that my letter had some weight, and that in a 
 measure it was due to me that the country for so many years 
 was served by a soldier so distinguished and worthy. 
 
 For distinguished bravery in battle with the Apache Indians, 
 General Carter received the medal of honor August 30, 1881. 
 Unlike most soldiers he has also achieved distinction as an 
 author, and although now retired from active service, he still 
 continues his interesting and instructive contributions to such 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 313 
 
 periodicals as the North American Review and others on 
 subjects connected with his profession. He commanded our 
 troops assembled on the Mexican border some years ago, and, 
 although "retired," recently resumed important military func- 
 tions in the late days of national peril. 
 
 He and Chaffee were warm friends, and he has recently 
 written and published the biography of that fine soldier. 
 
 It was during the summer of 1856 that I first heard Stewart 
 L. Woodford speak, followed by a friendship these many 
 years. The Academy of Music, corner of Fourteenth Street 
 and Irving Place, had been but recently completed and was the 
 pride of the town. It stood on its outskirts and doubtless 
 there were those who thought it absurd to build such a fine 
 structure so far away. It was the famous campaign year of 
 Fremont and Buchanan, and there was a great Republican 
 gathering at the new Academy. The building was crowded, 
 and I had a fine seat. The enthusiasm was intense, and after 
 several speakers had been heard, the crowd began to call 
 loudly for a famous lawyer named Chauncy Shaffer. The 
 chairman came to the front when quiet had been restored, said 
 that he would introduce to them a young man who had done 
 good work in the campaign, and then introduced Woodford. 
 A young man came forward who seemed to me to be not more 
 than eighteen or twenty years of age, although he was twenty- 
 two. He was pale and evidently frightened, and I remember 
 well the opening lines of his ten-minute speech. He began, 
 "When I was a little child, I loved to sit upon my mother's 
 knee and lay my head against her heart, and feel its beatings, 
 telling so truly of love and affection for me. So, too, in my 
 early manhood I loved to lay my head against the people's 
 hearts, etc." It was but a boyish speech, but because of his 
 youth and a certain eloquence his remarks were well received 
 and he retired amid a storm of applause. Later in the cam- 
 paign he spoke in New Canaan and stayed at my father's 
 house all night. I told him I had heard his speech at the 
 academy a few months earlier. He was interested and said 
 that, when he saw the great audience, he was terrified and 
 begged to be let off. When he advanced to make his speech 
 he was dazed and everything seemed in a whirl. To use his 
 own expression, his pants seemed too large for his legs, 
 
3 i4 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 "And," said he, "if I had not known my speech as well as I 
 know the Lord's Prayer, I should have failed utterly." Wood- 
 ford's subsequent career was a notable and honorable one. 
 In the war he reached the grade of brigadier general. If not 
 a great lawyer, he ranked well and became lieutenant gov- 
 ernor of the State of New York. It was thought at one time 
 that he would be put on the ticket with Garfield for vice- 
 president, but Arthur was chosen, and so he narrowly escaped 
 being President. He was a good man but perhaps of hardly 
 heavy enough timber for the position of chief executive. Sub- 
 sequently, he became ambassador to Spain at the outbreak 
 of the Spanish-American War. He was afterwards elected 
 commander of the Loyal Legion of the State of New York, 
 but because of ill health he never presided. He died a few 
 months after his election. 
 
 I should indeed be wanting in a proper sense of proportion 
 and affectionate gratitude if I failed to mention the name of 
 Dr. John T. Metcalfe, at one time not only patient, but friend 
 and benefactor. He was one of the princes of his profession, 
 as truly so as Phillips Brooks was of his. Those well-known 
 physicians, T. Gaillard Thomas and William M. Polk, be- 
 gan their long careers of distinguished professional service in 
 his office, and ever held him in affectionate and reverent re- 
 gard. He held for many years the chair of clinical medi- 
 cine in the College of Physicians and Surgeons, and his clien- 
 tele included much of the highest intelligence, fashion and 
 wealth of the metropolis. Dr. Metcalfe was a West Pointer, 
 and though I can hardly say why, he seemed to remind me, in 
 the essentials of his character, of that other great Southerner, 
 Robert E. Lee. He was kindness and sympathy itself, and he 
 never seemed happier and more in his element than when he 
 could be of service to a fellow creature, and especially to 
 some struggling young man of his own profession. Dr. Met- 
 calfe was one of the first to take any sort of interest in the 
 work that Dr. Beard and I were attempting to do, and at one 
 time, if it had not been for his helping hand, our road would 
 have been discouraging indeed. He believed in our sincerity, 
 appreciated the reasonableness of our contentions, and, see- 
 ing the good results that followed the practical application of 
 our theory, sent us many patients, among the first of whom 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 315 
 
 was Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, then by no means a robust 
 boy of twelve years. Doctor Metcalfe was a fine example of 
 high-bred courtesy, but yet so great was his hatred of all 
 sham, that he could be severe. To a professional bore whose 
 reputation had preceded him, and before the unwelcome visi- 
 tor had fairly launched his shaft, Dr. Metcalfe, quickly rising, 
 said: "Excuse me, Doctor, I have something which I have 
 long wanted to show you. It is the door." One of the last 
 notes ever received from him was an acknowledgment of the 
 receipt of a copy of the sixth edition of "The Medical and 
 Surgical Uses of Electricity," which we were privileged to 
 dedicate to him. He wrote in his characteristic fashion: "My 
 dear Rockwell: — You have always been too good to me, 
 and as you grow older you don't seem to get any better. Let 
 me thank you most heartily for the honor done my poor name 
 in placing it so conspicuously to the fore in your excellent 
 book. Need I say how much pleasure I have in contrasting 
 your present eminence with that painful life of hard struggle 
 in which you were engaged when I first knew you. As ever, 
 faithfully and sincerely yours, John T. Metcalfe." 
 
 The struggle of which he speaks he did not know of at 
 the time. It was only afterwards that I alluded to it, to his 
 manifest surprise. 
 
 One summer's day a few years after the close of the Civil 
 War, while driving along the country roads around New 
 Canaan with Captain Chaffee — later Lieutenant General 
 Chaffee and Chief of Staff — we overtook a one-armed pedes- 
 trian. I knew him to be General Thomas W. Sweeny, and 
 halting, I introduced myself and the Captain. I felt sure that, 
 as old soldiers, they would be glad to meet each other, both 
 having served throughout the Civil War, and Sweeny also in 
 the Mexican War, where he lost one arm. Subsequently, Gen- 
 eral Sweeny consulted me professionally, and I got to know 
 him rather intimately, when he told me something of his varied 
 and interesting experiences in the Mexican and Civil Wars, 
 and earlier still, among the Indians. General Sweeny was an 
 exceptionally modest man, and seldom spoke of his experiences 
 voluntarily. It was only by questioning that I became fairly 
 well acquainted with his career, and so I am able to tell a thing 
 
316 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 or two concerning him that will not be found in the sketch of 
 his life in the "National Cyclopedia of Biography." 
 
 Under General Sherman he commanded a division in the 
 corps of General Grenville M. Dodge and in one of our con- 
 versations he told me something about the battle of Atlanta, 
 in which his division took a prominent part. I then remarked : 
 "General Sweeny, I do not see your name in connection with 
 the March to the Sea following the battle of Atlanta." "No," 
 he replied, "after this fight I was deprived of my command 
 and placed under arrest. About noon on the day of this 
 battle," he went on to say, "my command had halted, and the 
 men were getting their coffee, when the sound of furious fight- 
 ing in the distance determined me to take advantage of a 
 commanding officer's discretionary powers in an emergency, 
 and without orders I hastened with my division to the firing 
 line." 
 
 He was sorely needed and the division did effective service 
 in repulsing the attack, besides capturing four battle flags and 
 nine hundred prisoners. General Frank P. Blair congratu- 
 lated Sweeny on his timely arrival, and said that his services 
 would not be forgotten. It seems that there was a lack of 
 cordial relations between Sweeny and General Dodge, his 
 corps commander. At General Dodge's headquarters the next 
 day an altercation occurred between the two generals relat- 
 ing to the battle just fought. The lie passed between them, 
 followed by the military enormity of the subordinate striking 
 his superior. Sweeny was placed under arrest, but appealed 
 to General Sherman to be allowed to go with his command 
 to the sea. Sherman consoled him with the assurance that all 
 the hard fighting had been done and the march through 
 Georgia would be an easy affair. 
 
 Confirmatory of this encounter with his commanding gen- 
 eral, Sweeny referred to a letter of General Sherman's in the 
 official record in which, naming General Sweeny, Sherman 
 said: "He hoped no injustice would be done to so brave and 
 deserving an officer." 
 
 In 1866 Sweeny took part, if he did not command, in the 
 Fenian invasion of Canada — a quixotic scheme. For this he 
 was disciplined by our government, but later, in view of his 
 patriotic services, he was restored to his former rank in the 
 regular army. 
 
CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 JOSEPH COOK REV. WILLIAM H. H. MURRAY GOVERNOR 
 
 DANIEL HENRY CHAMBERLAIN MARC KLAW CAPTAIN 
 
 FREDERICK HOBART 
 
 THE first three of these notable and somewhat famous 
 men in their day were all classmates and friends of my 
 partner Dr. Beard, at Yale College, and came occa- 
 sionally to our office either on friendly visits or for profes- 
 sional advice. Joseph Cook was a singularly interesting char- 
 acter. Websterian in physique, and with a majestic delivery, 
 he captured his audiences always, and for some years he held 
 sway in Boston as its most popular lecturer. His Boston 
 Monday Lectures in 1873 and '74 drew crowded audiences at 
 Tremont Temple. They were devoted mostly to the subjects 
 of religion, science, and current reforms, and, as he attempted 
 to harmonize modern science with the teachings of the Bible, 
 he was regarded with much favor by all the churches, with- 
 out regard to denomination. 
 
 In 1880, he was invited to make a lecturing tour of the 
 world, and was greeted by immense audiences everywhere. 
 Two of his most popular lectures, as I seem to remember, 
 were: "Does Death End All?" and "Certainties in Religion." 
 He wrote many books in the line of his work, and the one 
 on biology was revised and corrected by Dr. Beard. 
 
 I recall my first meeting with Joseph Cook, as he was walk- 
 ing along the street with Dr. Beard. He was at the full flood 
 of his popularity, and I was quite overwhelmed with the cor- 
 dial grandeur of his greeting. He spoke of our professional 
 work, and in his explosive manner said: "I am proud of you, 
 sir — proud of you both." After a few moments' conversa- 
 tion I passed on, but in a moment he turned and called out in 
 stentorian tones : "If you find out anything new in physiology, 
 let me know, will you?" 
 
 Cook was born near Lake George, and had a pleasant coun- 
 try place in that region. I called upon him one day while 
 spending a little time in the neighborhood, and was welcomed 
 
 3i7 
 
3 i 8 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 in his characteristic, cordial manner. When about to leave I 
 said to him: "Are you aware, Mr. Cook, that you have been 
 mistaken for Mark Twain?" "Why no," he replied with a 
 somewhat surprised expression of countenance. 
 
 "The story is," I said, "that an honest farmer went to Bos- 
 ton to hear Mark Twain, but instead found himself in the 
 Old South Church, and listened to one of your fine discourses 
 of high import. He did not discover his mistake, but went 
 home meditating perhaps on the qualities of humor. On 
 reaching his home, his family inquired with much interest if 
 he had heard Mark Twain. He admitted that he had heard 
 him. "And was he funny?" he was asked. "Yes," said the 
 farmer, slowly and somewhat doubtfully, "he was funny;" 
 and then with a little more animation, "but he weren't so darn 
 funny." 
 
 Joseph Cook had some of the elements of greatness. He 
 was an orator, an omnivorous reader, and was primed with 
 a thousand facts and quotations which he could at will call 
 up to confront the superficial objector. His assurance, too, 
 re-enforced by his impressive voice, figure, and manner, was 
 overwhelming. 
 
 During one of his lectures, someone disputed him and a 
 few words were exchanged — "Have you," said Mr. Cook, 
 "read so and so, and so and so?" naming a number of for- 
 eign savants, mostly Germans. His antagonist admitted that 
 he had not. "Then go home and read them, and when you 
 have done so I will talk with you." 
 
 But Joseph Cook, it must be admitted, was not only more 
 or less superficial, but he was also in every sense a special 
 pleader, and no special pleader, along scientific lines at least, 
 can achieve lasting fame. He contributed little to the world's 
 equipment, and although he would not admit it and probably 
 did not think it, he was not so much seeking pure truth as he 
 was earnest in his search for arguments — to prove the infal- 
 libility of the creed in which he had been reared. 
 
 Rev. William H. H. Murray, popularly known as "Adiron- 
 dack Murray" because of his early adventures in that region 
 and the books he wrote about it, was as interesting as his 
 classmate, Cook. When pastor of a Congregational church in 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 319 
 
 Meriden, Conn., he regularly mailed to our office every Mon- 
 day morning, the local paper containing the full report of 
 his sermon of the preceding day. These sermons abounded in 
 startling and sensational surprises, which kept his hearers in 
 an eager state of expectancy. The late Senator O. H. Piatt, 
 of Connecticut, was a member of his congregation, and an 
 admirer and intimate friend of Murray. These two were not 
 at all conventional, and moreover, were very fond of fishing. 
 I have it upon the authority of one of the congregation that, 
 during the singing of the hymn before the sermon, the 
 preacher would beckon to his deacon, and on the steps of the 
 pulpit they would quietly arrange for their fishing trip the 
 following day. In the early seventies he became pastor of the 
 Park Street Church, Boston, where for a time he held large 
 audiences, and later his Sunday evening talks in Boston Music 
 Hall were very popular. His books, "Adventures in the Wil- 
 derness," and "Adirondack Tales," in which he introduced a 
 character copied after the Leather Stocking of Cooper's stor- 
 ies, enjoyed an ephemeral popularity. Murray had gifts and 
 graces, and high ambitions. He aimed to become a second 
 Beecher, and he stood not alone in that futile aim. He, in- 
 deed, succeeded in his amibition to preach from Beecher's pul- 
 pit. He finally left the ministry and engaged in business, but 
 with little success, and died many years ago. 
 
 Daniel Henry Chamberlain, once governor of South 
 Carolina, must not be confounded with that other famous 
 Governor of Maine, Major General Joshua L. Chamberlain, 
 whom Grant in his "Memoirs" tells of promoting on the field 
 for gallantry, and asking the War Department to confirm 
 the act without delay. 
 
 Nevertheless, the Governor Chamberlain of whom I now 
 write was a notable man in his day and was endowed with 
 abilities of a very high order. His gifts and graces un- 
 doubtedly would have given him a more lasting fame if it had 
 not been for his unfortunate association with the so-called car- 
 pet-bag regime in the South after the Civil War, and the sor- 
 rows and failing health that came to him later. During the 
 last two years of the war, he saw active service, with the rank 
 of captain. Subsequently, he became a cotton planter in 
 
3 20 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 South Carolina. Later he entered politics and was succes- 
 sively elected attorney general and governor of the state. 
 In these positions he dominated the reorganization of a state 
 ruined by the war, and he did his work honestly and well. It 
 was his misfortune to be among the carpet-bag governors, 
 but he was the exception, and for this he incurred the bitter 
 hostility of the whole gang of plunderers. The Democrats 
 themselves wished to renominate him, but, for reasons of na- 
 tional politics, hesitated to do so. 
 
 The famous Confederate General Wade Hampton was his 
 opponent in his second campaign for governor, and disputed 
 his election. Both went to Washington to consult with Presi- 
 dent Hayes, with the result that Chamberlain gave way to 
 Hampton, and came to New York to take up the practice of 
 law. 
 
 It was then, in his visits to our office, that I made the ac- 
 quaintance of Governor Chamberlain, and I remember him as 
 a man of quiet dignity and unusual charm of manner. He was 
 an orator, and I recall that, as Dr. Beard at Yale was 
 awarded the Townsend prize for English composition, so 
 Chamberlain won the De Forest Medal for excellence in ora- 
 tory. In referring on one occasion to these fine records, it 
 was brought out that, while Chamberlain was also fourth in 
 standing in his class, his brother, Leander, had even a higher 
 record, as he was not only awarded the De Forest Medal, but 
 was also first in his class. 
 
 In his youth Chamberlain showed an extraordinary matur- 
 ity and power of study, and in oratory endeavored to follow 
 the method of Wendell Phillips, whom he claimed to have 
 heard more than fifty times. 
 
 In college he was regarded as the ablest politician. 
 President Woolsey called him a born leader of men, and 
 Secretary Fairchild said he was the ablest man of his time at 
 the Harvard Law School. Whether excessive or not, such 
 praise from such men indicated a high degree of merit. The 
 things that he did are mostly forgotten now, but one cannot 
 well forget his fierce and effective attack upon W. T. Jerome 
 for not prosecuting the Life Insurance Directors in New York 
 for abuse of their trusts. He was literally dying when he 
 launched this philippic, with hardly strength to write. 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 321 
 
 Chamberlain took a high rank at the New York bar, and 
 was engaged in many important cases. He had the misfor- 
 tune to lose his wife and four children, and then his health, 
 for the restoration of which he vainly sought change in travel. 
 He died in 1907. 
 
 In the year 1888 there moved into a residence opposite 
 mine, at 11 6th Street and Manhattan Avenue, a bearded 
 young man with a wife and two attractive children (boys). 
 I used to see the wife about five o'clock in the afternoon, drive 
 out with the two children in a little hickory buckboard with 
 one horse, and come back in an hour or an hour and a half 
 later with her husband in the party. I soon learned, as I was 
 called in professionally to see this little family, that the hus- 
 band was none other than Mr. Marc Klaw, senior member of 
 the prominent theatrical firm of Klaw & Erlanger. It might 
 be interesting to the public to know, for they have vague ideas 
 about the domestic relations of theatrical people, that Mr. 
 Klaw and his family were together at all hours of the day 
 and night when his business rendered it practicable. His wife, 
 by the way, though a very brilliant musician, was not profes- 
 sional and had never been on the stage. She had a beautiful 
 mezzo-soprano voice which was used for the exclusive enter- 
 tainment of her family and church singing. These were the 
 struggling days of Mr. Klaw, and, as he expressed it then and 
 has since, the most interesting of his career. He has since 
 told me that the exhilaration of the climb is the real joy of 
 the whole thing; or as he put it, "When you get to the heights 
 you usually find nothing but barren rocks and snow." 
 
 Mr. Klaw moved into the country a few years later with 
 his little family, as his wife was failing in health; and the 
 tragedy of his life was the loss of this estimable woman from 
 tuberculosis a few years later. He gave several years of his 
 time after her death to finish the early education of his boys, 
 and never married again. 
 
 Mr. Klaw is one of the most modest of men, and if his 
 name is a household word in connection with the drama, he 
 cannot very well help it. He is a good talker, and a good 
 listener, and this latter all too rare accomplishment accounts 
 in some measure for his keen insight into human nature, and 
 
322 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 his ability to gauge professional capabilities quickly and ac- 
 curately. 
 
 Captain Frederick Hobart, whom it was my privilege to see 
 many times, during his long, painful, fatal illness, illustrated 
 in his character a combination of modesty and merit to a de- 
 gree rarely equaled. He was not a man of great distinction, 
 according to the world's gauge, although highly educated and 
 of wide and solid information. He was one of those silent 
 men, silently working, whose name never appears in the morn- 
 ing newspapers. But when he spoke he spoke sense. He was 
 therefore the salt of the earth, and I take great pleasure in 
 concluding these simple sketches with this reference to a man 
 of such sterling worth. Here was a man whom all his friends 
 and daily associates addressed as Mr. Hobart. Few of these 
 were aware that he had served throughout the whole course 
 of the Civil War, attaining the rank of Captain while still 
 a mere lad, and fewer still that he had been four times 
 wounded on four different fields of battle. He never volun- 
 tarily spoke of these evidences of his heroic service. "Cap- 
 tain," I said to him one day, "were you ever wounded?" 
 "Why yes," he slowly replied, "I had rather an interesting 
 experience on one occasion." "What was it?" "A bullet 
 evidently fired by a sharpshooter, struck me in the chest, but 
 some papers in my pocket, together with an unusual weight 
 of clothing, saved me from more than a superficial flesh 
 wound." He offered no further information, but on being 
 interrogated, admitted that he had had another experience. 
 In a second engagement, a bullet passed through his thigh. 
 Again he offered no further information, but on inquiry I 
 found that he had received a third and more serious wound. 
 This time the bullet ploughed its way through the whole length 
 of the thigh, from the effects of which wound he did not re- 
 cover for many months. "I carried the bullet for seven years 
 before it was extracted," he said. Further inquiry elicited the 
 fact that there was still a fourth wound to be accounted for, 
 which the Captain acknowledged with his gentle smile. In 
 another engagement he was struck in the head and rendered un- 
 conscious, but through one of those strange freaks of fortune, 
 instead of piercing the brain, the bullet was deflected under 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 323 
 
 the scalp, coming out on the opposite side of the head. It will 
 be observed that in drawing from the Captain these interest- 
 ing experiences by a pumping process, he began with the most 
 trivial injury, where, if left to himself, the recital would have 
 ended. With the same calm and modest courage with which 
 he had faced death in a score of battles he uncomplainingly and 
 even with a measure of cheerfulness endured the pains of a 
 lingering illness. He was truly a remarkable man. One may 
 well wish to have known him better. 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 ON the anniversary of his eightieth birthday, the 
 poet Whittier received a letter of congratulation 
 from the poet Holmes, with the inquiry as to what 
 the outlook was from that serene height. 
 
 Whittier replied that the outlook was good, and 
 urged Holmes to hurry up and get there, since thenceforth 
 there was no more hill-climbing, but all was down grade to 
 the river. 
 
 As only a few months separate me from that height of four- 
 score years which so few live to reach, I am constrained to 
 say that my own view and experience accord with Whittier's. 
 The years that have passed since my retirement from the 
 more active duties of my profession have been among the 
 fullest and most satisfying of my career. Time has been mine 
 to review and to correct many impressions of men and affairs. 
 I have been able to follow a better philosophy of living, 
 "like a star unhasting, yet unresting." 
 
 I recognize the fact that more than ever it is the day of 
 young men. The old clergyman is not very much wanted, 
 neither is the old doctor; and so it comforts me to recall the 
 reply of the ancient warrior to the boasting young brave, that 
 "the seventies have all the twenties and forties in them." 
 
 And yet age is not so much a matter of years as it is a mat- 
 ter of condition of mind or body, or both. The disadvantages 
 of growing old are many and varied, but who cares to enu- 
 merate them? Youth and childhood have their disadvantages, 
 too, and I firmly believe that in many ways the child, the youth 
 and the mature man suffer more than do those who have 
 crossed the indefinable border that places them on the side 
 where the aged dwell. It is indeed a privilege to grow old and 
 it is quite worth while. Only through the experiences of the 
 years can one gain a correct idea of perspective, or a proper 
 sense of proportion. Youth cannot understand age. Youth 
 cannot even understand . . . Youth ! Those expressive 
 lines from "Sartor Resartus" come to me: 
 
 "Happy season of childhood . . . the young spirit has 
 awakened out of eternity, and knows not what we mean by 
 
 324 
 
PERSONAL SKETCHES 325 
 
 Time; as yet Time is no fast-hurrying stream, but a sportful 
 sunlit ocean; years to the child are as ages . . . Sleep on, 
 thou fair child, for thy long rough journey is at hand." 
 
 And yet who can weigh the seeming trials of childhood, 
 through groundless fears and erroneous estimation of values. 
 Although transient, these keen fears are harder because there 
 are so few who can sympathize with the woes of a child, and 
 fewer still to whom a child will confide its troubles; for a 
 child is strangely reticent! 
 
 Age is less troubled with what it has not. A serene old age 
 not only has its future, but its past as a precious possession, 
 which youth knows not of, or, if knowing, appreciates not. 
 
 To survey the past without too much regret and with no 
 bitterness at all, and with all the hurts and disappointments 
 softened by time — to put one's house in order, and to look 
 forward confidently, and unafraid, and to feel that you love 
 and are loved; to know that some of the things that used to 
 seem so vitally important are of little or no importance, and 
 that the little things are the big things after all — these are the 
 blessed privileges granted only to the old. 
 
 To me each year brings a fresh fruition, a better under- 
 standing, a broader sympathy, and a deeper appreciation. A 
 tranquillity has come into my life and a new enjoyment of 
 Truth and Beauty. Surely these are the things of worth, and 
 call for the deepest gratitude. One hardly needs heaven when 
 one already has so much. 
 
 And so long as the advancing years do not make one a bur- 
 den to others and to one's self — the culminating and supreme 
 sadness that can come to the aged — one can linger on in happi- 
 ness. We may gain heaven by grace and by the mercy of 
 God, but one cannot gain love except by deserving it, and love 
 is indeed the crown of old age. 
 
 And now I must bring these recollections to a close. I must 
 not ramble on forever. Yet, as I sit here before the fireplace, 
 faces glow kindly in the embers and many incidents come 
 back to my memory from the long ago, all unmentioned in 
 these pages. How hastily I have written ! How much more 
 interesting I would make it if I could write it all over again 
 ... of course ! Every period of retrospection will bring 
 back people, places, occurrences that merit a special place in 
 
326 RAMBLING RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 these memoirs. However, no matter how carefully or how 
 often re-written, I should always see reason for wishing it 
 could be gone over yet once more, for perfection is difficult, 
 elusive, impossible. 
 
 And so, my reader, forgive me for not saying all that could 
 have been said, and for not saying better what has been said. 
 We are friends . . . old friends, let us say, proved and im- 
 proved by time . . . and we have been sitting by the fire- 
 side together, with tobacco if you like, and even something 
 more, if the law and the conscience permitted. And so, as 
 good old friends, we have had this chat about the folks we 
 used to know. Surely the most critical can be kind in their 
 judgment of a friendly fireside talk like this. But now my 
 pipe is out, the glass is empty. The time has really come to 
 say good-night. Let me grasp your hand and press it heartily 
 as I leave you with the wish expressed in the poet's words, 
 "Life is a dream. Dream long and sweetly!" 
 
INDEX 
 
 Adelbert College, 112 
 
 Adler, Felix, 289 
 
 Agnew, Dr. Cornelius R., 217 
 
 Albro, Josh, 49 
 
 Allen, Rev. A. V. G., 97, 98, 100, 103 
 
 Alpha Delta Club House, 92 
 
 Alpha Delta Phi, 92, 182, 290 
 
 Altman, Benjamin, 289, 290 
 
 Amelia Court House, Battle of, 169 
 
 Andover Academy, 276 
 
 Andrews, John, 280 
 
 Andrews, Lorin, 82 
 
 Appomattox, 282 
 
 Appomattox, Battle of, 169 
 
 Appomattox Court House, 166 
 
 Arthur, President Chester A., 281 
 
 Ascension Hall, 83 
 
 Astor, John Jacob, 3d, 294 
 
 Astor, William, 294 
 
 Astor, Mrs. William, 294 
 
 Astor, William, Sr., 295 
 
 Authors' Club, 293 
 
 Baker, Rev. Henry D. D., 205 
 Baldwin, Adjutant Henry, 134, 153. 
 Ball, Black & Company, 64, 75, 76 
 Barings, The, 269 
 Barker, Dr. Fordyce, 125, 234 
 Barnum, P. T., 29, 30 
 Barnum's Museum, 29 
 Beard, Dr. Geo. M., 182, 183, 189, 193, 
 197, 209, 210, 212, 214, 233, 245, 261, 
 
 269, 270, 302, 307, 312, 317 
 Becker, Tracy E., 223 
 
 Beecher, Henry Ward, 72, 73, 165, 
 
 270, 297 
 
 Bell, Alex. Graham, 298, 299 
 Bellevue Hospital, 123 
 Bellows, Rev. Dr. H. W., 292 
 Berkeley Divinity School, 95 
 Bexley Hall, 83 
 Bierstadt, Albert, 281 
 Biggs, Dr. Herman, 243 
 Black, Starr & Frost, 64 
 
 Blaine, James G., 253 
 
 Blair, General Frank P., 316 
 
 Boggs, Rev. Dr., 285 
 
 Bozeman, Dr. Nathan, 215 
 
 Bristow, General Benj. F., 235, 237 
 
 Brooks, Mrs. Arthur, 98 
 
 Brooks, Phillips, 54, 103, 202, 203, 314 
 
 Life of, 98 
 Brown, Rev. Percy, 103, 116, 198 
 Browning, Edward, 17 
 Browning, William, 17 
 Brush, Warden, 231 
 Bryant, William C, 208 
 Buchanan, James, 313 
 Burchall, Norval W., 199 
 Burns, Robert, 199, 266 
 Burnside, General Ambrose, 140 
 
 Camp Chase, 103, 113 
 Canterbury, Archbishop of, 97 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 199, 244 
 Carnegie, Andrew, 95 
 Carter, Major-General William H., 
 
 311, 312 
 Chaffee, Lieutenant-General, 46, 261, 
 
 309, 310, 311, 313, 315 
 
 Mrs. Adna R., 312 
 Chamberlain, Daniel Henry, 319 
 Chamberlain, General J. L., 283, 319 
 Chancellorsville, The Battlefield of, 
 
 140 
 Chase, Bishop Philander, 83, 255 
 Chase, Camp, 103, 113 
 Chase, Salmon P., 253, 254, 255, 269, 
 
 272 
 Christy's Ministrels, 29 
 Church Hill Institute, 23 
 Clark, Dr. Alonzo, 130 
 Clay, Cassius M., 115 
 Clay, Henry, 83, 253, 256 
 Cleveland, Grover, 103, 259 
 Coan, Dr. Titus Munsen, 293 
 Cockran, Bourke, 222, 223, 226, 228 
 Cold Harbor, Battle of, 149 
 
 327 
 
328 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Colgate, James B., 306 
 Colby, Mrs, 276, 306 
 Colgate, Mrs. James B., 306 
 Colgate, Robert, 306 
 Colgate, Robert, Jr., 307 
 Colgate, William, 306 
 Colton, Annie, 108 
 Colton, Lina, 108 
 Columbia University, 124 
 Comstock, Philo, 88 
 Comstock, Seymour, 14, 58 
 Comstock, Steve, 26 
 Comstock's Pond, 31 
 Conway, Moncure D, 293 
 Cook, Joseph, 185, 317, 318 
 Cook, Rev, 90 
 
 Corey, Rev. Dr. Geo. H, 198, 205 
 Crawford, General S. W, 282 
 Creighton, Bishop, 239 
 Crittenden, Major-General, 116 
 Curry, Rev. Dr. Daniel, 206 
 Custer, General Geo. A, 145, 169 
 
 Dana, Dr. Chas. L, 185 
 
 Danbury, Conn, 15, 16, 18 
 
 Darien, Conn, 30 
 
 Davies, Judge Henry E, 285 
 
 Davies, Mrs. Henry E, 285 
 
 Davies, General Henry E, Jr., 145, 
 
 152, 167, 285 
 Davis, Judge David, 253 
 Davis, Henry Winter, 253 
 Davis, Jefferson, 278 
 Davis, Murray, 93 
 Davis, Rev. Wesley R, 206 
 Dean, Caspar, 96 
 Dean, Dr., 108, 109 
 Detroit, Mich, 59 
 Dickens, Charles, 125, 243 
 Dinwiddie Court House, 167 
 Dodge, General Granville M, 316 
 Dodge, William E, 275 
 Dodge, Mrs. William E, 275 
 Doremus, Dr. R. Ogden, 125 
 Doty, Rev. William D'Orville, 95 
 
 Ectopic gestation, 215 
 Edinburgh Medical Review, 195 
 Edison Current, The, 222 
 
 Edison, Thomas A, 110, 184 
 
 Edwards, Life of Jonathan, 98 
 
 Electro Execution, 221 
 
 Eliot, George, 201 
 
 Eliot, Dr. Geo. T, 126, 132 
 
 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 16, 247, 270 
 
 Emmet, J. K, 295 
 
 Emmet, Mrs. J. K, 296 
 
 Emmet, Dr. Thomas Addis, 130, 215, 
 
 216 
 Erb, Professor, 243 
 Erie Canal, 88 
 Evarts, William M, 273 
 Ewell, General Richard S, 169 
 
 Farmville, Battle of, 169 
 
 Fell, Dr. George C, 229 
 
 Five Forks, Battle of, 167 
 
 Flint, Dr. Austin, Sr, 130, 192, 196 
 
 Flint, Dr. Austin, 272 
 
 Flushing, Long Island, 23, 52 
 
 Ford, Henry, 278 
 
 Foss, Rev. Dr. Cyrus D, 204 
 
 Fremont, General J. C, 313 
 
 Franklin, Benjamin, 243, 256 
 
 Fullerton, Judge William, 270, 271 
 
 Funk, Rev. Dr. Isaac K, 297 
 
 Funk & Wagnalls, 297 
 
 Gallatin, Albert, 295 
 
 Gallatin, James, Diary of, 295 
 
 Gambier, 83 
 
 Garfield, President James A, 129, 314 
 
 Gardiner, Colonel Asa Bird, 216 
 
 George, John, 114 
 
 Gerry, Eldridge, 232 
 
 Gilbert, Dr. R. H, 288 
 
 Gilder, Mr, 28 
 
 Goin, Charlie, 24, 25 
 
 Gordon, General James B, 146 
 
 Gordon, Nathaniel, 280 
 
 Grant, General U. S, 137, 155, 167, 
 
 206, 235, 266, 277 
 Gray, Dr. Landon Carter, 225, 227 
 Greenwich, Conn, 18, 20 
 Green, Bishop D. H, 100 
 Gregg, General David McG, 145, 152, 
 
 164 
 
INDEX 
 
 329 
 
 Griffin, General Charles, 282 
 Grimes, Senator James W., 272 
 Grosvenor, Rev. Dr., 23 
 
 Haggin, James B., 303 
 Hamersley, J. Hooker, 304 
 Hamersley, William, 305 
 Hamilton, Dr. Frank H., 128, 129 
 Hammond, Dr. William A., 126, 127, 
 
 185 
 Hampton, General Wade, 148, 153, 
 
 320 
 Hardy, Thomas, 201, 240, 242 
 Harlem, 78 
 Harlem, Old, 200 
 Harper, Jack, 84, 95 
 Hart, Sir Robert, 310 
 Hawes' Shop, Battle of, 148 
 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 280 
 Hay, John, 310 
 Hayes, Rutherford B., 253, 259, 276, 
 
 320 
 Hayes, Mrs. R. B., 258, 276 
 Henry, Professor Joseph, 299 
 Hepworth, Rev. George H., 206 
 Hobart, Captain Frederick, 322 
 Hobart College, 92 
 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 324 
 Hood, General J. B., 266 
 Hooker, General Joseph, 137, 140 
 Howells, William Dean, 105 
 Howland, Mrs. Gardner, 256 
 Hudson, Dr. E. Darwin, 180 
 Hunter, General David, 149 
 Hurd, Frank, 103 
 Huxley, Professor H., 245 
 
 Indian Rock, 63 
 
 Irving, Washington, 257, 276 
 
 Iselin, Adrian, Sr., 300 
 
 Janeway, Colonel, 172 
 
 Jay, John, 290 
 
 Jay, Chief Justice John, 290 
 
 Jay, Judge William, 290 
 
 Jerome, W. T., 320 
 
 Johnson, Andrew, 198, 199, 272 
 
 Kane, Colonel Delancey, 300 
 Keeler, Ralph, 105 
 Kemp, George, 300, 302, 303 
 Kendrick, Bishop John, 101 
 Kent, Chancellor, 286 
 Kenyon College, 82, 84, 99 
 Kerwin, General Michael, 228 
 King, Rev. James M., D. D., 206 
 Klaw, Marc, 321 
 
 La Bruyere, 244 
 
 Lake Waccabuc, 46 
 
 Landon, Henry B., 119 
 
 Landon, Susannah, 198 
 
 Lang, Professor Benjamin, 100 
 
 Langdon, Mrs., 283 
 
 Laudy, Professor, 221, 231 
 
 Lee, General Fitzhugh, 148, 153 
 
 Lee, General Robert E., 167, 169, 171, 
 
 172, 314 
 Leonard, Bob, 28 
 Lewis, Burroughs, 279 
 Lincoln, Abraham, 174, 254, 256, 291, 
 
 293 
 Linsly, Dr. Jared, 267 
 Loeser, Frederick, 288, 289 
 Loomis, Dr. Alfred L., 223 
 Lorillard, Pierre, 129 
 Loyal Legion, The, 92 
 Luaces, Antonio, 29 
 Luaces, Emilio, 29 
 Lyman, Commissioner, 238 
 
 McBurney, Dr. Robert, 215 
 McClellan, General George B., 140, 
 
 198 
 McCurdy, Robert, 298 
 McCurdy, Robert A., 298 
 Macdonald, Dr. Carlos, 221, 231 
 Macllvaine, Bishop, 94 
 MacKenzie, General Ranald S., 172 
 McKinley, William, 254, 292 
 McLean, Dr. Malcolm, 217 
 McPherson, General J. B., 235 
 McVicker, Rev. William, 202, 203 
 Mann, George, 96 
 Mansfield, General J. K. F., 282 
 
330 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Marlborough, Duke of, 305 
 
 Marquand & Company, 65 
 
 Marsh, Dr. E. J., 312 
 
 Marsh, Dr. E. T., 163 
 
 Matthews, Stanley, 253 
 
 Mayo, William S., 286 
 
 Mazzetti's, 25 
 
 Mendenhall, 93 
 
 Metcalfe, Dr. John T„ 123, 262, 314, 
 
 315 
 Michigan, University of 121 
 Milan, Ohio, 88, 99 
 Miles, General Nelson A., 291 
 Miller, "Dr." William, 191, 194, 195 
 Milnor Hall, 85, 86 
 Morgan, General J. H., 115 
 Morgan, J. P., 276 
 Morgan, Tom, 115 
 Morton, Dr. William J., 220 
 Murray, Rev. William H. H., 318 
 
 Nail, Mr., 59 
 
 Nast, Thomas, 284 
 
 New Canaan, Conn., 19, 20, 42, 44, 
 
 75, 177 
 Newman, Rev. Dr. John P., 206 
 Niven, General Archibald C, 277 
 North, John, 102 
 Norwalk, Conn., 15, 23, 33, 88 
 Norwalk Gazette, The, 53 
 Noyes, Dr., 35 
 Nu Phi Kappa Society, 93 
 
 Old Sarah's Cave, 44 
 Oliver Twist, 181 
 Oronhyateka, 85, 86, 87, 246 
 Owen, Charlie, 29 
 Owen, Thomas, 29 
 
 Packer, Asa, 307 
 
 Parker, Dr. Willard, 21, 23, 28, 30, 192 
 
 Payne, Bill, 93 
 
 Pearsall, Marvin, 25 
 
 Peck, Alphonso, 18 
 
 Peet, George Creighton, 239 
 
 Peters, Dr. George, 215 
 
 Phillips, Wendell, 320 
 
 Phillpotts' "Dartmoor" novels, 241 
 
 Pitt, William, 306 
 
 Piatt, Senator O. H., 319 
 
 Plymouth Church, 72 
 
 Poe, Dr. Charles, 132 
 
 Polk, Dr. William M., 314 
 
 Post, Louis W., 225 
 
 Potter, Hon. Mr., 273 
 
 Potter, Bishop Alonzo, 273 
 
 Potter, Hon. Clarkson N., 273 
 
 Potter, President Eliphalet N., 273 
 
 Potter, Rev. Dr. Henry, 273 
 
 Potter, Bishop Horatio, 273 
 
 Potter, Howard, 273 
 
 Potter, General Robert., 273 
 
 Price, Commodore, 305 
 
 Price, Lily, 305 
 
 Pryor, General Roger A., 165, 271 
 
 Putnam, Avery D., 301 
 
 Putnam, George Haven, 257 
 
 Putnam's Hill, 19 
 
 Rapidan, The Crossing of, 139 
 
 Read, Buchanan, 173 
 
 Reading, Conn., 14 
 
 Reams' Station, 157 
 
 Reese, Dr., 196 
 
 Richards, Dr., 35 
 
 Richter, Jean Paul, 183 
 
 Ridgefield, Conn., 15, 42, 44, 177 
 
 Ridgefield, Battle of, 43 
 
 Ridgeway, Rev. Dr. Henry B., 202, 
 
 204, 205 
 Roberts, Dr., 36 
 
 Rockwell, Alphonso David, 13 
 Rockwell, Captain Bertrand, 310 
 Rockwell, Charles Lee, 46 
 Rockwell, John, 178 
 Rockwell, Dr. T. Hawley, 121 
 Ralston, Roswell G., 275 
 Roosa, Dr. D. B. St. John, 219 
 Roosevelt, Theodore, 260, 261, 262, 
 
 263, 315 
 Roosevelt, Theodore, Jr., 263 
 Rosecrans, General, 254 
 Ross, Senator George, 273 
 Rosse Chapel, 83 
 Rosser, General Thomas W., 167 
 
INDEX 
 
 33i 
 
 St. Mary's Church, Battle of, 152 
 
 Sands, Dr. Henry B., 130 
 
 "Sartor Resartus," 324 
 
 Schiller, 244 
 
 Searight, William, 93 
 
 Sachs, Dr. Bernard, 225, 226, 227 
 
 Sailor's Creek, Battle of, 169 
 
 Salisbury, Mrs., 298 
 
 Salisbury, Professor, 298 
 
 Scribner, Charles, 280 
 
 Shaffer, Chauncey, 313 
 
 Shaffer, Dr. Newton, 289 
 
 Shepherd, A. R., 236, 237 
 
 Sheridan, General Philip H., 137, 
 
 146, 155, 166, 167, 168, 171, 173, 266, 
 
 282 
 Sherman, John, 267 
 Sherman, General William T., 141, 
 
 265, 270, 316 
 Shiloh, Battle of, 235 
 Shrady, Dr. George M, 127 
 Sickles, General Daniel E., 259 
 Silliman, Joe, 80 
 
 Sims, Dr. J. Marion, 130, 215, 307 
 Slattery, Rev. Charles Lewis, 100 
 Sheer, Rev. Thomas R., D. D., 292, 
 
 293 
 Smith, General Charles, 161, 162, 163 
 Smith, Daniel, 36 
 Smith, Professor Stephen, 129 
 Smith, E. Delafield, 280 
 Smith, Sydney, 207 
 Squibb, Dr., 196, 197 
 Stamford, Conn., 23 
 Stanton, Edwin M.., 253, 259, 276 
 Stanton, Edwin M. Jr., 101, 259 
 Stedman, Colonel William, 134 
 Steele, Dr. Theophilus, 114 
 Sterne, Simon, 280 
 Stony Creek, 156 
 Strong, Rev., 84, 85 
 Stuart, Judge Edward, 112 
 Stuart, General "Jeb," 145, 146 
 Stubbs, Rev. Dr., 285 
 Stuvesant, Peter, 276, 277 
 Sumter, Fort, 282 
 Sweeny, General Thomas W., 315, 
 
 316 
 
 Tappan, Arthur, 218 
 
 Taylor, Annette, 108 
 
 Taylor, Dr. Isaac E., 129 
 
 Taylor, Judge, 108 
 
 Taylor, Moses, 274, 275, 304 
 
 Taylor, Rev. Dr. William M., 185 
 
 Taylor, W. W., 99 
 
 Thackeray, William M., 279 
 
 Thaw, Harry, 95 
 
 Thomas, Dr. T. Gaillard, 215, 216, 
 
 218, 314 
 Tiffany & Company, 64 
 Tilden, Governor S. J., 284 
 T intern Abbey, 240 
 Torbert, General Alfred T. A., 152 
 Tracy, General Benjamin F., 271 
 Train, George Francis, 278, 279 
 Treadwell, Colonel, 262 
 Tremain, Colonel Henry E., 286 
 Trevilian Station, Battle of, 149 
 Trimble, Matt, 94 
 Trollope, Anthony, 242, 248, 279 
 Twain, Mark, 185, 283, 318 
 Tweed, William M., 283, 284 
 Twichell, Rev. Dr. J. H., 185 
 Tyng, Rev. Dudley A., 285 
 Tyng, Rev. Stephen H., D. D., 218 
 Tyng, Mrs. Stephen H., 284 
 Tyng, Rev. Stephen H., Jr., D. D., 
 
 218, 284, 285 
 
 University of Michigan, 121 
 
 Vanderbilt, Commodore Cornelius, 
 
 267, 268, 274, 275, 304 
 Vanderbilt, Captain Jacob, 269, 270 
 Van Dyke, Rev. Henry, 141 
 Van Orden, John, 201 
 Vincent, General T. M., 260 
 
 Waldersee, Count, 46 
 Waldersee, Countess, 46 
 Wales, Prince of, 86 
 Wallace, General Lew, 114 
 Ward, Mrs. Humphry, 99 
 Warren, General G. K., 282, 283 
 Washington, George, 256 
 Weber, Dr. Leonard, 243 
 
332 INDEX 
 
 Webster, Daniel, 253, 256 Wirt, William, 256, 257 
 
 West, Alfred, 226 Woman's Hospital, New York, 215 
 
 Westinghouse Electric Company, 221 Wood, Dr. James R, 128, 129 
 
 Weyman, Stanley, 240 Wood & Company, William, 195, 211, 
 
 White, Stanford, 95 Woodford, Stewart L., 92, 126, 313 
 
 Wightman, T. W., 201 Woolsey, President T. D., 320 
 
 Wilderness, Battle of the, 146 
 
 Wile, William C, 16 Yarrington, Rev. Mr., 20 
 
 Williams, Bishop John, 54 Yellow Tavern, Battle of, 146 
 
 Williams, Rev. Mr., 79 Yorkville, 200 
 
 Wilson, General James H., 145 Young, Professor Charles, 112 
 
 Paul B. Hoeber, 67-69-71 East 59th Street, New York.