[Illustration: Charleston is the last stronghold of a unified Americanupper class; the last remaining American city in which Madeira and Portand _noblesse oblige_ are fully and widely understood, and are employedaccording to the best traditions] AMERICAN ADVENTURES A SECOND TRIP "ABROAD AT HOME" BY JULIAN STREET WITH PICTORIAL SIDELIGHTSBYWALLACE MORGAN NEW YORKTHE CENTURY CO. 1917 Copyright, 1917, byTHE CENTURY CO. Copyright, 1916, 1917, byP. F. COLLIER & SON, INC. _Published, November, 1917_ TO MY AUNTAND SECOND MOTHER JULIA ROSS LOW FOREWORD Though much has been written of the South, it seems to me that this partof our country is less understood than any other part. Certainly theSouth, itself, feels that this is true. Its relationship to the Northmakes me think of nothing so much as that of a pretty, sensitive wife, to a big, strong, amiable, if somewhat thick-skinned husband. These twohad one great quarrel which nearly resulted in divorce. He thought herheadstrong; she thought him overbearing. The quarrel made her ill; shehas been for some time recovering. But though they have settled theirdifficulties and are living again in amity together, and though he, man-like, has half forgotten that they ever quarreled at all, now thatpeace reigns in the house again, _she_ has _not_ forgotten. There stilllingers in her mind the feeling that he never really understood her, that he never understood her problems and her struggles, and that henever will. And it seems to me further that, as is usually the case withwives who consider themselves misunderstood, the fault is partly, but byno means altogether, hers. He, upon one hand, is inclined to pass thematter off with a: "There, there! It's all over now. Just be good andforget it!" while she, in the depths of her heart, retains a little bitof wistfulness, a little wounded feeling, which causes her to say toherself: "Thank God our home was not broken up, but--I wish that hecould be a little more considerate, sometimes, in view of all that Ihave suffered. " For my part, I am the humble but devoted friend of the family. Havingknown him first, having been from boyhood his companion, I may perhapshave sympathized with him in the beginning. But since I have come toknow her, too, that is no longer so. And I do think I know her--proud, sensitive, high-strung, generous, captivating beauty that she is!Moreover, after the fashion of many another "friend of the family, " Ihave fallen in love with her. Loving her from afar, I send her as anosegay these chapters gathered in her own gardens. If some of theflowers are of a kind for which she does not care, if some have thorns, even if some are only weeds, I pray her to remember that from what wasgrowing in her gardens I was forced to make my choice, and to believethat, whatever the defects of my bouquet, it is meant to be a bunch ofroses. J. S. _October 1, 1917. _ The Author makes his grateful acknowledgments to the old friends and the new ones who assisted him upon this journey. And once more he desires to express his gratitude to the friend and fellow-traveler whose illustrations are far from being his only contribution to this volume. --J. S. New York, October, 1917. CONTENTS THE BORDERLAND CHAPTER PAGE I ON JOURNEYS THROUGH THE STATES 3 II A BALTIMORE EVENING 13 III WHERE THE CLIMATES MEET 27 IV TRIUMPHANT DEFEAT 38 V TERRAPIN AND THINGS 44 VI DOUGHOREGAN MANOR AND THE CARROLLS 53 VII A RARE OLD TOWN 69 VIII WE MEET THE HAMPTON GHOST 80 IX ARE WE STANDARDIZED? 89 X HARPER'S FERRY AND JOHN BROWN 97 XI THE VIRGINIAS AND THE WASHINGTONS 105 XII I RIDE A HORSE 117 XIII INTO THE OLD DOMINION 136 XIV CHARLOTTESVILLE AND MONTICELLO 150 XV THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA 159 XVI FOX-HUNTING IN VIRGINIA 169 XVII "A CERTAIN PARTY" 186 XVIII THE LEGACY OF HATE 193 XIX "YOU-ALL" AND OTHER SECTIONAL MISUNDERSTANDINGS 203 XX IDIOMS AND ARISTOCRACY 214 XXI THE CONFEDERATE CAPITAL 222 XXII RANDOM RICHMOND NOTES 233 XXIII JEDGE CRUTCHFIELD'S COT 242 XXIV NORFOLK AND ITS NEIGHBORHOOD 248 XXV COLONEL TAYLOR AND GENERAL LEE 258 THE HEART OF THE SOUTH XXVI RALEIGH AND JOSEPHUS DANIELS 273 XXVII ITEMS FROM "THE OLD NORTH STATE" 285 XXVIII UNDER ST. MICHAEL'S CHIMES 296 XXIX HISTORY AND ARISTOCRACY 312 XXX POLITICS, A NEWSPAPER AND ST. CECILIA 326 XXXI "GULLA" AND THE BACK COUNTRY 338 XXXII OUT OF THE PAST 349 XXXIII ALIVE ATLANTA 356 XXXIV GEORGIA JOURNALISM 369 XXXV SOME ATLANTA INSTITUTIONS 384 XXXVI A BIT OF RURAL GEORGIA 392 XXXVII A YOUNG METROPOLIS 403 XXXVIII BUSY BIRMINGHAM 417 XXXIX AN ALLEGORY OF ACHIEVEMENT 426 XL THE ROAD TO ARCADY 440 XLI A MISSISSIPPI TOWN 447 XLII OLD TALES AND A NEW GAME 458 XLIII OUT OF THE LONG AGO 467 XLIV THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 474 XLV VICKSBURG OLD AND NEW 482 XLVI SHREDS AND PATCHES 494 XLVII THE BAFFLING MISSISSIPPI 500 XLVIII OLD RIVER DAYS 508 XLIX WHAT MEMPHIS HAS ENDURED 518 L MODERN MEMPHIS 535 FARTHEST SOUTH LI BEAUTIFUL SAVANNAH 553 LII MISS "JAX" AND SOME FLORIDA GOSSIP 572 LIII PASSIONATE PALM BEACH 579 LIV ASSORTED AND RESORTED FLORIDA 595 LV A DAY IN MONTGOMERY 603 LVI THE CITY OF THE CREOLE 619 LVII HISTORY, THE CREOLE, AND HIS DUELS 629 LVIII FROM ANTIQUES TO PIRATES 648 LIX ANTOINE'S AND MARDI GRAS 663 LX FINALE 675 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGECharleston is the last stronghold of a unified American upper class;the last remaining American city in which Madeira and Port and_noblesse oblige_ are fully and widely understood, and are employedaccording to the best traditions _Frontispiece_ "Railroad tickets!" said the baggageman with exaggerated patience 8 Can most travellers, I wonder, enjoy as I do a solitary walk, bynight, through the mysterious streets of a strange city? 17 Coming out of my slumber with the curious and unpleasant sense ofbeing stared at, I found his eyes fixed upon me 24 Mount Vernon Place is the centre of Baltimore 32 If she is shopping for a dinner party, she may order the costly andaristocratic diamond-back terrapin, sacred in Baltimore as is theSacred Cod in Boston 48 Doughoregan Manor--the house was a buff-colored brick 65 I began to realize that there was no one coming 80 Harper's Ferry is an entrancing old town; a drowsy place piled upbeautifully yet carelessly upon terraced roads clinging to steephillsides 100 "What's the matter with him?" I asked, stopping 117 When I came down, dressed for riding, my companion was making adrawing; the four young ladies were with him, none of them in ridinghabits 124 Claymont Court is one of the old Washington houses 132 Chatham, the old Fitzhugh house, now the residence of Mark Sullivan 148 Monticello stands on a lofty hilltop, with vistas, between trees ofneighboring valleys, hills, and mountains 157 Like Venice, the University of Virginia should first be seen bymoonlight 168 One party was stationed on the top of an old-time mail-coach, bearing the significant initials "F. F. V. " 180 The Piedmont Hunt Race Meet 189 The Southern negro is the world's peasant supreme 200 The Country Club of Virginia, out to the west of Richmond 216 Judge Crutchfield 228 Negro women squatting upon boxes in old shadowy lofts stem thetobacco leaves 237 The Judge: "What did he do, Mandy?" 244 Some genuine old-time New York ferryboats help to complete theillusion that Norfolk is New York 253 "The Southern statesman who serves his section best, serves hiscountry best" 280 St. Philip's is the more beautiful for the open space before it 300 Opposite St. Philip's, a perfect example of the rude architecture ofan old French village 305 In the doorway and gates of the Smyth house, in Legaré Street, I wasstruck with a Venetian suggestion 316 Nor is the Charleston background a mere arras of recollection 320 Charleston has a stronger, deeper-rooted city entity than all thecities of the Middle West rolled into one 328 The interior is the oldest looking thing in the United States--GooseCreek Church 344 A reminder of the Chicago River--Atlanta 353 With the whole Metropolitan Orchestra playing dance music all nightlong 368 The office buildings are city office buildings, and are sufficientlynumerous to look very much at home 376 The negro roof-garden, Odd Fellows' Building, Atlanta 385 I was never so conscious, as at the time of our visit to the BurgePlantation, of the superlative soft sweetness of the spring 396 The planters cease their work 400 Birmingham--the thin veil of smoke from far-off iron furnacessoftens the city's serrated outlines 408 Birmingham practices unremittingly the pestilential habit of"cutting in" at dances 424 Gigantic movements and mutations, Niagara-like noises, great burstsof flame like falling fragments from the sun 437 A shaggy, unshaven, rawboned man, gray-haired and collarless, satnear the window 444 Gaze upon the character called Daniel Voorhees Pike! 456 The houses were full of the suggestion of an easy-going home lifeand an informal hospitality 465 Her hands looked very white and small against his dark coat 480 As water flows down the hills of Vicksburg to the river, so thevisitor's thoughts flow down to the great spectacular, mischievous, dominating stream 485 Over the tenement roofs one catches sight of sundry other buildingsof a more self-respecting character 492 Vicksburg negroes 497 On some of the boats negro fish-markets are conducted 504 The old Klein house 512 Citizens go at midday to the square 520 Hanging in the air above the middle of the stream 536 These small parks give Savannah the quality which differentiates itfrom all other American cities 556 The Thomas house, in Franklin Square 561 You will see them having tea, and dancing under the palm fronds ofthe cocoanut grove 576 Cocktail hour at The Breakers 581 Nowhere is the sand more like a deep warm dust of yellow gold 588 The couples on the platform were "ragging" 600 Harness held together by that especial Providence which watches overnegro mending 613 It was a very jolly fair 616 The mysterious old Absinthe House, founded 1799 620 St. Anthony's Garden 632 Courtyard of the old Orleans Hotel 641 The little lady who sits behind the desk 656 The lights are always lowered at Antoine's when the spectacular CaféBoulot Diabolique is served 664 Passing between the brilliantly illuminated buildings, the MardiGras parades are glorious sights for children from eight to eightyyears of age 672 THE BORDERLAND O magnet-South! O glistening, perfumed South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all dear to me! WALT WHITMAN. AMERICAN ADVENTURES CHAPTER I ON JOURNEYS THROUGH THE STATES On journeys through the States we start, ... We willing learners of all, teachers of all, lovers of all. We dwell a while in every city and town ... --WALT WHITMAN. Had my companion and I never crossed the continent together, had wenever gone "abroad at home, " I might have curbed my impatience at thebeginning of our second voyage. But from the time we returned from ourfirst journey, after having spent some months in trying, as some one putit, to "discover America, " I felt the gnawings of excited appetite. Thevast sweep of the country continually suggested to me some greatdelectable repast: a banquet spread for a hundred million guests; andhaving discovered myself unable, in the time first allotted, to devourmore than part of it--a strip across the table, as it were, stretchingfrom New York on one side to San Francisco on the other--I have hungeredimpatiently for more. Indeed, to be quite honest, I should like to tryto eat it all. Months before our actual departure for the South the day for leaving wasappointed; days before we fixed upon our train; hours before I bought myticket. And then, when my trunks had left the house, when my taxicab wasordered and my faithful battered suitcase stood packed to bulging in thehall, my companion, the Illustrator, telephoned to say that certaindrawings he must finish before leaving were not done, that he would beunable to go with me that afternoon, as planned, but must wait until themidnight train. Had the first leap been a long one I should have waited for him, but thedistance from New York to the other side of Mason and Dixon's Line isshort, and I knew that he would join me on the threshold of the Southnext morning. Therefore I told him I would leave that afternoon asoriginally proposed, and gave him, in excuse, every reason I could thinkof, save the real one: namely, my impatience. I told him that I wishedto make the initial trip by day to avoid the discomforts of the sleepingcar, that I had engaged hotel accommodations for the night by wire, thatfriends were coming down to see me off. Nor were these arguments without truth. I believe in telling the truth. The truth is good enough for any one at any time--except, perhaps, whenthere is a point to be carried, and even then some vestige of it should, if convenient, be preserved. Thus, for example, it is quite true that Iprefer the conversation of my fellow travelers, dull though it may be, to the stertorous sounds they make by night; so, too, if I had nottelegraphed for rooms, it was merely because I had forgotten to--andthat I remedied immediately; while as to the statement that friends wereto see me off, that was absolutely and literally accurate. Friends had, indeed, signified their purpose to meet me at the station for lastfarewells, and had, furthermore, remarked upon the very slight show ofenthusiasm with which I heard the news. The fact is, I do not like to be seen off. Least of all, do I like to beseen off by those who are dear to me. If the thing must be done, Iprefer it to be done by strangers--committees from chambers of commerceand the like, who have no interest in me save the hope that I will liveto write agreeably of their city--of the civic center, the fertilizerworks, and the charming new abattoir. Seeing me off for the mostpractical of reasons, such gentlemen are invariably efficient. Theyprovide an equipage, and there have even been times when, in the finalhurried moments, they have helped me to jam the last things into mytrunks and bags. One of them politely takes my suitcase, another kindlychecks my baggage, and all in order that a third, who is usually thesecretary of the chamber of commerce, may regale me with inspiringstatistics concerning the population of "our city, " the seating capacityof the auditorium, the number of banks, the amount of their clearings, and the quantity of belt buckles annually manufactured. When the trainis ready we exchange polite expressions of regret at parting:expressions reminiscent of those little speeches which the King ofEngland and the Emperor of Germany used to make at parting in the olddays before they found each other out and began dropping high explosiveson each other's roofs. Such a committee, feeling no emotion (except perhaps relief) at seeingme depart, may be useful. Not so with friends and loved ones. Useful asthey may be in the great crises of life, they are but disturbingelements in the small ones. Those who would die for us seldom check ourtrunks. By this I do not mean to imply that either of the two delightfulcreatures who came to the Pennsylvania Terminal to bid me good-by woulddie for me. That one has lived for me and that both attempt to regulatemy conduct is more than enough. Hardly had I alighted from my taxicab, hardly had the redcap seized my suitcase, when, with sweet smiles and atwinkling of daintily shod feet, they came. Fancy their having arrivedahead of me! Fancy their having come like a pair of angels through therain to see me off! Enough to turn a man's head! It did turn mine; and Inoticed that, as they approached, the heads of other men were turningtoo. Flattered to befuddlement, I greeted them and started with themautomatically in the direction of the concourse, forgetting entirely thedriver of my taxicab, who, however, took in the situation and set up agreat shout--whereat I returned hastily and overpaid him. This accomplished, I rejoined my companions and, with a radiantdark-haired girl at one elbow and a blonde, equally delectable, at theother, moved across the concourse. How gay they were as we strolled along! How amusing were theirprophecies of adventures destined to befall me in the South. Smallwonder that I took no thought of whither I was going. Presently, having reached the wall at the other side of the greatvaulted chamber, we stopped. "Which train, boss?" asked the porter who had meekly followed. Train? I had forgotten about trains. The mention of the subjectdistracted my attention for the moment from the _Loreleien_, stirred mydrugged sense of duty, and reminded me that I had trunks to check. My suggestion that I leave them briefly for this purpose was lightlybrushed aside. "Oh, no!" they cried. "We shall go with you. " I gave in at once--one always does with them--and inquired of the porterthe location of the baggage room. He looked somewhat fatigued as hereplied: "It's away back there where we come from, boss. " It was a long walk; in a garden, with no train to catch, it would havebeen delightful. "Got your tickets?" suggested the porter as we passed the row of grilledwindows. He had evidently concluded that I was irresponsible. As I had them, we continued on our way, and presently achieved thebaggage room, where they stood talking and laughing, telling me of themorning's shopping expedition--hat-hunting, they called it--in therain. I fancy that we might have been there yet had not a baggageman, perhaps divining that I had become a little bit distrait and that I hadbusiness to transact, rapped smartly on the iron counter with his punchand demanded: "Baggage checked?" Turning, not without reluctance, from a pair of violet eyes and a pairof the most mysterious gray, I began to fumble in my pockets for theclaim checks. "How long shall you stay in Baltimore?" asked the girl with the grayeyes. "Yes, indeed!" I answered, still searching for the checks. "That doesn't make sense, " remarked the blue-eyed girl as I found thechecks and handed them to the baggageman. "She asked how long you'd stayin Baltimore, and you said: 'Yes, indeed. '" "About a week I meant to say. " "Oh, I don't believe a week will be enough, " said Gray-eyes. "We can't stay longer, " I declared. "We must keep pushing on. There areso many places in the South to see. " "My sister has just been there, and she--" "Where to?" demanded the insistent baggageman. "Why, Baltimore, of course, " I said. Had he paid attention to ourconversation he might have known. "You were saying, " reminded Violet-eyes, "that your sister--?" "She just came home from there, and says that--" "Railroad ticket!" said the baggageman with exaggerated patience. I began again to feel in various pockets. "She says, " continued Gray-eyes, "that she never met more charmingpeople or had better things to eat. She loves the southern accent too. " I don't know how the tickets got into my upper right vest pocket; Inever carry tickets there; but that is where I found them. "Do you like it?" asked the other girl of me. "Like what?" "Why, the southern accent. " "Any valuation?" the baggageman demanded. "Yes, " I answered them both at once. "Oh, you _do_?" cried Violet-eyes, incredulously. "Why, yes; I think--" "Put down the amount and sign here, " the baggageman directed, pushing aslip toward me and placing a pencil in my hand. I obeyed. The baggageman took the slip and went off to a little desk. Ijudged that he had finished with me for the moment. "But don't you think, " my fair inquisitor continued, "that the southerngirls pile on the accent awfully, because they know it pleases men?" "Perhaps, " I said. "But then, what better reason could they have fordoing so?" "Listen to that!" she cried to her companion. "Did you ever hear suchegotism?" "He's nothing but a man, " said Gray-eyes scornfully. "I wouldn't be aman for--" "A dollar and eighty-five cents, " declared the baggageman. I paid him. "I wouldn't be a man for anything!" my fair friend finished as westarted to move off. "I wouldn't have you one, " I told her, opening the concourse door. "_Hay!_" shouted the baggageman. "Here's your ticket and your checks!" I returned, took them, and put them in my pocket. Again we proceededupon our way. I was glad to leave the baggageman. This time the porter meant to take no chances. "What train, boss?" he asked. "The Congressional Limited. " "You got jus' four minutes. " "Goodness!" cried Gray-eyes. "I thought, " said Violet-eyes as we accelerated our pace, "that youprided yourself on always having time to spare?" "Usually I do, " I answered, "but in this case--" "What car?" the porter interrupted tactfully. Again I felt for my tickets. This time they were in my change pocket. Ican't imagine how I came to put them there. "But in this case--_what_?" The violet eyes looked threatening as theirowner put the question. "Seat seven, car three, " I told the porter firmly as we approached thegate. Then, turning to my dangerous and lovely cross-examiner: "In thiscase I am unfortunate, for there is barely time to say good-by. " There are several reasons why I don't believe in railway station kisses. Kisses given in public are at best but skimpy little things, suggestingthe swift peck of a robin at a peach, whereas it is truer of kissingthan of many other forms of industry that what is worth doing at all isworth doing well. Yet I knew that one of these enchantresses expected tobe kissed, and that the other very definitely didn't. Therefore I kissedthem both. Then I bolted toward the gate. "Tickets!" demanded the gateman, stopping me. At last I found them in the inside pocket of my overcoat. I don't knowhow they got there. I never carry tickets in that pocket. As the train began to move I looked at my watch and, discovering it tobe three minutes fast, set it right. That is the sort of train theCongressional Limited is. A moment later we were roaring through theblackness of the Hudson River tunnel. There is something fine in the abruptness of the escape from New YorkCity by the Pennsylvania Railroad. From the time you enter the stationyou are as good as gone. There is no progress between the city'stenements, with untidy bedding airing in some windows and fat oldslatterns leaning out from others to survey the sordidness and squalorof the streets below. A swift plunge into darkness, some thunderingmoments, and your train glides out upon the wide wastes of the NewJersey meadows. The city is gone. You are even in another State. Far, far behind, bathed in glimmering haze which gives them the appearance ofpalaces in a mirage, you may see the tops of New York's toweringsky-scrapers, dwarfed yet beautified by distance. Outside the wide carwindow the advertising sign-boards pass to the rear in steady parade, shrieking in strong color of whiskies, tobaccos, pills, chewing gums, cough drops, flours, hams, hotels, soaps, socks, and shows. CHAPTER II A BALTIMORE EVENING I felt her presence by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above; The calm, majestic presence of the night, As of the one I love. --LONGFELLOW. Before I went to Baltimore I had but two definite impressions connectedwith the place: the first was of a tunnel, filled with coal gas, throughwhich trains pass beneath the city; the second was that when asouthbound train left Baltimore the time had come to think of cleaningup, preparatory to reaching Washington. Arriving at Baltimore after dark, one gathers an impression of anadequate though not impressive Union Station from which one emerges to adistrict of good asphalted streets, the main ones wide and well lighted. The Baltimore street lamps are large and very brilliant single globes, mounted upon the tops of substantial metal columns. I do not rememberhaving seen lamps of the same pattern in any other city. It is a goodpattern, but there is one thing about it which is not good at all, andthat is the way the street names are lettered upon the sides of theglobes. Though the lettering is not large, it is large enough to beread easily in the daytime against the globe's white surface, but to tryto read it at night is like trying to read some little legend printedupon a blinding noon-day sun. I noticed this particularly because Ispent my first evening in wandering alone about the streets ofBaltimore, and wished to keep track of my route in order that I mightthe more readily find my way back to the hotel. Can most travelers, I wonder, enjoy as I do a solitary walk, by night, through the mysterious streets of a strange city? Do they feel the samedetached yet keen interest in unfamiliar highways, homes, and humanbeings, the same sense of being a wanderer from another world, a"messenger from Mars, " a Harun-al-Rashid, or, if not one of these, animaginative adventurer like Tartarin? Do they thrill at the sight of anill-lighted street leading into a no-man's-land of menacing darkshadows; at the promise of a glowing window puncturing the blacknesshere or there; at the invitation of some open doorway behind whichunilluminated blackness hangs, threatening and tempting? Do they rejoicein streets the names of which they have not heard before? Do they--as Ido--delight in irregularity: in the curious forms of roofs and spiresagainst the sky; in streets which run up hill or down; or which, insteadof being straight, have jogs in them, or curves, or interestingintersections, at which other streets dart off from them obliquely, asthough in a great hurry to get somewhere? Do they love to emerge from astreet which is narrow, dim, and deserted, upon one which is wide, bright, and crowded; and do they also like to leave a brilliant streetand dive into the darkness of some somber byway? Does a long row oflights lure them, block by block, toward distances unknown? Are theytempted by the unfamiliar signs on passing street cars? Do they yearn toboard those cars and be transported by them into the mystic caverns ofthe night? And when they see strangers who are evidently going somewherewith some special purpose, do they wish to follow; to find out wherethese beings are going, and why? Do they wish to trail them, let thetrail lead to a prize fight, to a church sociable, to a fire, to afashionable ball, or to the ends of the world? For the traveler who does not know such sensations and such impulses asthese--who has not at times indulged in the joy of yielding to aninclination of at least mildly fantastic character--I am profoundlysorry. The blind themselves are not so blind as those who, seeing withthe physical eye, lack the eye of imagination. Residence streets like Chase and Biddle, in the blocks near where theycross Charles Street, midway on its course between the Union Station andMount Vernon Place, are at night, even more than by day, full of thesuggestion of comfortable and settled domesticity. Their brick houses, standing wall to wall and close to the sidewalk, speak of honorable age, and, in some cases of a fine and ancient dignity. One fancies that inmany of these houses the best of old mahogany may be found, or, if notthat, then at least the fairly old and quite creditable furniture of theperiod of the sleigh-back bed, the haircloth-covered rosewood sofa, andthe tall, narrow mirror between the two front windows of the drawingroom. Through the glass panels of street doors and beneath half-drawn windowshades the early-evening wayfarer may perceive a feeble glow as ofilluminating gas turned low; but by ten o'clock these lights have begunto disappear, indicating--or so, at all events, I chose to believe--thatcertain old ladies wearing caps and black silk gowns with old lacefichus held in place by ancient cameos, have proceeded slowly, rustlingly, upstairs to bed, accompanied by their cats. At Cathedral Street, a block or two from Charles, Biddle Street performsa jog, dashing off at a tangent from its former course, while ChaseStreet not only jogs and turns at the corresponding intersection, butdoes so again, where, at the next corner, it meets at once with ParkAvenue and Berkeley Street. After this it runs but a short way and dies, as though exhausted by its own contortions. Here, in a region of malformed city blocks--some of them pentagonal, some irregularly quadrangular, some wedge-shaped--Howard Street setsforth upon its way, running first southwest as far as Richmond Street, then turning south and becoming, by degrees, an important thoroughfare. Somewhere near the beginning of Howard Street my attention was arrestedby shadowy forms in a dark window: furniture, andirons, chinaware, andweapons of obsolete design: unmistakable signs of a shop in whichantiquities were for sale. After making mental note of the location ofthis shop, I proceeded on my way, keeping a sharp lookout for other likeestablishments. Nor was I to be disappointed. These birds of a featherbear out the truth of the proverb by flocking together in Howard Street, as window displays, faintly visible, informed me. Since we have come naturally to the subject of antiques, let us pausehere, under a convenient lamp-post, and discuss the matter further. Baltimore--as I found out later--is probably the headquarters for theSouth in this trade. It has at least one dealer of Fifth Avenue rank, located on Charles Street, and a number of humbler dealers in and nearHoward Street. Among the latter, two in particular interested me. One ofthese--his name is John A. Williar--I have learned to trust. Not onlydid I make some purchases of him while I was in Baltimore, but I haveeven gone so far, since leaving there, as to buy from him by mail, accepting his assurance that some article which I have not seen is, nevertheless, what I want, and that it is "worth the price. " At the other antique shop which interested me I made no purchases. Thestock on hand was very large, and if those who exhibited it to me madeno mistakes in differentiating between genuine antiques and copies, theassortment of ancient furniture on sale in that establishment, when Iwas there, would rank among the great collections of the world. However, human judgment is not infallible, and antique dealers sometimesmake mistakes, offering, so to speak, "new lamps for old. " The eyesightof some dealers may not be so good as that of others; or perhaps onedealer does not know so well as another the difference between, say, anold English Chippendale chair and a New York reproduction; or again, perhaps, some dealers may be innocently unaware that there exist, inthis land of ours, certain large establishments wherein are manufacturedmost extraordinary modern copies of the furniture of long ago. I havebeen in one of these manufactories, and have there seen chairs ofChippendale and Sheraton design which, though fresh from the workman'shands, looked older than the originals from which they had beenplagiarized; also I recall a Jacobean refectory table, the legs of whichappeared to have been eaten half away by time, but which had, inreality, been "antiqued" with a stiff wire brush. I mention thisbecause, in my opinion, antique dealers have a right to know that suchfactories exist. What curious differences there are between the customs of one trade andthose of another. Compare, for instance, the dealer in old furniturewith the dealer in old automobiles. The latter, far from pronouncing amachine of which he wishes to dispose "a genuine antique, " will assureyou--and not always with a strict regard for truth--that it is"practically as good as new. " Or compare the seller of antiques with thehorse dealer. Can you imagine the latter's taking you up to somevenerable quadruped--let alone a three-year-old--and discoursing uponits merits in some such manner as the following: "This is the oldest and most historic horse that has ever come into mypossession. Just look at it, sir! The farmer of whom I bought it assuredme that it was brought over by his ancestors in the _Mayflower_. Theplace where I found it was used as Washington's headquarters during theRevolutionary War, and it is known that Washington himself frequentlysat on this very horse. It was a favorite of his. For he was a large manand he liked a big, comfortable, deep-seated horse, well bracedunderneath, and having strong arms, so that he could tilt it backcomfortably against the wall, with its front legs off the floor, and--" But no! That won't do. It appears I have gotten mixed. However, you knowwhat I meant to indicate. I merely meant to show that a horse dealerwouldn't talk about a horse as an antique dealer would talk about achair. Even if the horse was once actually ridden by the Father of hisCountry, the dealer won't stress the point. You can't get him to admitthat a horse has reached years of discretion, let alone that it is onehundred and forty-five years old, or so. It is this difference betweenthe horse dealer and the dealer in antiques which keeps us in the darkto-day as to exactly which horses Washington rode and which he didn'tride; although we know every chair he ever sat in, and every bed he everslept in, and every house he ever stopped in, and how he is said to havecaught his death of cold. Having thus wandered afield, let me now resume my nocturnal walk. Proceeding down Howard Street to Franklin, I judged by the signs I sawabout me--the conglomerate assortment of theaters, hotels, rathskellers, bars, and brilliantly lighted drug stores--that here was the center ofthe city's nighttime life. Not far from this corner is the Academy, a very spacious and somewhatancient theater, and although the hour was late, into the Academy I wentwith a ticket for standing room. Arriving during an intermission, I had a good view of the auditorium. Itis reminiscent, in its interior "decoration, " of the recently torn-downWallack's Theater in New York. The balcony is supported, after the oldfashion, by posts, and there are boxes the tops of which are draped withtasseled curtains. It is the kind of theater which suggests traditions, dust, and the possibility of fire and panic. After looking about me for a time, I drew from my pocket a pamphletwhich I had picked up in the hotel, and began to gather informationabout the "Monumental City, " as Baltimore sometimes callsitself--thereby misusing the word, since "monumental" means, in onesense, "enduring, " and in another "pertaining to or serving as amonument": neither of which ideas it is intended, in this instance, toconvey. What Baltimore intends to indicate is, not that it pertains tomonuments, but that monuments pertain to it: that it is a city in whichmany monuments have been erected--as is indeed the pleasing fact. Mypamphlet informed me that the first monument to Columbus and the firstto George Washington were here put up, and that among the city's othermonuments was one to Francis Scott Key. I had quite forgotten that itwas at Baltimore that Key wrote the words of "The Star-Spangled Banner, "and, as others may have done the same, it may be well here to recall thedetails. In 1814, after the British had burned a number of Government buildingsin Washington, including "the President's palace" (as one of theirofficers expressed it), they moved on Baltimore, making an attack byland at North Point and a naval attack at Fort McHenry on WhetstonePoint in the estuary of the Patapsco River--here practically an arm ofChesapeake Bay. Both attacks were repulsed. Having gone on the UnitedStates cartel ship _Minden_ (used by the government in negotiatingexchanges of prisoners) to intercede for his friend, Dr. William Beanes, of Upper Marlborough, Maryland, who was held captive on a Britishvessel, Key witnessed the bombardment of Fort McHenry from the deck ofthe _Minden_, and when he perceived "by the dawn's early light" that theflag still flew over the fort, he was moved to write his famous poem. Later it was printed and set to music; it was first sung in a restaurantnear the old Holliday Street Theater, but neither the restaurant nor thetheater exists to-day. It is sometimes stated that Key was himself aprisoner, during the bombardment, on a British warship. That is amistake. By a curious coincidence, only a few minutes after my pamphlet hadreminded me of the origin of "The Star-Spangled Banner" here inBaltimore, I heard the air played under circumstances very differentfrom any which could have been anticipated by the author of the poem, orthe composer who set it to music. The entertainment at the Academy that night was supplied by an elaborate"show" of the burlesque variety known as "The Follies, " and it sohappened that in the course of this hodgepodge of color, comedy, scenery, song, and female anatomy, there was presented a "number" inwhich actors, garbed and frescoed with intent to resemble rulers ofvarious lands, marched successively to the front of the stage, precededin each instance by a small but carefully selected guard wearing thefull-dress-uniform of Broadway Amazons. This uniform consistsprincipally of tights and high-heeled slippers, the different nationsbeing indicated, usually, by means of color combinations and varioustypes of soldiers' hats. No arms are presented save those provided bynature. The King of Italy, the Emperor of Austria, the Czar, the Mikado, theBritish Monarch, the President of France, the King of the Belgians, theKaiser (for the United States had not then entered the war), and, Ithink, some others, put in an appearance, each accompanied by hisPaphian escort, his standard, and the appropriate national air. Apprehending that this symbolic travesty must, almost inevitably, end ina grand orgy of Yankee-Doodleism, I was impelled to flee the placebefore the thing should happen. Yet a horrid fascination held me thereto watch the working up of "patriotic" sentiment by the old, cheap, stage tricks. Presently, of course, the supreme moment came. When all the potentateshad taken their positions, right and left, with their silk-limbedsoldiery in double ranks behind them, there came into view upstage asquad of little white-clad female naval officers, each, according to myrecollection, carrying the Stars and Stripes. As these marched forwardand deployed as skirmishers before the footlights, the orchestra struckup "The Star-Spangled Banner, " fortissimo, and with a liberal soundingof the brasses. Upon this appeared at the back a counterfeit Presidentof the United States, guarded on either side by a female militia--orwere they perhaps secret-service agents?--in striking uniformsconsisting of pink fleshings partially draped with thin black lace. As this incongruous parade proceeded to the footlights, American flagscame into evidence, and, though I forget whether or not Columbiaappeared, I recollect that a beautiful young woman, habited in whatappeared to be a light pink union suit of unexceptionable cut andmaterial, appeared above the head of the pseudo-chief executive, suspended at the end of a wire. Never having heard that it was WhiteHouse etiquette to hang young ladies on wires above the presidentialhead, I consulted my program and thereby learned that this young ladyrepresented that species of poultry so popular always with the lateSecretary of State, Mr. Bryan, and so popular also at one time with thePresident himself: namely, the Dove of Peace. The applause was thunderous. At the sound of "The Star-Spangled Banner"a few members of the audience arose to their feet; others soonfollowed--some of them apparently with reluctance--until at last theentire house had risen. Meanwhile the members of the company lined upbefore the footlights: the mock president smirking at the center, thehalf-clad girls posing, the pink young lady dangling above, the bandblaring, the Stars and Stripes awave. It was a scene, in all, about asconducive to genuine or creditable national pride as would be the sceneof a debauch in some fabulous harem. The difference between stupidity and satire lies, not infrequently, inthe intent with which a thing is done. Presented without essentialchange upon the stage of a music hall in some foreign land, the scenejust described would, at that time, when we were playing a timid partamongst the nations, have been accepted, not as a glorification of theUnited States, but as having a precisely opposite significance. It wouldhave been taken for burlesque; burlesque upon our country, ourPresident, our national spirit, our peace policy, our army, and perhapsalso upon our women--and insulting burlesque at that. Some years since, it was found necessary to pass a law prohibiting theuse of the flag for advertising purposes. This law should be amended toprotect it also from the even more sordid and vulgarizing associationsto which it is not infrequently submitted on the American musical-comedystage. * * * * * In the morning, before I was awake, my companion arrived at the hotel, and, going to his room, opened the door connecting it with mine. Comingout of my slumber with that curious and not altogether pleasant sense ofbeing stared at, I found his eyes fixed upon me, and noticed immediatelyabout him the air of virtuous superiority which is assumed by all whohave risen early, whether they have done so by choice or have beenshaken awake. "Hello, " I said. "Had breakfast?" "No. I thought we could breakfast together if you felt like getting up. " Though the phraseology of this remark was unexceptionable, I knew whatit meant. What it really meant was: "Shame on you, lying there so lazyafter sunup! Look at _me_, all dressed and ready to begin!" I arose at once. For all that I don't like to get up early, it recalled old times, andwas very pleasant, to be away with him again upon our travels; to be ina strange city and a strange hotel, preparing to set forth onexplorations. For he is the best, the most charming, the most observantof companions, and also one of the most patient. That is one of his greatest qualities--his patience. Throughout ourother trip he always kept on being patient with me, no matter what Idid. Many a time instead of pushing me down an elevator shaft, drowningme in my bath, or coming in at night and smothering me with a pillow, hehas merely sighed, dropped into a chair, and sat there shaking his headand staring at me with a melancholy, ruminative, hopelessexpression--such an expression as may come into the face of a dumb manwhen he looks at a waiter who has spilled an oyster cocktail on him. All this is good for me. It has a chastening effect. Therefore in a spirit happy yet not exuberant, eager yet controlled, hopeful yet a little bit afraid, I dressed myself hurriedly, breakfastedwith him (eating ham and eggs because he approves of ham and eggs), andafter breakfast set out in his society to obtain what--despite my walkof the night before--I felt was not alone my first real view ofBaltimore, but my first glimpse over the threshold of the South: intothe land of aristocracy and hospitality, of mules and mammies, ofplantations, porticos, and proud, flirtatious belles, of colonels, cotton, chivalry, and colored cooking. CHAPTER III WHERE THE CLIMATES MEET Here, where the climates meet, That each may make the other's lack complete-- --SIDNEY LANIER. Because Baltimore was built, like Rome, on seven hills, and becausetrains run under it instead of through, the passing traveler sees butlittle of the city, his view from the train window being restrictedfirst to a suburban district, then to a black tunnel, then to a glimpseupward from the railway cut, in which the station stands. These facts, Ithink, combine to leave upon his mind an impression which, if notactually unfavorable, is at least negative; for certainly he hasobtained no just idea of the metropolis of Maryland. Let it be declared at the outset, then, that Baltimore is not in anysense to be regarded as a suburb of Washington. Indeed, considering thetwo merely as cities situated side by side, and eliminating the highlyspecialized features of Washington, Baltimore becomes, according to thestandards by which American cities are usually compared, the moreimportant city of the two, being greater both in population and incommerce. In this aspect Baltimore may, perhaps, be pictured as thecommercial half of Washington. And while Washington, as capital of theUnited States, has certain physical and cosmopolitan advantages, notonly over Baltimore, but over every other city on this continent, itmust not be forgotten that, upon the other hand, every other city hasone vast advantage over Washington, namely, a comparative freedom frompoliticians. To be sure, Congress did once move over to Baltimore andsit there for several weeks, but that was in 1776, when the Britishapproached the Delaware in the days before the pork barrel was invented. As a city Baltimore has marked characteristics. Though south of Masonand Dixon's Line, and though sometimes referred to as the "metropolis ofthe South" (as is New Orleans also), it is in character neither a cityentirely northern nor entirely southern, but one which partakes of thequalities of both; where, in the words of Sidney Lanier, "the climatesmeet, " and where northern and southern thought and custom meet, as well. This has long been the case. Thus, although slaves were held inBaltimore before the Civil War, a strong abolitionist society was formedthere during Washington's first Administration, and the sentiment of thecity was thereafter divided on the slavery question. Thus also, whilethe two candidates of the divided Democratic party who ran againstLincoln for the presidency in 1860 were nominated at Baltimore, Lincolnhimself was nominated there by the Union-Republican party in 1864. Speaking of the blending of North and South in Baltimore, you will, ofcourse, remember that the Sixth Massachusetts Regiment was attacked by amob as it passed through the city on the way to the Civil War. Theregiment arrived in Baltimore at the old President Street Station, whichwas then the main station of the Pennsylvania Railroad, and which, nowused as a freight station, looks like an old war-time woodcut out of_Harper's Weekly_. It was the custom in those days to hitch horses topassenger coaches which were going through and draw them across town tothe Baltimore & Ohio Station; but when it was attempted thus totransport the northern troops a mob gathered and blocked the PrattStreet bridge over Jones's Falls, forcing the soldiers to leave the carsand march through Pratt Street, along the water front, where they wereattacked. It is, however, a noteworthy fact that Mayor Brown ofBaltimore bravely preceded the troops and attempted to stop the rioting. A few days later the city was occupied by northern troops, and thewarship _Harriet Lane_ anchored at a point off Calvert Street, whenceher guns commanded the business part of town. After this there was nomore serious trouble. Moreover, it will be remembered that thoughMaryland was represented by regiments in both armies, the State, torn asit was by conflicting feeling, nevertheless held to the Union. A pretty sequel to the historic attack on the Sixth Massachusettsoccurred when the same regiment passed through Baltimore in 1898, on itsway to the Spanish War. On this occasion it was "attacked" again in thestreets of the city, but the missiles thrown, instead of paving-stonesand bricks, were flowers. Continuing the category of contrasts, one may observe that while thegeneral appearance of Baltimore suggests a northern city rather than asouthern one--Philadelphia, for instance, rather thanRichmond--Baltimore society is strongly flavored with the tradition andthe soft pronunciation of the South; particularly of Virginia and the"Eastern Shore. " So, too, the city's position on the border line is reflected in itshandling of the negro. Of American cities, Washington has the largestnegro population, 94, 446, New York and New Orleans follow with almost asmany, and Baltimore comes fourth with 84, 749, according to the lastcensus. New York has one negro to every fifty-one whites, Philadelphiaone to every seventeen whites, Baltimore one to every six, Washington anegro to every two and a half whites, and Richmond not quite two whitesto every negro. But, although Baltimore follows southern practice inmaintaining separate schools for negro children, and in segregatingnegro residences to certain blocks, she follows northern practice incasting a considerable negro vote at elections, and also in notproviding separate seats for negroes in her street cars. Have you ever noticed how cities sometimes seem to have their ownespecial colors? Paris is white and green--even more so, I think, thanWashington. Chicago is gray; so is London usually, though I have seenit buff at the beginning of a heavy fog. New York used to be a brownsandstone city, but is now turning to one of cream-colored brick andtile; Naples is brilliant with pink and blue and green and white andyellow; while as for Baltimore, her old houses and her new are, asBaedeker puts it, of "cheerful red brick"--not always, of course, butoften enough to establish the color of red brick as the city'spredominating hue. And with the red-brick houses--particularly the olderones--go clean white marble steps, on the bottom one of which, at theside, may usually be found an old-fashioned iron "scraper, " doubtlessleft over from the time (not very long ago) when the city pavements hadnot reached their present excellence. The color of red brick is not confined to the center of the city, butspreads to the suburbs, fashionable and unfashionable. At one margin ofthe town I was shown solid blocks of pleasant red-brick houses which, Iwas told, were occupied by workmen and their families, and were to behad at a rental of from ten to twenty dollars a month. For thoughBaltimore has a lower East Side which, like the lower East Side of NewYork, encompasses the Ghetto and Italian quarter, she has not tenementsin the New York sense; one sees no tall, cheap flat houses draped withfire escapes and built to make herding places for the poor. Many of thehouses in this section are instead the former homes of fashionables whohave moved to other quarters of the city--handsome old homesteads withhere and there a lovely, though battered, doorway sadly reminiscent ofan earlier elegance. So, also, red brick permeates the prosperoussuburbs, such as Roland Park and Guilford, where, in a sweetly rollingcountry which lends itself to the arrangement of graceful winding roadsand softly contoured plantings, stand quantities of pleasing homes, lately built, many of them colonial houses of red brick. Indeed, itstruck us that the only parts of Baltimore in which red brick was notthe dominant note were the downtown business section and Mount VernonPlace. Mount Vernon Place is the center of Baltimore. Everything begins there, including Baedeker, who, in his little red book, gives it the asteriskof his approval, says that it "suggests Paris in its tasteful monumentsand surrounding buildings, " and recommends the view from the top of theWashington Monument. This monument, standing upon an eminence at the point where Charles andMonument Streets would cross each other were not their coursesinterrupted by the pleasing parked space of Mount Vernon Place, is agray stone column, surmounted by a figure of Washington--or, rather, bythe point of a lightning rod under which the figure stands. Othermonuments are known as this monument or that, but when "the monument" isspoken of, the Washington Monument is inevitably meant. This is quitenatural, for it is not only the most simple and picturesque old monumentin Baltimore, but also the largest, the oldest, and the mostconspicuous: its proud head, rising high in air, having for nearly acentury dominated the city. One catches glimpses of it down this streetor that, or sees it from afar over the housetops; and sometimes, whenthe column is concealed from view by intervening buildings, and only thesurmounting statue shows above them, one is struck by a suddenapparition of the Father of his Country strolling fantastically uponsome distant roof. Though it may be true that Mount Vernon Place, with its symmetricalparked center and its admirable bronzes (several of them by Baryé), suggests Paris, and though it is certainly true that it is more like aParisian square than a London square, nevertheless it is in reality anAmerican square--perhaps the finest of its kind in the United States. Ifit were Parisian, it would have more trees and the surrounding buildingswould be uniform in color and in cornice height. It is perhaps as muchlike Rittenhouse Square in Philadelphia as any other, and thatresemblance is of the slightest, for Mount Vernon Place has a qualityaltogether its own. It has no skyscrapers or semi-skyscrapers to throwit out of balance; and though the structures which surround it are ofwhite stone, brown stone, and red brick, and of anything but homogeneousarchitecture, nevertheless a comparative uniformity of height, auniversal solidity of construction, and a general grace about them, combine to give the Place an air of equilibrium and dignity andelegance. Including the Washington Monument, Baltimore has three lofty landmarks, likely to be particularly noticed by the roving visitor. Of theremaining two, one is the old brick shot-tower in the lower part oftown, which legend tells us was put up without the use of scaffoldingnearly a hundred years ago; while the other, a more modern, if lessmodest structure, proudly surmounts a large commercial building and isitself capped by the gigantic effigy of a bottle. This bottle is veryconspicuous because of its emplacement, because it revolves, and becauseit is illuminated at night. You can never get away from it. One evening I asked a man what the bottle meant up there. "It's a memorial to Emerson, " he told me. "Are they so fond of Emerson down here?" "I don't know as they are so all-fired fond of him, " he answered. "But they _must_ be fond of him to put up such a big memorial. Why, evenin Boston, where he was born, they have no such memorial as that. " "He put it up himself, " said the man. That struck me as strange. It seemed somehow out of character with thegreat philosopher. Also, I could not see why, if he did wish to raise amemorial to himself, he had elected to fashion it in the form of abottle and put it on top of an office building. "I suppose there is some sort of symbolism about it?" I suggested. "Now you got it, " approved the man. I gazed at the tower for a while in thought. Then I said: "Do you suppose that Emerson meant something like this: that human lifeor, indeed, the soul, may be likened to the contents of a bottle; thatday by day we use up some portion of the contents--call it, if you like, the nectar of existence--until the fluid of life runs low, and at lastis gone entirely, leaving only the husk, as it were--or, to make themetaphor more perfect, the shell, or empty bottle: the container of whatEmerson himself called, if I recollect correctly, 'the soul that makethall'--do you suppose he meant to teach us some such thing as that?" The man looked a little confused by this deep and beautiful thought. "He _might_ of meant that, " he said, somewhat dubiously. "But they tellme Captain Emerson's a practical man, and I reckon what he _mainly_meant was that he made his money out of this-here Bromo Seltzer, and hewas darn glad of it, so he thought he'd put him up a big Bromo Seltzerbottle as a kind of cross between a monument and an ad. " If the bottle tower represents certain modern concepts of what issuitable in architecture, it is nevertheless pleasant to record the factthat many honorable old buildings--most of them residences--survive inBaltimore, and that, because of their survival, the city looks olderthan New York and fully as old as either Philadelphia or Boston. But inthis, appearances are misleading, for New York and Boston were acentury old, and Philadelphia half a century, when Baltimore was firstlaid out as a town. Efforts to start a settlement near the city'spresent site were, it is true, being made before William Penn and hisQuakers established Philadelphia, but a letter written in 1687 byCharles Calvert, third Baron Baltimore, explains that: "The people there[are] not affecting to build nere each other but soe as to have theirhouses nere the watters for conveniencye of trade and their lands oneach side of and behynde their houses, by which it happens that in mostplaces there are not fifty houses in the space of thirty myles. "[1] [1] From "Historic Towns of the Southern States. " The difficulty experienced by the Barons Baltimore, Lords Proprietary ofMaryland, in building up communities in their demesne was not a localproblem, but one which confronted those interested in the development ofthe entire portion of this continent now occupied by the SouthernStates. Generally speaking, towns came into being more slowly in theSouth than in the North, and it seems probable that one of the principalreasons for this may be found in the fact that settlers throughout theSouth lived generally at peace with the Indians, whereas the northernsettlers were obliged to congregate in towns for mutual protection. Thus, in colonial days, while the many cities of New York and NewEngland were coming into being, the South was developing its vast andisolated plantations. Farms on the St. Lawrence River and on theDetroit River, where the French were settling, were very narrow and verydeep, the idea being to range the houses close together on the riverfront; but on such rivers as the Potomac, the Rappahannock and theJames, no element of early fear is to be traced in the form of the broadbaronial plantations. Nevertheless, when Baltimore began at last to grow, she became aprodigy, not only among American cities, but among the cities of theworld. Her first town directory was published in 1796, and she began thenext year as an incorporated city, with a mayor, a population of abouttwenty thousand, and a curiously assorted early history containing suchodd items as that the first umbrella carried in the United States wasbrought from India and unfurled in Baltimore in 1772; that the town hadfor some time possessed such other useful articles as a fire engine, abrick theater, a newspaper, and policemen; that the streets were lightedwith oil lamps; that such proud signs of metropolitanism as riot andepidemic were not unknown; that before the Revolution bachelors weretaxed for the benefit of his Britannic Majesty; and that at fair timethe "lid was off, " and the citizen or visitor who wished to get himselfarrested must needs be diligent indeed. CHAPTER IV TRIUMPHANT DEFEAT There are some defeats more triumphant than victories. --MONTAIGNE. Following the incorporation of the city, Baltimore grew much as Chicagowas destined to grow more than a century later; within less than thirtyyears, when Chicago was a tiny village, Baltimore had become the thirdcity in the United States: a city of wealthy merchants engaged in anextensive foreign trade; for in those days there was an Americanmerchant marine, and the swift, rakish Baltimore clippers were known theseven seas over. The story of modern Baltimore is entirely unrelated to the city's earlyhistory. It consists in a simple but inspiring record of regenerationspringing from disaster. It is the story of Chicago, of San Francisco, of Galveston, of Dayton, and of many a smaller town: a cataclysm, a fewdays of despair, a return of courage, and another beginning. Imagine yourself being tucked into bed one night by your valet or yourmaid, as the case may be, calm in the feeling that all was secure: thatyour business was returning a handsome income, that your stocks andbonds were safe in the strong box, that the prosperity of yourdescendants was assured. Then imagine ruin coming like lightning in thenight. In the morning you are poor. Your business, your investments, your very hopes, are gone. Everything is wiped out. The labor of alifetime must be begun again. Such an experience was that of Baltimore in the fire of 1904. On the sickening morning following the conflagration two Baltimore men, friends of mine, walked down Charles Street to a point as near theruined region as it was possible to go. "Well, " said one, surveying the smoking crater, "what do you think ofit?" "Baltimore is gone, " was the response. "We are off the map. " How many citizens of Chicago, of San Francisco, of Galveston, of Daytonhave known the anguish of that first aftermath of hopelessness! How manycitizens of Baltimore knew it that day! And yet how bravely and withwhat magic swiftness have these cities risen from their ruins! Was notRome burned? Was not London? And is it not, then, time for men to learnfrom the history of other men and other cities that disaster does notspell the end, but is oftentimes another name for opportunity? Always, after disaster to a city, come improvements, but becausedisaster not only cleans the slate but simultaneously stuns the mind, aportion of the opportunity is invariably lost. The task of rebuilding, of widening a few streets, looks large enough to him who stands amidstdestruction--and there, consequently, improvement usually stops. That iswhy the downtown boulevard system of Chicago has yet to be completed, inspite of the fact that it might with little difficulty have beencompleted after the Chicago fire (although it is only just to add thatcity planning was almost an unknown art in America at that time); andthat also is why the hills of San Francisco are not terraced, as it wassuggested they should be after the fire, but remain to-day inaccessibleto frontal attack by even the maddest mountain goat of a taxi driver. These matters are not mentioned in the way of criticism: I have onlyadmiration for the devastated cities and for those who built them upagain. I call attention to lost opportunities with something likereluctance, and only in the wish to emphasize the fact that our crippledor destroyed cities do invariably rise again, and that if the nextAmerican city to sustain disaster shall but have this simple lessonlearned in advance, it may thereby register a new high mark in municipalintelligence and a new record among the rebuilt cities, by making moresweet than any other city ever made them, the uses of adversity. The fire of 1904 found Baltimore a town of narrow highways, oldbuildings, bad pavements, and open gutter drains. The streets were laidin what is known as "southern cobble, " which is the next thing to nopavement at all, being made of irregular stones, large and small, laidin the dirt and tamped down. For bumps and ruts there is no pavement inthe world to be compared with it. There were no city sewers. Outside afew affluent neighborhoods, the citizens of which clubbed together tobuild private sewers, the cesspool was in general use, while domesticdrainage emptied into the roadside gutters. These were made passable, atcrossings, by stepping stones, about the bases of which passedinteresting armadas of potato peelings, floating, upon wash days, inwater having the fine Mediterranean hue which comes from dilutedblueing. Everybody seemed to find the entire system adequate; for, itwas argued, the hilly contours of the city caused the drainage quicklyto be carried off, while as for typhoid and mosquitoes--well, there hadalways been typhoid and mosquitoes, just as there had always been theseopen gutters. It was all quite good enough. Then the fire. And then the upbuilding of the city--not only of the acres and acrescomprising the burned section, in which streets were widened andskyscrapers arose where fire-traps had been--but outside the fire zone, where sewers were put down and pavements laid. Nor was the change merelyphysical. With the old buildings, the old spirit of _laissez faire_ wentup in smoke, and in the embers a municipal conscience was born. Almostas though by the light of the flames which engulfed it, the city beganto see itself as it had never seen itself before: to take account ofstock, to plan broadly for the future. Nor has the new-born spirit died. Only last year an extensive red-lightdistrict was closed effectively and once for all. Baltimore is to-dayfree from flagrant commercialized vice. And if not quite all the oldcobble pavements and open-gutter drains have been eliminated, there arebut few of them left--left almost as though for purposes ofcontrast--and the Baltimorean who takes you to the Ghetto and shows youthese ancient remnants may immediately thereafter escort you to theFallsway, where the other side of the picture is presented. The Fallsway is a brand-new boulevard of pleasing aspect, the peculiarfeature of which is that it is nothing more or less than a cover overthe top of Jones's Falls, which figured in the early history ofBaltimore as a water course, but which later came to figure as a great, open, trunk sewer. Every one in Baltimore is proud of the Fallsway, but particularly so arethe city engineers who carried the work through. While in Baltimore Ihad the pleasure of meeting one of these gentlemen, and I can assure youthat no young head of a family was ever more delighted with his newcottage in a suburb, his wife, his children, his garden, and his colliepuppy, than was this engineer with his boulevard sewer. Like a lover, hecarried pictures of it in his pocket, and like a lover he would assureyou that it was "not like other sewers. " Nor could he speak of itwithout beginning to wish to take you out to see it--not merely for amotor ride along the top of it, either. No, his hospitality did notstop there. When _he_ invited you to a sewer he invited you _in_. And ifyou went in with him, no one could make you come out until you wantedto. As he told my companion and me of the three great tubes, the walksbeside them, the conduits for gas and electricity, and all the otherwonders of the place, I began to wish that we might go with him, for, though we have been to a good many places together, this was somethingnew: it was the first time we had ever been invited to drop into a sewerand make ourselves as much at home as though we lived there. My companion, however, seemed unsympathetic to the project. "Sewers, you know, " he said, when I taxed him with indifference, "havecome to have a very definite place in both the literary and the graphicarts. How do you propose to treat it?" "What do you mean?" "When you write about it: Are you going to write about it as a realist, a mystic, or a romanticist?" I said I didn't know. "Well, a man who is going to write of a sewer _ought_ to know, " he toldme severely. "You're not up to sewers yet. They're too big for you. Ifyou take my advice you'll keep out of the sewers for the present andstick to the gutters. " So I did. CHAPTER V TERRAPIN AND THINGS Baltimore society has a Maryland and Virginia base, but is seasoned withfamilies of Acadian descent, and with others descended from thePennsylvania Dutch--those "Dutch" who, by the way, are not Dutch at all, being of Saxon and Bavarian extraction. Many Virginians settled inBaltimore after the war, and it may be in part owing to this fact, thatfox-hunting with horse and hound, as practised for three centuries pastin England, and for nearly two centuries by Virginia's countrygentlemen, is carried on extensively in the neighborhood of Baltimore, by the Green Spring Valley Hunt Club, the Elkridge Fox-Hunting Club andsome others--which brings me to the subject of clubs in general. The Baltimore Country Club, at Roland Park, just beyond the city limits, has a large, well-set clubhouse, an active membership, and charmingrolling golf links, one peculiarity of the course being that a part ofthe city's water-supply system has been utilized for hazards. The two characteristic clubs of the city itself, the Maryland Club andthe Baltimore Club, are known the country over. The former occupies aposition in Baltimore comparable with that of the Union Club in NewYork, the Chicago Club in Chicago, or the Pacific Union in SanFrancisco, and has to its credit at least one famous dish: Terrapin, Maryland Club Style. The Baltimore Club is used by a younger group of men and has aparticularly pleasant home in a large mansion, formerly the residence ofthe Abell family, long known in connection with that noteworthy oldsheet, the Baltimore "Sun, " which, it may be remarked in passing, iscuriously referred to by many Baltimoreans, not as the "Sun, " but as the"Sun-paper. " This odd item reminds me of another: In the Balti-telephone book Ichanced to notice under the letter "F" the entry: Fisher, Frank, of J. Upon inquiry I learned that the significance of this was that, therebeing more than one gentleman of the name of Frank Fisher in the city, this Mr. Frank Fisher added "of J" to his name (meaning "son of John")for purposes of differentiation. I was informed further that this customis not uncommon in Baltimore, in cases where a name is duplicated, and Iwas shown another example: that of Mr. John Fyfe Symington of S. A typically southern institution of long standing, and highlycharacteristic of the social life of Baltimore, is the Bachelors'Cotillion, one of the oldest dancing clubs in the country. During theseason this organization gives a series of some half-dozen balls whichare the events of the fashionable year. The organization and general character of the Bachelors' Cotillion isnot unlike that of the celebrated St. Cecilia Society of Charleston. Thecost of membership is so slight that almost any eligible young man caneasily afford it. There is, however, a long waiting-list. The club iscontrolled by a board of governors, the members of which hold office forlife, and who, instead of being elected by the organization are selected_in camera_ by the board itself, when vacancies occur. The balls given by this society are known as the Monday Germans, and atthese balls, which are held in the Lyric Theater, the city's débutantesare presented to society. As in all southern cities, much is made ofdébutantes in Baltimore. On the occasion of their first Monday Germanall their friends send them flowers, and they appear flower-laden at theball, followed by their relatives who are freighted down with theirdarlings' superfluous bouquets. The modern steps are danced at theseballs, but there are usually a few cotillion figures, albeit without"favors. " And perhaps the best part of it all is that the first ball ofthe season, and the Christmas ball, end at one o'clock, and that all theothers end at midnight. That seems to me a humane arrangement, althoughthe opinion may only signify that I am growing old. Another very characteristic phase of Baltimore life, and of southernlife--at least in many cities--is that, instead of dealing with thebaker, and the grocer, and the fish-market man around the corner, allBaltimore women go to the great market-sheds and do their own selectingunder what amounts to one great roof. The Lexington Market, to which my companion and I had the good fortuneto be taken by a Baltimore lady, is comparable, in its picturesquenesswith _Les Halles_ of Paris, or the fascinating market in Seattle, wherethe Japanese pile up their fresh vegetables with such charming show oftaste. The great sheds cover three long blocks, and in the countlessstall-like shops which they contain may be found everything for thetable, including flowers to trim it and after-dinner sweets. I doubtthat any northern housewife knows such a market or such a profusion ofcomestibles. In one stall may be purchased meat, in the next vegetables, in the next fish, in the next bread and cake, in the next butter andbuttermilk, in the next fruit, or game, or flowers, or--at Christmastime--tree trimmings. These stalls, with their contents, are duplicatedover and over again; and if your fair guide be shopping for a dinnerparty, at which two men from out of town are to be initiated into thedelights of the Baltimore cuisine, she may order up the costly andaristocratic _Malacoclemmys_, the diamond-back terrapin, sacred inBaltimore as is the Sacred Cod himself in Boston. The admirable encyclopedia of Messrs. Funk & Wagnall's informs me that"the diamond-back salt-water terrapin ... Is caught in salt marshesalong the coast from New England to Texas, _the finest being those ofthe Massachusetts and the northern coasts_. " The italics are mine; andupon the italicized passage I expect the mayor and town council ofBaltimore, or even the Government of the State of Maryland, to proceedagainst Messrs. Funk & Wagnalls, whose valuable volumes should forthwithbe placed upon the State's _index expurgatorius_. Of a marketman I obtained the following lore concerning the tortoise ofthe terrapin species: In the Baltimore markets four kinds of terrapin are sold--not countingmuskrat, which is sometimes disguised with sauce and sherry and servedas a substitute. The cheapest and toughest terrapin is known as the"slider. " Slightly superior to the "slider" is the "fat-back, "measuring, usually, about nine or ten inches in length, and costing, atretail, fifty cents to a dollar, according to season and demand. Somewhat better than the "fat-back, " but of about the same size andcost, is the "golden-stripe" terrapin; but all these are the merest poorrelations of the diamond-back. Some diamond-back terrapin are suppliedfor the Baltimore market from North Carolina, but these, my marketmanassured me, are inferior to those of Chesapeake Bay. (Everything in, orfrom, North Carolina seems to be inferior, according to the people ofthe other Southern States. ) Although there is a closed season for terrapin, the value of thediamond-back causes him to be relentlessly hunted during the openseason, with the result that, like the delectable lobster, he ispassing. As the foolish lobster-fishermen of northern New England arekilling the goose--or, rather, the crustacean--that lays the goldeneggs, so are the terrapin hunters of the Chesapeake. Two or threedecades ago, lobster and terrapin alike were eaten in the regions oftheir abundance as cheap food. One Baltimore lady told me that herfather's slaves, on an Eastern Shore plantation, used to eat terrapin. Yet behold the cost of the precious diamond-back to-day! In his smallersizes, according to my marketman, he is worth about a dollar an inch, while when grown to fair proportions he costs as much as a railroadticket from Baltimore to Chicago. And for my part I would about as sooneat the ticket as the terrapin. Of a number of other odd items which help to give Baltimore distinctflavor I find the following in my notebooks: There are good street railways; also 'bus lines operated by the UnitedRailways Company. Under the terms of its charter this company wasoriginally obliged to turn over to the city thirteen per cent. Of itsgross income, to be expended upon the upkeep of parks. Of late years theamount has been reduced to nine per cent. The parks are admirable. Freight rates from the west to Baltimore are, I am informed, enoughlower than freight rates to New York, Boston, or Philadelphia, to giveBaltimore a decided advantage as a point of export. Also she isadmirably situated as to sources of coal supply. (I do not care muchfor the last two items, myself, but put them in to please the Chamber ofCommerce. ) * * * * * It is the habit of my companion and myself, when visiting strangecities, to ask for interesting eating-places of one sort or another. InBaltimore there seems to be no choice but to take meals inhotels--unless one may wish to go to the Dutch Tea room or the Woman'sExchange for a shoppers' lunch, and to see (in the latter establishment)great numbers of ladies sitting upon tall stools and eating at alunch-counter--a somewhat curious spectacle, perhaps, but neitherpleasing to the eye nor thrilling to the senses. The nearest thing to "character" which I found in a Baltimoreeating-place was at an establishment known as Kelly's Oyster House, aplace in a dark quarter of the town. It had the all-night look about it, and the negro waiters showed themselves not unacquainted with certain ofthe city's gilded youth. Kelly's is a sort of southern version of"Jack's"--if you know Jack's. But I don't think Jack's has any flight ofstairs to fall down, such as Kelly's has. The dining rooms of the various hotels are considerably used, onejudges, by the citizens of Baltimore. The Kernan Hotel, which we visitedone night after the theater, looked like Broadway. Tables were crowdedtogether and there was dancing between them--and between mouthfuls. So, too, at the Belvedere, which is used considerably by Baltimore's gayand fashionable people. My companion and I stayed at the Belvedere and found it a good hotel, albeit one which has, I think, become a shade too well accustomed tobeing called good. Perhaps because of a city ordinance, perhaps becausethe waiters want to go to bed, they have a trick, in the Belvederedining-room, during the cold weather, of opening the windows andfreezing out such dilatory supper-guests as would fain sit up and talk. This is a system even more effective than the ancient one of mopping upthe floors, piling chairs upon the tables, and turning out enough lightsto make the room dull. A good post-midnight conversationalist--andBaltimore is not without them--can stand mops, buckets, and dim lights, but turn cold drafts upon his back and he gives up, sends for his coat, buttons it about his paunch and goes sadly home. It is fitting that last of all should be mentioned the man who views youwith keen eye as you arrive in Baltimore, and who watches you depart. Ifyou are in Baltimore he knows it. And when you go away he knows that, too. Also, during racing season, he knows whether you bet, and whetheryou won or lost. He is always at the station and always at the racetrack, and if you don't belong in Baltimore he is aware of it theinstant he sets eyes upon you, because he knows every man, woman, child, and dog in Baltimore, and they all know him. If you are a Baltimoreanyou are already aware that I refer to the sapient McNeal, policeman atthe Union Station. McNeal and Cardinal Gibbons are, I take it, the two preëminent figuresof the city. Their duties, I admit, are not alike, but each performs hisduties with discretion, with devotion, with distinction. The latter hasalready celebrated the thirtieth anniversary of his nomination ascardinal, but the former is well on the way toward his fortiethanniversary as officer at the Union Station. McNeal is an artist. He loves his work. And when his day off comes andhe puts on citizen's clothing and goes out for a good time, where do yousuppose he goes? Why down to the station, of course, to talk things over with the man whois relieving him! CHAPTER VI DOUGHOREGAN MANOR AND THE CARROLLS If I am to be honest about the South, and about myself--and I propose tobe--I must admit that, though I approached the fabled land in a mostfriendly spirit, I had nevertheless become a little tired of thesouthern family tree, the southern ancestral hall, and the old southernnegro servant of stage and story, and just a little skeptical aboutthem. Almost unconsciously, at first, I had begun to wonder whether, instead of being things of actuality, they were not, rather, a mere setof romantic trade-marks, so to speak; symbols signifying the South asthe butler with side whiskers signifies English comedy; as "Her" visitto "His" rooms, in the third act, signifies English drama; or as doubledoorways in a paneled "set" signify French farce. Furthermore, it had occurred to me that of persons of southern accent, or merely southern extraction, whom I had encountered in the North, astrangely high percentage were not only of "fine old southern family, "but of peculiarly tenacious purpose in respect to having the matterunderstood. I cannot pretend to say when the "professional Southerner, " as we knowhim in New York, began to operate, nor shall I attempt to place theliterary blame for his existence--as Mark Twain attempted to place uponSir Walter Scott the blame for southern "chivalry, " and almost for theCivil War itself. Let me merely say, then, that I should not besurprised to learn that "Colonel Carter of Cartersville"--that lovableold fraud who did not mean to be a fraud at all, but whose naïvetépassed the bounds of human credulity--was not far removed from thebottom of the matter. In the tenor of these sentiments my companion shared--though I shouldadd that he complained bitterly about agreeing with me, saying that withhats alike, and overcoats alike, and trunks alike, and suitcases alike, we already resembled two members of a minstrel troupe, and that nowsince we were beginning to think alike, through traveling so muchtogether, our friends would not be able to tell us apart when we gothome again--in spite of this he admitted to the same suspicion of theSouth as I expressed. Wherefore we entered the region like a pair ofagnostics entering the great beyond: skeptical, but ready to be "shown. " It was with the generous purpose of "showing" us that a Baltimore friendof ours called for us one day with his motor car and was presentlywafting us over the good oiled roads of Maryland, through sweet, rollingcountry, which seemed to have been made to be ridden over uponhorseback. It was autumn, but though the chill of northern autumn was in the air, the coloring was not so high in key as in New York or New England, thefoliage being less brilliant, but rich with subtle harmonies of brownand green, blending softly together as in a faded tapestry, and givingthe landscape an expression of brooding tenderness. After passing through Ellicott City, an old, shambling town quite out ofcharacter with its new-sounding name, which has such a western ring toit, we traversed for several miles the old Frederick Turnpike--formerlya national highway between East and West--swooping up and down over aseries of little hills and vales, and at length turned off into aprivate road winding through a venerable forest, which was like an oldGothic cathedral with its pavement of brown leaves and its tree-trunkcolumns, tall, gray, and slender. When we had progressed for perhaps a mile, we emerged upon a slighteminence commanding a broad view of meadow and of woodland, and in turncommanded by a great house. The house was of buff-colored brick. It was low and very long, withwings extending from its central structure like beautiful arms flungwide in welcome, and at the end of each a building like an ornamentbalanced in an outstretched hand. The graceful central portico, risingby several easy steps from the driveway level, the long line of cornice, the window sashes, the delicate wooden railing surmounting the roof, thecharming little tower which so gracefully held its place above thegeometrical center of the house, the bell tower crowning one wing at itsextremity--all these were white. No combination of colors can be lovelier, in such a house, thanyellow-buff and white, provided they be brightened by some notes ofgreen; and these notes were not lacking, for several aged elms, occupying symmetrical positions with regard to the house, seemed to gazedown upon it with the adoration of a group of mothers, aunts, andgrandmothers, as they held their soft draperies protectively above it. The green of the low terrace--called a "haha, " supposedly with referenceto the mirth-provoking possibilities of an accidental step over theedge--did not reach the base of the buff walls, but was lost in a fringeof clustering shrubbery, from which patches of lustrous English ivyclambered upward over the brick, to lay strong, mischievous fingers uponthe blinds of certain second-story windows. The blinds were of coursegreen; green blinds being as necessary to an American window aseyelashes to an eye. Immediately before the portico and centering upon it the drive swung ina spacious circle, from which there broke, at a point directly oppositethe portico, an avenue, straight and long as a rifle range, and lovelyas the loveliest of New England village greens. Down the middle of thisbroad way, between grass borders each as wide as a great boulevard, anddouble rows of patriarchal trees, ran a road which, in the old days, continued straight to Annapolis, thirty or more miles away, where wasthe town house of the builder of this manor. As it stands to-day theavenue is less than half a mile long, but whatever its length, andwhether one look down it from the house, or up the gentle grade from thefar end, to where the converging lines of grass and foliage and sky meltinto the house, it has about it something of unreality, something ofenchantment, something of that quality one finds in the rhapsodiclandscapes of those poet painters who dream of distant shimmeringpalaces and supernal vistas peopled by fauns and nymphs dancing amid thetrunks of giant trees whose luxuriant dark tops are contoured like thecumulus white clouds floating above them. There is nothing "baronial, " nothing arrogant, about Doughoregan Manor, for though the house is noble, its nobility, consisting in spaciousness, simplicity, and grace combined with age, fits well into what, it seemsto me, should be the architectural ideals of a republic. No house couldbe freer of unessential embellishment; in detail it is plain almost toseverity; yet the full impression that it gives, far from being austere, is of friendliness and hospitality. An approachable sort of house, a"homelike" house, it is perhaps less "imposing" than some othermansions, coeval with it, in Virginia, in Annapolis, and in Charleston;and yet it is as impressive, in its own way, as Warwick Castle, orHurstmonceaux, or Loches, or Chinon, or Chenonceaux, or Heidelberg--notthat it is so vast, that it has glowering battlements, or that it stunsthe eye, but for precisely opposite reasons: because it is a consummateexpression of republican cultivation, of a fine old American home, andof the fine old American gentleman who built it, and whose descendantsinhabit it to-day: Charles Carroll of Carrollton, last to survive ofthose who signed the Declaration of Independence. The first Charles Carroll, known in the family as "the Settler, " camefrom Ireland in 1688, and became a great landowner in Maryland. He was ahighly educated gentleman and a Roman Catholic, as have also been hisdescendants. He acted as agent for Lord Baltimore. His son, Charles Carroll of Annapolis, or "Breakneck Carroll" (so calledbecause he was killed by a fall from the steps of his house), built theCarroll mansion at Annapolis, now the property of the RedemptionistOrder. The third and most famous member of the family was Charles Carroll ofCarrollton, "the Signer, " builder of the manor house atDoughoregan--which, by the way, derives its name from a combination ofthe old Irish words _dough_, meaning "house" or "court, " and _O'Ragan_, meaning "of the King"; the whole being pronounced, as with a slightbrogue, "Doo-ray-gan, " the accent falling on the middle syllable--thisCharles Carroll, "the Signer, " most famous of his line, was"Breakneck's" only son. When eight years old he was sent to France to beeducated by the Jesuits. He spent six years at Saint-Omer, one atRheims, two at the College of Louis le Grand, one at Bourges, where hestudied civil law, and after some further time in college in Paris wentto London, entered the Middle Temple and there worked at the common lawuntil his return to Maryland in 1765. Although Maryland was founded by the Roman Catholic Baron Baltimore on abasis of religious toleration, the Church of England had later come tobe the established church in the British colonies in America, and RomanCatholics were unjustly used, being disfranchised, taxed for the supportof the English Church, and denied the right to establish schools orchurches of their own, to celebrate the Mass, or to bear arms--thebearing of arms having been "at that time the insignia of socialposition and gentle breeding. " Finding this situation well-nigh intolerable, Carroll of Carrollton, already a man of great wealth, joined with his cousin, Father JohnCarroll, who later became first Archbishop of Baltimore (for many yearsthe only Roman Catholic diocese in the United States, embracing allStates and Territories), in an appeal to the King of France for a grantof land in what is now Arkansas, but was then a part of Louisiana, thisland to be used as a refuge for Roman Catholics and Jesuits, whom theCarrolls proposed to lead thither precisely as Cecilius Calvert, LordBaltimore, had led them to Maryland to escape persecution. The Roman Catholics were not, however, by this time the only Americancolonists who felt themselves abused; the whole country was chafing, andthe seeds of revolution were beginning to show their red sprouts. It might have been expected that Mr. Carroll, being the richest man inthe country, would hesitate at rebellion, but he did not. Unlike some ofour present-day citizens of foreign extraction, and in circumstancesinvolving not merely sentiment, but property and perhaps life, he showedno tendency to split his Americanism, but boldly threw his noble oldcocked hat into the ring. Nor did he require a Roosevelt to make hisduty clear to him. In 1775 Mr. Carroll was a delegate to the Revolutionary Convention ofMaryland; in 1776 he went with three other commissioners (BenjaminFranklin, Samuel Chase, and Father John Carroll) to try to induce theCanadian colonies to join in the revolt; and soon after his return fromthis unsuccessful journey he signed the Declaration of Independence. Ofthe circumstances of the signing the late Robert C. Winthrop of Bostongave the following description: "Will you sign?" said Hancock to Charles Carroll. "Most willingly, " was the reply. "There goes two millions with the dash of a pen, " says one of those standing by; while another remarks: "Oh, Carroll, you will get off, there are so many Charles Carrolls. " And then we may see him stepping back to the desk and putting that addition "of Carrollton" to his name, which will designate him forever, and be a prouder title of nobility than those in the peerage of Great Britain, which were afterward adorned by his accomplished and fascinating granddaughters. Some doubt has been cast upon this tale by the fact that papers inpossession of the Carroll family prove that Mr. Carroll was wont to signas "of Carrollton" long before the Declaration. Further, it is recordedthat John H. B. Latrobe, Mr. Carroll's contemporaneous biographer, neverheard the story from the subject of his writings. Nevertheless, I believe that it is true, for it seems to me likely thatthough Mr. Carroll used the subscription "of Carrollton" in conductinghis affairs at home, where there was chance for confusion between hisson Charles, his cousin Charles, and himself, he might well have beeninclined to omit it from a public document, as to the signers of whichthere could be no confusion. Further, the fact that he never told thestory to Latrobe does not invalidate it, for as every man (and everyman's wife) knows, men do not remember to tell everything to theirwives, and it is still less likely that they tell everything to theirbiographers. Further still, Mr. Winthrop visited Mr. Carroll just beforethe latter's death, and as he certainly did not invent the story itseems probable that he got it from "the Signer" himself. Last, I likethe story and intend to believe it anyway--which, it occurs to me, isthe best reason of all, and the one most resembling my reason for beingmore or less Episcopalian and Republican. Latrobe tells us that Mr. Carroll was, in his old age, "a small, attenuated old man, with a prominent nose and somewhat receding chin, and small eyes that sparkled when he was interested in conversation. Hishead was small and his hair white, rather long and silky, while his faceand forehead were seamed with wrinkles. " From the same source, and others, we glean the information that he was acharming and courteous gentleman, that he practised early rising andearly retiring, was regular at meals, and at morning and evening prayerin the chapel, that he took cold baths and rode horseback, and that forseveral hours each day he read the Greek, Latin, English, or Frenchclassics. At the age of eighty-three he rode a horse in a procession in Baltimore, carrying in one hand a copy of the Declaration of Independence; and sixyears later, when by that strange freak of chance ex-Presidents Adamsand Jefferson died simultaneously on July 4, leaving Mr. Carroll thelast surviving signer of the Declaration, he took part in a memorialparade and service in their memory. In 1826, at the age of eighty-nine, he was elected a director of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Company, andat the age of ninety he laid the foundation stone marking thecommencement of that railroad--the first important one in the UnitedStates. We are told that at this time Mr. Carroll was erect in carriageand that he could see and hear as well as most men. In 1832, havinglived to within five years of a full century, having been active in theRevolution, having seen the War of 1812, he died less than thirty yearsbefore the outbreak of the Civil War, and was buried in the chapel ofthe manor house. This chapel, the like of which does not, so far as I know, exist in anyother American house, is the burial place of a number of the Carrolls. It is used to-day, regular Sunday services being held for the people ofthe neighborhood. An alcove to the south of the chancel contains seatsfor members of the family, and has access to the main portion of thehouse by a passageway which passes the bedroom known as the Cardinal'sroom, a large chamber furnished with massive old pieces of mahogany anddecorated in red. This room has been occupied by Lafayette, by JohnCarroll, cousin of "the Signer" and first archbishop of Baltimore, andby Cardinal Gibbons. It is on the ground floor and its windows commandthe series of terraces, with their plantings of old box, which slopeaway to gardens more than a century old. Viewed in one light Doughoregan Manor is a monument, in another it is atreasure house of ancient portraits and furniture and silver, but aboveall it is a home. The beautifully proportioned dining-room, the widehall which passes through the house from the front portico to anotheroverlooking the terraces and gardens at the back, the old shadowylibrary with its tree-calf bindings, the sunny breakfast room, thespacious bedchambers with their four-posters and their cheerfulchintzes, the big bright shiny pantries and kitchens, all have thatpleasant, easy air which comes of being lived in, and which is neverattained in a "show place" which is merely a "show place" and nothingmore. No dining table at which great personages have dined in the pasthas the charm of one the use of which has been steadily continued; noold chair but is better for being sat in; no ancient Sheffield teaservice but gains immeasurably in charm from being used for tea to-day;no old Venetian mirror but what is lovelier for reflecting the beautiesof the present as it reflected those of the past; no little old-timecrib but what is better for a modern baby in it. It is pleasant, therefore, to report that, like all other things the house contains, thecrib at Doughoregan Manor was being used when we were there, for in itrested the baby son of the house; by name Charles, and of his line theninth. Further, it may be observed that from his youthful parents, Mr. And Mrs. Charles Bancroft Carroll, present master and mistress of theplace, Master Charles seemed to have inherited certain amiable traits. Indeed, in some respects, he outdoes his parents. For example, where thefather and mother were cordial, the son chewed ruminatively upon hisfingers and fastened upon my companion a gaze not merely interested, butexpressive of enraptured astonishment. Likewise, though his parentsreceived us kindly, they did not crow and gurgle with delight; andthough, on our departure, they said that we might come again, theyneither waved their hands nor yet blew bubbles. Though the house has been "done over" four times, and though thepaneling was torn out of one room to make way for wall paper when wallpaper came into style, everything has now been restored, and the placestands to-day to all intents and purposes exactly as it was. That so fewchanges were ever made in it, that it weathered successfully, with itscontents, the disastrous period of Eastlake furniture and the Americanmansard roof, is a great credit to the Carroll family, and it isdelightful to see such a house in the possession of those who can loveit as it deserves to be loved, and preserve it as it deserves to bepreserved. Mr. Charles Bancroft Carroll, who is a graduate of Annapolis and agrandson of the late Governor John Lee Carroll of Maryland, now farmssome twenty-four hundred acres of the five or six thousand whichsurround the manor house. He raises blooded cattle and horses, and, though he rides with the Elkridge Hunt, also keeps his own pack and isstarting the Howard County Hounds, an organization that will hunt thecountry around the manor, which is full of foxes. Of the innumerable family portraits contained in the house not a few arevaluable and almost all are pleasing. When I remarked upon the highaverage of good looks among his progenitors, Mr. Carroll smiled inagreement, saying: "Yes, I'm proud of these pictures of my ancestors;most people's ancestors seem to have looked like the dickens. " Among these noteworthy family portraits I recollect one of "the Signer"as a boy, standing on the shore and watching a ship sail out to sea; oneof the three beautiful Caton sisters, his granddaughters, who lived atBrooklandwood, in the Green Spring Valley, now the home of Mr. IsaacEmerson; one of Charles Carroll of Homewood, son of "the Signer"; andone of Governor John Lee Carroll, who was born at Homewood. The Caton sisters and Charles Carroll of Homewood supply to the Carrollfamily archives that picturesqueness which the history of every oldfamily should possess; the former contributing beauty, the latter dashand extravagance, those qualities so annoying in a living relative, butso delightfully suggestive in an ancestor long defunct. If anything morebe needed to round out the composition, it is furnished by the ghosts ofDoughoregan Manor: an old housekeeper with jingling keys, and aninvisible coach, the wheels of which are heard upon the driveway beforethe death of any member of the family. Of the Caton sisters there were four, but because one of them, Mrs. McTavish, stayed at home and made the life of her grandfather happy, wedo not hear so much of her as of the other three, who wereinternationally famous for their pulchritude, and were known in Englandas "the Three American Graces. " All three married British peers, onebecoming Marchioness of Wellesley, another Duchess of Leeds, while thethird became the wife of Lord Stafford, one of the noblemen embalmed inverse by Fitz-Greene Halleck: Lord Stafford mines for coal and salt, The Duke of Norfolk deals in malt, The Douglas in red herrings. As for Charles Carroll of Homewood, he was handsome, charming, andathletic, and, as indicated in letters written to him by his father, caused that old gentleman a good deal of anxiety. It is said that atone time--perhaps during some period of estrangment from his wealthyparent--he acted as a fencing master in Baltimore. At the age of twenty-five he settled down--or let us hope he did--for hemarried Harriet Chew, whose sister "Peggy, " Mrs. John Eager Howard ofBaltimore, was a celebrated belle, and of whose own charm we may judgeby the fact that General Washington asked her to remain in the roomwhile he sat to Gilbert Stuart, declaring that her presence there wouldcause his countenance to "wear its most agreeable expression. " Thefamous portrait painted under these felicitous conditions hung in theWhite House when, in 1814, the British marched on Washington; but whenthey took the city and burned the White House, the portrait did notperish with it, for history records that Dolly Madison carried it tosafety, and along with it the original draft of the Declaration ofIndependence. Charles Carroll of Homewood died before his father, "the Signer, " butthe house, Homewood, which the latter built for his son anddaughter-in-law in 1809, stands to-day near the Baltimore city limits, at the side of Charles Street Boulevard, amid pleasant modern houses, many of which are of a design not out of harmony with the old mansion. Though not comparable in size with the manor house at Doughoregan, Homewood is an even more perfect house, being one of the finest examplesof Georgian architecture to be found in the entire country. The fate ofthis house is hardly less fortunate than that of the paternal manor, for, with its surrounding lands, it has come into the possession ofJohns Hopkins University. The fields of Homewood now form the campus andgrounds of that excellent seat of learning, and the trustees of theuniversity have not merely preserved the residence, using it as afaculty club, but have had the inspiration to find in it thearchitectural motif for the entire group of new college buildings, sothat the campus may be likened to a bracelet wrought as a setting forthis jewel of a house. CHAPTER VII A RARE OLD TOWN The drive from Baltimore to the sweet, slumbering city of Annapolis isover a good road, but through barren country. Taken in the crisp days ofautumn, by a northern visitor sufficiently misguided to have supposedthat beyond Mason and Dixon's Line the winters are tropical it may provean uncomfortable drive--unless he be able to borrow a fur overcoat. Itwas on this drive that my disillusionment concerning the fall and winterclimate of the South began, for, wearing two cloth overcoats, one overthe other, I yet suffered agonies from cold. The sun shone down upon theopen automobile in which we tore along, but its rays were no competitorsfor the biting wind. Through lap robes, cloth caps, and successivelayers of clothing, and around the edges of goggles, fine little frozenfangs found their way, like the pliable beaks of a race of gigantic, fabulous mosquitoes from the Arctic regions. I have driven an open carover the New England snows for miles in zero weather, and been warm bycomparison, because I was prepared. My former erroneous ideas as to the southern climate may be shared byothers, and it is therefore well, perhaps, to enlarge a little bit uponthe subject. Never, except during a winter passed in a stonetile-floored villa on the island of Capri, whither I went to escape thecold, have I been so conscious of it, as during fall, winter, and springin the South. In the hotels of the South one may keep warm in cold weather, but inprivate homes it is not always possible to do so, for the popularillusion that the "sunny South" is of a uniformly temperate climate inthe winter persists nowhere more violently than in the South itself. Many a house in Virginia, let alone the other States farther down themap, is without a furnace, and winter life in such houses, with theirineffectual wood fires, is like life in a refrigerator tempered by theglow of a safety match. As in Italy and Spain, so in the South it isoften warmer outdoors than in; more than once during my southern voyageI was tempted to resume the habit, acquired in Capri, of wearing anovercoat in the house and taking it off on going out into the sunshine. True, in Capri we had roses blooming in the garden on Christmas Day, butthat circumstance, far from proving warmth, merely proved the hardinessof roses. So, in the far South--excepting Florida and perhaps a strip ofthe Gulf Coast of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama--the blooming offlowers in the winter does not prove that "Palm Beach suits" and panamahats invariably make a desirable uniform. Furthermore, I am inclined to believe that because some southern winterdays are warm and others cold, a Northerner feels cold in the Southmore than he feels the corresponding temperature at home--on somewhatthe principle which caused the Italians who went with the Duke of theAbruzzi on his polar expedition to withstand cold more successfully thandid the Scandinavians. Of the southern summer I have no experience, but I have been repeatedlyassured that certain of the southern beaches are nearly, if not quite, as comfortable in hot weather as are those of New Jersey or Long Island, while in numerous southern mountain retreats one may be fairly coolthrough the hot months--a fact which spells fortune for the hotelkeepers of such high-perched resorts as Asheville, White SulphurSprings, and the Hot Springs of Virginia, who have their houses full ofNortherners in winter and Southerners in summer. * * * * * The experience of arrival in Annapolis, delightful in any weather and atany time of year, gives one a satisfaction almost ecstatic after a cold, windy automobile ride such as we had suffered. To ache for the shelterof almost any town, or any sort of building, and, with such yearnings, to arrive in this dreamy city, whose mild air seems to be compoundedfrom fresh winds off a glittering blue sea, arrested by the barricade ofancient hospitable-looking houses, warmed by the glow of their sun-bakedred brick, and freighted with a ghostly fragrance, as from the phantomsof the rose gardens of a century or two ago--to arrive, frigid andforlorn in such a haven, to drink a cup of tea in the old Paca house(now a hotel), is to experience heaven after purgatory. For there is notown that I know whose very house fronts hold out to the stranger thatwarm, old-fashioned welcome that Annapolis seems to give. The Paca house, which as a hotel has acquired the name Carvel Hall, isthe house that Winston Churchill had in mind as the Manners house, ofhis novel "Richard Carvel. " A good idea of the house, as it was, may beobtained by visiting the Brice house, next door, for the two are almosttwins. When Mr. Churchill was a cadet at Annapolis, before the modernpart of the Carvel Hall hotel was built, there were the remains ofterraced gardens back of the old mansion, stepping down to an old springhouse, and a rivulet which flowed through the grounds was full ofwatercress. The book describes a party at the house and in thesegardens. The Chase house on Maryland Avenue was the one Mr. Churchillthought of as the home of Lionel Carvel, and he described the view fromupper windows of this house, over the Harwood house, across the way, tothe Severn. Annapolis, Baedeker tells me, was the first chartered city in the UnitedStates, having been granted its charter by Queen Anne considerably morethan two centuries ago. It is, as every little boy and girl should know, the capital of Maryland, and is built around a little hill upon the topof which stands the old State House in which Washington surrendered hiscommission and in which met the first Constitutional Convention. In its prime Annapolis was nearly as large a city as it is to-day, butthat is not saying a great deal, for at the present time it has not somany inhabitants as Amarillo, Texas, or Brazil, Indiana. Nevertheless, the life of Annapolis in colonial days, and in the dayswhich followed them, was very brilliant, and we learn from the diary ofGeneral Washington and from the writings of amazed Englishmen andFrenchmen who visited the city in its period of glory that there weredinners and balls night after night, that the theater was encouraged inAnnapolis more than in any other city, that the race meets compared withEnglish race meets both as to the quality of the horses and of thefashionable attendance, that there were sixteen clubs, that the women ofthe city were beautiful, charming, and superbly dressed, that slaves insumptuous liveries were to be seen about the streets, that certaingentlemen paid calls in barges which were rowed by half a dozen or moreblacks, in uniform, and that the perpetual hospitality of the greathouses was gorgeous and extravagant. The houses hint of these things. If you have seen the best old brickmansions of New England, and will imagine them more beautifullyproportioned, set off by balancing wings and having infinitely finerdetails as to doorways, windows, porticos, and also as to wood carvingsand fixtures within--as, for instance, the beautiful silver latches andhinges of the Chase house at Annapolis--you will gather something of theflavor of these old Southern homes. For though such venerable mansionsas the Chase, Paca, Brice, Hammond, Ridout, and Bordley houses, inAnnapolis, are not without family resemblance to the best New Englandcolonial houses, the resemblance is of a kind to emphasize thedifferences, not only between the mansions of the North and South, butbetween the builders of them. The contrast is subtle, but marked. Your New England house, beautiful as it is, is stamped with austeresimplicity. The man who built it was probably a scholar but he wasalmost certainly a Calvinist. He habited himself in black and was servedby serving maids, instead of slaves in livery. If a woman was notflat-chested and forlorn, he was prone to regard her as the devilmasquerading for the downfall of man--and no doubt with some justice, too. Night and morning he presided at family prayers, the purpose ofwhich was to impress upon his family and servants that to have a goodtime was wicked, and that to be gay in this life meant hell-fire anddamnation in the next. Upon this pious person his cousin of Annapolis looked with something notunlike contempt; for the latter, though he too was a scholar, possessedthe sort of scholarliness which takes into account beauty and the loreof cosmopolitanism. He may have been religious or he may not have been, but if religious he demanded something handsome, something stylish, inhis religion, as he did also in his residence, in his wife, his sons, his daughters, his horses, coaches, dinners, wines, and slaves. He didthings with a flourish, and was not beset by a perpetual consciousnessand fear of hell. He approved of pretty women; he made love to them; hemarried them; he was the father of them. His pretty daughters marriedmen who also admired pretty women, and became the mothers of otherpretty women, who became, in turn, the mothers and grandmothers of thepretty women of the South to-day. Your old-time Annapolis gentleman's ideas of a republic were far indeedfrom those now current, for he understood perfectly the differencebetween a republic and a democracy--a difference which is not now sowell understood. He believed that the people should elect the heads ofthe government, but he also believed that these heads should be electedfrom his own class, and that, having voted, the people should go abouttheir business, trusting their betters to run the country as it shouldbe run. This, at least, is my picture of the old aristocrats of Maryland, Virginia, and South Carolina, as conveyed to me by what I have seen oftheir houses and possessions and what I have read of their mode of life. They were the early princes of the Republic and by all odds its mostpicturesque figures. * * * * * Very different from the spirit of appreciation and emulation shown bythe trustees of Johns Hopkins University with regard to the old house, Homewood, in Baltimore, is that manifested in the architecture of theNaval Academy at Annapolis, where, in a city fairly flooded withexamples of buildings, both beautiful and typically American, architectural hints were ignored, and there were erected great stonestructures whose chief characteristics are size, solidity, and the lookof being "government property. " The main buildings of the Academy, withthe exception of the chapel, suggest the sort of sublimated penitentiarythat Mr. Thomas Mott Osborne might, one fancies, construct under acarte-blanche authorization, while the chapel, the huge dome of which isvisible to all the country round, makes one think of a monstrous weddingcake fashioned in the form of a building and covered with white andyellow frosting in ornamental patterns. This chapel, one imagines, may have been inspired by the Invalides inParis, but of the Invalides it falls far short. I know nothing of thehistory of the building, but it is easy to believe that the originalintention may have been to place at the center of it, under the dome, agreat well, over the parapet of which might have been seen thesarcophagus of John Paul Jones, in the crypt. One prefers to think thatthe architect had some such plan; for the crypt, as at present arranged, is hardly more than a dark cellar, approached by what seems to be aflight of humble back stairs. To descend into it, and find there thegreat marble coffin with its bronze dolphins, is not unlike going downinto the cellar of a residence and there discovering the family silverreposing in the coal-bin. In this connection it is interesting to recall the fact that oursometimes piratical and always brilliant Revolutionary naval hero diedin Paris, and that until a few years ago his resting place was unknown. The reader will remember that while General Horace Porter was Americanambassador to France a search was instituted for the remains of JohnPaul Jones, the greater part of the work having been conducted byColonel H. Baily Blanchard, then first secretary of the Embassy, assisted by the ambassador and Mr. Henry Vignaud, dean of secretaries ofembassy. The resting place of Jones was finally discovered in anabandoned cemetery in the city of Paris, over which houses had beenbuilt. The body was contained in a leaden casket and was preserved inalcohol so that identification was easily accomplished by means of acontemporaneous likeness of Jones, and also by means of measurementstaken from Houdin's bust. The remains were accorded military honors inParis, and were brought to this country on a war vessel. Why the crypt at Annapolis is as it is, I do not know, but in my ownpurely imaginary picture of what happened, I see the architect's plansfor a heroic display of Jones's tomb knocked on the head by some"practical man, " some worthy dunce in the Navy Department, whom I canimagine as protesting: "But no! We can't take up space at the center ofthe chapel for any such purpose. It must be floored over to make roomfor pews. Otherwise where will the cadets sit?" So, although the grounds of the academy, with their lawns, and agedtrees, and squirrels, and cadets, are charming, and although the solemnand industrious Baedeker assures me that the academy is the "chief lion"of Annapolis, and although I know that it is a great school, and that weneed another like it in order properly to officer our navy, I prefer theold town with its old houses, and old streets bearing such reminiscentnames as Hanover, Prince George, and Duke of Gloucester. For certain slang expressions used by cadets I am indebted to a memberof the corps. From this admiral-to-be I learn that a "bird" or "wazzo"is a man or boy; that a "pap sheet" is a report covering delinquencies, and that to "hit the pap" is to be reported for delinquency; that"steam" is marine engineering, and to be "bilged for juice" is to failin examinations in electrical engineering--to get an "unsat, " orunsatisfactory mark, or even a "zip" or "swabo, " which is a zero. Cadetsdo not escort girls to dances, but "drag" them; a girl is a "drag, " anda "heavy drag" or "brick" is an unattractive girl who must be taken to adance. A "sleuth" or "jimmylegs" is a night watchman, and to be "ragged"is to be caught. Mess-hall waiters are sometimes called "mokes, " whileat other times the names of certain exalted dignitaries of the NavyDepartment, or of the academy, are applied to them. * * * * * I shall never cease to regret that dread of the cold kept us from seeingancient Whitehall, a few miles from Annapolis, which was the residenceof Governor Horatio Sharpe, and is one of the finest of historicAmerican homes; nor shall I, on the other hand, ever cease to rejoicethat, in spite of cold we did, upon another day, visit Hampton, the rareold mansion of the Ridgelys, of Maryland, which stands amid its own fivethousand acres some dozen miles or so to the north of Baltimore. TheRidgelys were, it appears, the great Protestant land barons of thisregion as the Carrolls were the great Catholics, and, like the Carrolls, they remain to-day the proprietors of a vast estate and an incomparablehouse. CHAPTER VIII WE MEET THE HAMPTON GHOST There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple; If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with 't. --THE TEMPEST. Hampton is probably the largest of Maryland's old mansions, and thebeauty of it is more theatrical than the beauty of Doughoregan Manor;for although the latter is the older of the two, the former is not onlyspectacular by reason of its spaciousness, the delicacy of itsarchitectural details, and the splendor of its dreamlike terracedgardens, but also for a look of beautiful, dignified, yet somehow tragicage--a look which makes one think of a wonderful old lady; a belle ofthe days of minuets and powdered wigs and patches; a woman no lesswonderful in her declining years than in her youth, but wonderful inanother way; a proud old aristocrat, erect and spirited to the last; herbedchamber a storehouse of ivory lace and ancient jewelry, her memory astorehouse of recollections, like chapters from romantic novels of thedays when all men were gallant, and all women beautiful: recollectionsof journeys made in the old coach, which is still in the stable, thoughits outriders have been buried in the slaves' burying ground these manyyears; recollections of the opening of Hampton, when, as the storygoes, gay Captain Charles Ridgely, builder of the house, held a cardparty in the attic to celebrate the event, while his wife, RebeccaDorsey Ridgely, a lady of religious turn, marked the occasionsimultaneously with a prayer-meeting in the drawing room; of the ballgiven by the Ridgelys in honor of Charles Carroll's granddaughters, theexquisite Caton sisters; of hunt meets here, long, long ago, and huntballs which succeeded them; of breakneck rides; of love-making in thatgarden peopled with the ghosts of more than a century of lovers; ofduels fought at dawn. Of such vague, thrilling tales the old house seemsto whisper. Never, from the moment we turned into the tree-lined avenue, leading toHampton, from the moment when I saw the fox hounds rise resentfully outof beds which they had dug in drifts of oak leaves in the drive, fromthe moment when I stood beneath the stately portico and heard the barsof the shuttered doors being flung back for our admittance--never, frommy first glimpse of the place, have I been able to dispel the sense ofunreality I felt while there, and which makes me feel, now, that Hamptonis not a house that I have seen, but one built by my imagination in thecourse of a particularly charming and convincing dream. Stained glass windows bearing the Ridgely coat of arms flank the frontdoorway, and likewise the opposing doorway at the end of the enormoushall upon which one enters, and the light from these windows gives thehall a subdued yet glowing illumination, so that there is somethingspectral about the old chairs and the old portraits with which the wallsare solidly covered. There are portraits here by Gilbert Stuart andother distinguished painters of times gone by, and I particularlyremember one large canvas showing a beautiful young woman in eveningdress, her hair hanging in curls beside her cheeks, her tapering fingerstouching the strings of a harp. She was young then; yet the portrait isthat of the great-grandmother, or great-great-grandmother, of presentRidgelys, and she has lain long in the brick-walled family buryingground below the garden. But there beneath the portrait stands the harpon which she played. One might tell endlessly of paneling, of the delicate carving of mantelsand overmantels, of chairs, tables, desks, and sofas of Chippendale, Hepplewhite, Phyfe and Sheraton, yet giving such an inventory one mightfail utterly to suggest the feeling of that great house, with its senseof homelike emptiness, its wealth of old furniture and portraits, blending together, in the dim light of a late October afternoon, to formshadowy backgrounds for autumnal reverie, or for silent, solitarylistening--listening to the tales told by the soughing wind outside, tothe whisper of embers in the fireplace, the slow somber tick of the tallclock telling of ages past and passing, the ghostly murmur of the oldhouse talking softly to itself. From the windows of the great dining-room one looks away toward HamptonGate, a favorite meeting place for the Elkridge Hunt, or, at anotherangle, toward the stables where the hunters are kept, the old slavecabins, and the overseer's house, with its bell tower--a house nearlytwo hundred years old. But the library is perhaps the more naturalresting place for the guest, and it looks out over the garden, with itsenormous descending terraces, its geometrical walks and steps, itsbeautiful old trees, and arbors of ancient box. Such terraces as thesewere never built by paid labor. We were given tea in the library, our hostess at this function being ayoung lady of five or six years--a granddaughter of Captain JohnRidgely, present master of Hampton--who, with her pink cheeks, herserious eyes and demeanor, looked like a canvas by Sir Joshua come tolife, as she sat in a large chair and ate a large red apple. Nor did Bryan, Captain Ridgely's negro butler, fit less admirably intothe pervasive atmosphere of fiction which enveloped the place. In theabsence of his master, Bryan did the honors of the old house with astyle which was not "put on, " because it did not have to be puton--nature and a good bringing-up having supplied all needs in thisrespect. There was about him none of that affectation of being a gravenimage, which one so often notices in white butlers and footmen importedfrom Europe by rich Americans, and which, of all shams, is one of themost false and absurd, as carried out on both sides--for we pretend tothink these functionaries the deft mechanisms, incapable of thought, that they pretend to be; yet all the time we know--and they know weknow--that they see and hear and think as we do, and that, moreover, they are often enough observant cynics whose elaborate gentility isassumed for hire, like the signboard of a sandwich man. Bryan was without these artificial graces. His manner, in showing us thehouse, in telling us about the various portraits, indicated some trueappreciation of the place and of its contents; and the air he wore ofnatural dignity and courtesy--of being at once acting-host andservitor--constituted as graceful a performance in a not altogether easyrôle as I have ever seen, and satisfied me, once for all, as to theverity of legends concerning the admirable qualities of old-time negroservants in the South. After tea, when fading twilight had deepened the shadows in the house, we went up the stairway, past the landing with its window containing thearmorial bearings of the family in stained glass, and, achieving theupper hall, crossed to a great bedchamber, the principal guest room, andpaused just inside the door. And now, because of what I am about to relate, I shall give the names ofthose who were present. We were: Dr. Murray P. Brush, A. B. , Ph. D. , acting Dean of Johns Hopkins University; Dr. John McF. Bergland ofBaltimore; my companion, Wallace Morgan, illustrator; and myself. The light had, by this time, melted to a mere faint grayness siftinglike mist through the many oblong panes of several large windows. Nevertheless I could discern that it was a spacious room, and from thecolor of it and certain shadowy lines upon the walls, I judged that itwas paneled to the ceiling in white-painted wood. I am under theimpression that it contained a fireplace, and that the great four-postbed, standing to the right of the doorway, was placed upon a lowplatform, a step or two above the floor--though of this I am not quitecertain, the bulk of the bed and the dim light having, perhaps, deceivedme. The rest of the furniture in the room was dark in color, and massedin heavy vague spots against the lighter background of the walls. Directly before the door, at about the center of the wall against whichit was backed, stood something which loomed tall and dark, and which Itook to be either a gigantic clothespress or a closet built into theroom. Looking past the front of this obstruction, I saw one of thewindows; the piece of furniture was therefore exhibited sidewise, insilhouette. I do not think that I had definitely thought of ghost stories before, and I know that ghosts had not been spoken of, but as I looked into thisroom, and reflected on the long series of persons who had occupied it, and on where they were now, and on all the stories that the room musthave heard, there entered my mind thoughts of the supernatural. Having taken a step or two into the room, I was a little in advance ofmy three friends, and as these fancies came strongly to me, I spoke overmy shoulder to one of them, who was at my right and a little behind me, saying, half playfully: "There ought to be ghosts in a room like this. " Hardly had I spoken when without a sound, and swinging very slowly, thedoor of the large piece of furniture before me gently opened. My firstidea was that the thing must be a closet, built against the wall, with adoor at the back opening on a passageway, or into the next room, andthat the little girl whom we had met downstairs had opened it from theother side and was coming in. I fully expected to see her enter. But she did not enter, for, as Ilearned presently, she was in the nursery at the time. After waiting for an instant to see who was coming, I began to realizethat there was no one coming; that no one had opened the door; that, like an actor picking up a cue, the door had begun to swing immediatelyupon my saying the word "ghosts. " The appropriateness of the coincidence was striking. I turned quickly tomy friends, who were in conversation behind me, and asked: "Speaking of ghosts--did you see that door open?" It is my recollection that none of them had seen it. Certainly not morethan one of them had, for I remember my feeling of disappointment thatany one present should have missed so strange a circumstance. Some onemay have asked what I had seen; at all events I was full of the idea, and, indicating the open door, I began to tell what I had seen, when--exactly as though the thing were done deliberately tocircumstantiate my story--with the slow, steady movement of a heavy doorpushed by a feeble hand, the other portal of the huge cabinet swungopen. This time all four of us were looking. Presently, as we moved across the wide hall to go downstairs again, Bryan came from one of the other chambers, whither, I think, he hadcarried the young lady's supper on a tray. "Are there supposed to be any ghosts in this house?" I asked him. Bryan showed his white teeth in the semi-darkness. Whether he believedin ghosts or not, evidently he did not fear them. "Yes, sir, " he said. "We're supposed to have a ghost here. " "Where?" "In that room over there, " he answered, indicating the bedroom fromwhich we had come. We listened attentively to Bryan while he told how the daughter ofGovernor Swan had come to attend a ball at Hampton, and how she had diedin the four-post bed in that old shadowy guest room, and of how, sincethen, she had been seen from time to time. "They's several people say they saw her, " he finished. "She comes outand combs her hair in front of the long mirror. " However, as we drove back to Baltimore that evening, we repeatedlyassured one another that we did not believe in ghosts. CHAPTER IX ARE WE STANDARDIZED? Almost all modern European critics of the United States agree incomplaining that our telephones and sleeping cars are objectionable, andthat we are "standardized" in everything. Their criticism of thetelephone seems to be that the state of perfection to which it has beenbrought in this country causes it to be widely used, while theirdisapproval of our sleeping cars is invariably based on the assumptionthat they have no compartments--which is not the fact, since most of thegreat transcontinental railroads do run compartment cars, and muchbetter ones than the best _wagons lits_, and since, also, all oursleeping cars have drawing-rooms which are incomparably better than themost comfortable European compartments. The charge of standardization will, however, bear a little thought. Itis true that most American cities have a general familyresemblance--that a business street in Atlanta or Memphis looks muchlike a business street in Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Buffalo, Milwaukee, St. Paul, Kansas City, or St. Louis--and that much the same thing may besaid of residence streets. Houses and office buildings in one city arelikely to resemble those of corresponding grade in another; the men wholive in the houses and go daily to the offices are also similar; so arethe trolley cars in which they journey to and fro; still more so theFords which many of them use; the clothing of one man is like that ofanother, and all have similar conventions concerning the date atwhich--without regard to temperature--straw hats should be discarded. Their womenfolk, also, are more or less alike, as are the departmentstores in which they shop and the dresses they buy. And the same is trueof their children, the costumes of those children, and the schools theyattend. Every American city has social groups corresponding to similar groups inother cities. There is always the small, affluent group, made up ofpeople who keep butlers and several automobiles, and who travelextensively. In this group there are always some snobs: ladies who givemuch time to societies founded on ancestry, and have a Junkerish feelingabout "social leadership. " Every city has also its "fast" group: people who consider themselves"unconventional, " who drink more than is good for them, and make muchnoise. Some members of this group may belong to the first group, aswell, but in the fast group they have a following of well-dressedhangers-on: unmarried men and women, youngish rather than young, who, with little money, yet manage to dress well and to be seen eating anddrinking and dancing in public places. There is usually to be found inthis group a hectic widow or two--be it grass or sod--and a few prettygirls who, having been given too much freedom at eighteen, begin towonder at twenty-eight, why, though they have always been "goodfellows, " none of the dozens of men who take them about have marriedthem. To this aggregation drift also those restless husbands and wiveswhose glances rove hopefully away from their mates, a few well-breddrunkards, and a few men and women who are trying to forget things theycannot forget. Then there is always the young married group--a nice group for the mostpart--living in comfortable new houses or apartments, and keeping, usually, both a small automobile and a baby carriage. They also go tothe Country Club on Saturday nights, leave their motors standing in thedrive, eat a lukewarm supper that tastes like papier-mâché, and dancethemselves to wiltedness. Another group is entirely masculine, being made up of husbands ofvarious ages, their mutual bond being the downtown club to which they godaily, and in which the subjects discussed are politics, golf, and theevils of prohibition. To this group always belong the black-sheephusbands who, after taking their wives to the Country Club, disappearand remain away until they are sent for because it is time to go home, when they come back shamefaced and scented with Scotch. Every American city has also what Don Marquis calls its "little group ofserious thinkers"--women, most of them--possessed of an ardent desire to"keep abreast of the times. " These women belong to clubs and literarysocieties which are more serious than war. They are always readingpapers or attending lectures, and at these lectures they get a strangeassortment of "cultural" information and misinformation, delivered withghastly assurance by heterogeneous gentlemen in cutaway coats, who goabout and spout for pay. If you meet these ladies, and they suspect youof being infested by the germs of "culture, " they will open fire on youwith a "thought, " about which you may detect a curious ghostlyfragrance, as of Alfred Noyes's lecture, last week, or of "the NewRepublic" or the "Literary Digest. " The most "liberal" of them may eventake "The Masses, " precisely as people rather like them used to take"The Philistine, " a generation or two ago. Among the members of thisgroup are the women who work violently for suffrage--something in whichI personally believe, but which, merely because I believe in it, I donot necessarily like to take in my coffee as a substitute for sugar, onmy bread as a substitute for butter, and in my ear as a substitute forpleasant general conversation. I do not wish to seem to speak disparagingly of women of this type, forthey are doing good, and they will do more good when they have becomemore accustomed to possessing minds. Having but recently discoveredtheir minds, they are playing with them enthusiastically, like childrenwho have just discovered their new toys on Christmas morning. It isdelightful to watch them. It is diverting to have them pop ideas at youwith that bright-eyed, efficient, assertive look which seems to say:"See! I am a liberal woman--a woman of the new type. I meet men on theirown ground. Do you wish to talk of birth control, social hygiene, andsex attraction? Or shall we reverse the order? Or shall I show you howmuch I know about Brieux, and household economics, and Ellen Key, andeugenics, and George Meredith, and post-impressionism, and "Roberts'Rules of Order, " and theosophy, and conditions in the Sixteenth Ward?" When one thinks of these city groups, and of mail-order houses, andFords, one may begin to fear it is indeed true that we are becomingstandardized, but when one lets one's mind drift over the country as theeye drifts over a map; when one thinks of the quantities of modest, thoughtful, gentle, generous, intelligent, sound American families whichare to be found in every city and every town, and thinks again, in atwinkling, of sheriffs and mining-camp policemen in the Far West, ofboys going to Harvard, and other boys going to the University of Kansas, others to the old Southern universities, so rich in tradition, and stillothers to Annapolis or West Point; when one thinks of the snowglittering on the Rocky Mountain wall, back of Denver; of sleepy littletowns drowsing in the sun beside the Mississippi; of Charles W. Eliot ofCambridge, and Hy Gill of Seattle; of Dr. Lyman Abbott of New York andTom Watson of Georgia; of General Leonard Wood and Colonel WilliamJennings Bryan; of ex-slaves living in their cabins behind Virginiamanor houses, and Filipino and Kanaka fishermen living in villagesbuilt on stilts beside the bayous below New Orleans; of the dry saltdesert of Utah, and two great rivers meeting between green rocky hills, at Harper's Ferry; of men working in offices at the top of the WoolworthBuilding in New York, and other men working thousands of feet below theground, in the copper mines of Butte and the iron and coal mines ofBirmingham--when one thinks of these things one quickly ceases to fearthat the United States is standardized, and instead begins to fear thatfew Americans will ever know the varied wonder of their country, and thevaried character of its inhabitants, their problems, hopes, and views. If I lived somewhere in the region of Boston, New York, or Philadelphiaand wished quickly to learn whether the country were really standardizedor not, I should get into my automobile--or into some one else's--andtake an autumn tour through Baltimore, past Doughoregan Manor, somemiles to the west of Baltimore, on to Frederick, Maryland (where theydispute, quite justly, I believe, the truth of the Barbara Frietchielegend), and thence "over the mountain wall" and down into thenortheastern corner of the most irregularly shaped State in the Union, West Virginia. I should strike for Harper's Ferry, and from there run toCharles Town, a few miles distant (where John Brown was tried andexecuted for the Harper's Ferry raid), and after circulating about thatcorner of the State, I should go down into Virginia by the good highwaywhich leads from Charles Town to Berryville--"Bur'v'l, " they pronounceit--and to "Winchester twenty miles away" (where they say thatSheridan's Ride was nothing to make such a lot of talk about!), and thenback, by way of Berryville, and over the Blue Ridge Mountains into thegreat fox-hunting counties of Virginia: Clark, Loudon, and Fauquier. Here I should see a hunt meet or a race meet. There are many otherplaces to which I might go after that, but as I meant only to suggest aneasy little tour, I shall stop at this point, contenting myself withsaying that not far to the south is Charlottesville, where Jeffersonbuilt that most beautiful of all universities, the University ofVirginia, and his wonderful house Monticello; that Staunton (pronouncedas without the "u"), where Woodrow Wilson was born, lies west ofCharlottesville, while Fredericksburg, where Washington's mother lived, lies to the northeast. Some such trip as this I should take instead of a conventional NewEngland tour. And before starting I should buy a copy of Louise ClosserHale's delightful book, "Into the Old Dominion. " One beauty of the trip that I suggest is that it isn't all the same. Inone place you get a fair country hotel, in another an inn, and somewherealong the way you may have to spend a night in a private house. Also, though the roads through Maryland, and the part of West Virginia I speakof, are generally good, my experience of Virginia roads, especiallythrough the mountains, leads me to conclude that in respect to highwaysVirginia remains a backward State. But who wants to ride always overoiled roads, always to hotels with marble lobbies, or big white porchesfull of hungry-eyed young women, and old ladies, knitting? Only thestandardized tourist. And I am not addressing him. I am talking to the motorist who is not ossified in habit, who has alove of strangeness and the picturesque--not only in scenery but inhouses and people and the kind of life those people lead. For it isquite true that, as Professor Roland C. Usher said in his "PanAmericanism, " "the information in New York about Buenos Aires is moreextended, accurate, and contemporaneous than the notions in Maine aboutAlabama.... Isolation is more a matter of time than of space, and commoninterests are due to the ease of transportation and communication moreoften than geographical location. " CHAPTER X HARPER'S FERRY AND JOHN BROWN Mad Old Brown, Osawatomie Brown, With his eighteen other crazy men, went in and took the town. --EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. Three States meet at Harper's Ferry, and the line dividing two of themis indicated where it crosses the station platform. If you alight at therear end of the train, you are in Maryland; at the front, you are inWest Virginia. This I like. I have always liked important but invisibleboundaries--boundaries of states or, better yet, of countries. When Icross them I am disposed to step high, as though not to trip upon them, and then to pause with one foot in one land and one in another, tryingto imagine that I feel the division running through my body. Harper's Ferry is an entrancing old town; a drowsy place, piled upbeautifully, yet carelessly, upon terraced roads clinging to steephills, which slope on one side to the Potomac, on the other to theShenandoah, and come to a point, like the prow of a great ship, at theconfluence of the two. There is something foreign in the appearance of the place. Many times, as I looked at old stone houses, a story or two high on one side, threeor four stories on the other, seeming to set their claws into the cliffsand cling there for dear life, I thought of houses in Capri and Amalfi, and in some towns in France; and again there were low cottages built ofblocks of shale covered with a thin veneer of white plaster showing theoutlines of the stones beneath, which, squatting down amid their treesand flowers, resembled peasant cottages in Normandy or Brittany, or inIreland. It is a town in which to ramble for an hour, uphill, down and around;stopping now to delight in a crumbling stone wall, tied together withKenilworth ivy; now to watch a woman making apple butter in a great ironpot; now to see an old negro clamber slowly into his rickety wagon, takeup the rope reins, and start his skinny horse with the surprising words:"Come hither!"; now to look at an old tangled garden, terraced rudely upa hillside; now to read the sign, on a telegraph pole in the village, bearing the frank threat: "If you Hitch your Horses Here they will beTurned Loose. " Now you will come upon a terraced road, at one side ofwhich stands an old house draped over the rocks in such a way as toprovide entrance from the ground level, on any one of three stories; oran unexpected view down a steep roadway, or over ancient moss-grownhousetops to where, as an old book I found there puts it, "between tworamparts, in a gorge of savage grandeur, the lordly Potomac takes to hisembrace the beautiful Shenandoah. " The liaison between the rivers, described in this Rabelaisian manner bythe author of "The Annals of Harper's Ferry, " has been going on for along time with all the brazen publicity of a love scene on a park bench. I recommend the matter to the attention of the Society for theSuppression of Vice, which once took action to prohibit a novel by Mr. Theodore Dreiser. A great many people wish to read Mr. Dreiser's booksyet no one has to read them if he does not want to. But it is adifferent matter with these rivers. Sensitive citizens of Harper's Ferryand pure-minded passengers on the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad are obligeddaily to witness what is going on. Before the days of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, and of thelate Anthony Comstock, when we had no one to make it clear to us exactlywhat was shocking, little was thought of the public scandal between thePotomac and the Shenandoah. Thomas Jefferson seems to have rather likedit; there is a point above the town, known as Jefferson's Rock, atwhich, it is said, the author of the Declaration of Independence stoodand uttered a sentiment about the spectacle. Everybody in Harper's Ferryagrees that Jefferson stood at Jefferson's Rock and said somethingappropriate, and any one of them will try to tell you what he said, buteach version will be different. A young lady told me that he said: "This view is worth a trip across theAtlantic Ocean. " A young man in a blue felt hat of the fried-egg variety said thatJefferson declared, with his well-known simplicity: "This is thegrandest view I ever seen. " An old man who had to go through the tobacco chewer's pre-conversationalrite before replying to my question gave it as: "Pfst!--They ain'tnothin' in Europe ner Switzerland ner nowheres else, I reckon', to beatthis-here scenery. " The man at the drug store quoted differently alleging the saying to havebeen: "Europe has nothing on this": whereas the livery stable man'sversion was: "This has that famous German river--the Rhine River don'tthey call it?--skinned to death. " Whatever Jefferson's remark was, there has been added to the spectacleat Harper's Ferry, since his day, a new feature, which, could he havebut seen it, must have struck him forcibly, and might perhaps havecaused him to say more. At a lofty point upon the steep wall of Maryland Heights, across thePotomac from the town, far, far up upon the side of the cliff, commanding a view not only of both rivers, but of their meeting placeand their joint course below, and of the lovely contours of the BlueRidge Mountains, fading to smoky coloring in the remote distance, therehas, of late years, appeared the outline of a gigantic face, which looksout from its emplacement like some Teutonic god in vast effigy, its hugeluxuriant mustaches pointing East and West as though in symbolism of theconquest of a continent. A blue and yellow background, tempered somewhatby the elements, serves to attract attention to the face and to thelegend which accompanies it, but the thing one sees above all else, thething one recognizes, is the face itself, with its look half tragic, half resigned, yet always so inscrutable: for it is none other than thebeautiful brooding countenance of Gerhard Mennen, the talcum-powdergentleman. * * * * * The great story of Harper's Ferry is of course the John Brown story. Joseph I. C. Clarke, writing in the New York "Sun" of Sir RogerCasement's execution for treason in connection with the Irish rebellion, compared him with John Brown and also with Don Quixote. The spirituallikeness between these three bearded figures is striking enough. Allwere idealists; all were fanatics. Brown's ideal was a noble one--thatof freedom--but his manner of attempting to translate it into actualitywas that of a madman. He believed not only that the slaves should befreed, but that the blood of slaveholders should be shed in atonement. In "bleeding Kansas" he led the Ossawatomie massacre, and committedcold-blooded murders under the delusion that the sword of the Lord wasin his hand. In October, 1859, Brown, who had for some time been living under anassumed name in the neighborhood of Harper's Ferry, led a score of hisfollowers, some of them negroes, in a surprise attack upon theGovernment arsenal at this place, capturing the watchmen and takingpossession of the buildings. It was his idea to get the weapons thearsenal contained and give them to the slaves that they might rise andfree themselves. Before this plan could be executed, however, Brown andhis men were besieged in the armory, and here, after a day or two ofbloody fighting, with a number of deaths on both sides, he was capturedwith his few surviving men, by Colonel (later General) Robert E. Lee, whose aide, upon this occasion, was J. E. B. Stuart, later the Confederatecavalry leader. Stuart had been in Kansas, and it was he who recognizedthe leader of the raid as Brown of Ossawatomie. It is said that Brown's violent anti-slavery feeling was engendered byhis having seen, in his youth, a colored boy of about his own agecruelly misused. He brooded over the wrongs of the blacks until, as somestudents of his life believe, he became insane on this subject. Hisutterances show that he was willing to give up his life and those of hissons and other followers, if by such action he could merely drawattention to the cause which had taken possession of his soul. In thecourse of the fighting he saw his two sons mortally wounded, and washimself stabbed and cut. Throughout the fight and his subsequent trialat Charles Town he remained imperturbable; when taken to the gallows hesat upon his coffin, in a wagon, and he not only mounted the scaffoldwithout a tremor, but actually stood there, apparently unmoved, for tenor fifteen minutes, with the noose around his neck, while the troopswhich had formed his escort were marched to their positions. A large number of troops were present at the execution, for it was thenbelieved in the South that the Brown raid was not the mere suicidalstroke of an individual fanatic, but an organized movement on the partof the Republican party; an effort to rescue Brown was thereforeapprehended. This idea was later shown to be a fallacy, Brown havingmade his own plans, and been financed by a few northern friends, headedby Gerrit Smith of New York. There has been a tendency in the North to make a saint of John Brown, and in the South to make a devil of him. As a matter of fact he was apoor, misguided zealot, with a wild light in his eye, who had set out todo a frightful thing; for, bad though slavery was, its evils were notcomparable with the horrors which would have resulted from a slaverebellion. It must be conceded, however, that those who would canonize John Brownhave upon their side a strange and impressive piece of evidence. Thejail where he was lodged in Charles Town and the courthouse where he wastried, still stand, and it is the actual fact that, when the snow falls, it always miraculously melts in a path which leads diagonally across thestreet from the one to the other. That this is true I have unimpeachabletestimony. _Snow will not stand on the path by which John Brown crossedback and forth from the jail to the court-house. _ There will be snowover all the rest of the street, but not on that path; there you can seeit melting. But, as with certain other "miracles, " this one is not so difficult tounderstand if you know how it is brought about. The courthouse is heatedfrom the jail, and the hot pipes run under the pavement. CHAPTER XI THE VIRGINIAS AND THE WASHINGTONS In colonial times, and long thereafter, the present State of WestVirginia was a part of Virginia. Virginia, in the old days, used to haveno western borders to her most westerly counties, which, in theory, ranout to infinity. As the western part of the State became settled, countylines were drawn, and new counties were started farther back from thecoast. For this reason, towns which are now in Jefferson County, WestVirginia, used to be in that county of Virginia which lies to the eastof Jefferson County, and some towns have been in several differentcounties in the course of their history. The people in the eastern part of West Virginia are, so far as I amcapable of judging, precisely like Virginians. The old houses, whenbuilt, were in Virginia, the names of the people are Virginian names, and customs and points of view are Virginian. Until I went there I wasnot aware how very much this means. I do not know who wrote the school history I studied as a boy, but I doknow now that it was written by a lopsided historian, and that his"lop, " like that of many another of his kind, led him to enlarge uponAmerican naval and military victories, to minimize American defeats, togive an impression that the all-important early colonies were those ofNew England, and that the all-important one of them was Massachusetts. From this bias I judge that the historian was a Boston man. It takes aBostonian to think in that way. They do it still. From my school history I gathered the idea that although Sir WalterRaleigh and Captain John Smith were so foolish as to dally more or lessin the remote fastnesses of Virginia, and although there was a littleineffectual settlement at Jamestown, all the important colonizing ofthis country occurred in New England. I read about Peregrine White, butnot about Virginia Dare; I read much of Miles Standish, but nothing ofChristopher Newport; I read a great deal of the _Mayflower_, but not aword of the _Susan Constant_. Yet Virginia Dare, if she lived, must have been nearing young ladyhoodwhen Peregrine White was born; Captain Christopher Newport passed theVirginia capes when Miles Standish was hardly more than a youth, inLancashire; and the _Susan Constant_ landed the Jamestown settlers morethan a dozen years before the _Mayflower_ landed her shipload of eminentfurniture owners at Plymouth. Even Plymouth itself had been visitedyears before by John Smith, and it was he, not the Pilgrims, who namedthe place. I find that some boys, to-day, know these things. But though that factis encouraging, I am not writing for boys, but for their comparativelyignorant parents. Not only did the first English colony establish itself in Virginia, andthe first known tobacco come from there--a point the importance of whichcannot be overstated--but the history of the Old Dominion is in everyway more romantic and heroic than that of any other State. The firstpopular government existed there long before the Revolution, and at thetime of the break with the mother country Virginia was the most wealthyand populous of the Colonies. Some historians say that slavery was firstintroduced there when some Dutchmen sold to the colonists a shipload ofnegroes, but I believe this point is disputed. The Declaration ofIndependence was, of course, written by a Virginian, and made good bythe sword of one. The first President of the United States was aVirginian, and so is the present Chief Executive. The whole of NewEngland has produced but four presidents; Ohio has produced six; butVirginia has given us eight. The first British army to land on thiscontinent (Braddock's) landed in Virginia, and in that State our twogreatest wars were terminated by the surrenders of Cornwallis and ofLee. And, last, the gallant Lee himself was a Virginian of theVirginians--a son of the distinguished Henry Lee who said of Washingtonthat he was "first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts ofhis countrymen. " * * * * * On the pleasant drive of perhaps a dozen miles, from Harper's Ferry toCharles Town, I noticed here and there, at the roadside, pyramidalstones, suggesting monuments, but bearing no inscription save that eachhad a number. On inquiry I learned that these were indeed Confederatemonuments, but that to find out what they marked it was necessary to goto the county courthouse at Charles Town and look up the numbers in abook, of which there is but one copy. These monuments were set out threeor four years ago. They appeared suddenly, almost as though they hadgrown overnight, and many people wondered, as I had, what they meant. "Eloise, " one Charles Town young lady asked another, "what's thatmonument out in front of your house with the number twenty-one on it?" "Oh, " replied Eloise, "that's where all my suitors are buried. " * * * * * One of the things which gives Jefferson County, West Virginia, itsVirginian flavor is the collection of fine old houses which adorn it. Many of these houses are the homes of families bearing the name ofWashington, or having in their veins the blood of the Washingtons. It issaid that there is more Washington blood in Charles Town (which, by theway, should not be confused with Charleston, capital of the same State), than in any other place, if not in all the rest of the world together. The nearest competitors to Charles Town in this respect are WestmorelandCounty, Virginia, and the town of Kankakee, Illinois, where resides theSpottswood Augustine Washington family, said to be the only Washingtongroup to have taken the Union side in the Civil War. It is rumored alsothat all the Washingtons are Democrats, although that fact is hard toreconcile, at the present time, with the statement that, among the fivethousand of them, there is but a single Federal officeholder. The settling of the Washingtons in Jefferson County, West Virginia, cameabout through the fact that George Washington, when a youth of sixteenor seventeen, became acquainted with that part of what was thenVirginia, through having gone to survey for Lord Fairfax, who hadacquired an enormous tract of land in the neighboring county of Clarke, which is still in the mother State. To this estate, called GreenawayCourt, his lordship, it is recorded, came from England to isolatehimself because a woman with whom he was in love refused to marry him. In this general neighborhood George Washington lived for three years, and local enthusiasts affirm that to his having drunk thelime-impregnated waters of this valley was due his great stature. Theman who informed me of this theory had lived there aways. He was aboutfive feet three inches tall, and had drunk the waters all hislife--plain and otherwise. Washington's accounts of the region so interested his brothers that theyfinally moved there, acquired large tracts of land, and built homes. Charles Town, indeed, was laid out on the land of Charles Washington, and was named for him, and there is evidence that George Washington, who certainly gave the lines for the roads about the place, also laidout the town. Another brother, John Augustine, left a large family, while Samuel, theoldest, described as "a rollicking country squire, " was several yearsshort of fifty when he died, but for all that had managed to marry fivetimes and to find, nevertheless, spare moments in which to lay out thehistoric estate of Harewood, not far from Charles Town. It is said thatGeorge Washington was his brother's partner in this enterprise, butexcepting in its interior, which is very beautiful, there is no sign, about the building, of his graceful architectural touch. George Washington spent much time at Harewood, Lafayette and his sonvisited there, and there the sprightly widow, Dolly Todd, married JamesMadison. This wedding was attended by President Washington and his wifeand by many other national figures; the bride made the journey toHarewood in Jefferson's coach, escorted by Madison and a group of hisfriends on horseback, and history makes mention of a very large and verygay company. This is all very well until you see Harewood; for, substantial thoughthe house is, with its two-foot stone walls, it has but five rooms: twodownstairs and three up. Where did they all sleep? The question was put by the practical young lady whom I accompanied toHarewood, but the wife of the farmer to whom the place is rented couldonly smile and shake her head. The bedroom now occupied by this farmer and his wife has doubtless beenoccupied also by the first President of the United States and his wife, the fourth President and his wife, by Lafayette, and by a King ofFrance--for Louis-Philippe, and his brothers, the Duc de Montpensier andthe Comte de Beaujolais, spent some time at Harewood during their periodof exile. Having read in an extract from the Baltimore "Sun" that Harewood, whichis still owned in the Washington family, was a place in which allWashingtons took great and proper pride, that it was "the lodestonewhich draws the wandering Washingtons back to the old haunts, " I wasgreatly shocked on visiting the house to see the shameful state ofdilapidation into which it has been allowed to pass. The porches andsteps have fallen down, the garden is a disreputable tangle, and thegraves in the yard are heaped with tumble-down stones about which thecattle graze. The only parts of the building in good repair are thoseparts which time has not yet succeeded in destroying. The drawing-room, containing a mantelpiece given to Washington by Lafayette, and thefinest wood paneling I have seen in any American house, has held its ownfairly well, as has also the old stairway, imported by Washington fromEngland. But that these things are not in ruins, like the porches, is nocredit to the Washingtons who own the property to-day, and who, havingrented the place, actually leave family portraits hanging on the wallsto crack and rot through the cold winter. If there are indeed five thousand Washingtons, and if they are proud oftheir descent, a good way for them to show it would be to contributetwenty-five cents each to be expended on putting Harewood in respectablecondition. The last member of the Washington family to own Mount Vernon was JohnAugustine Washington, of Charles Town, who sold the former home of hisdistinguished collateral ancestor. This Mr. Washington was a Confederateofficer in the Civil War. He had a son named George, whose widow, if Imistake not, is the Mrs. George Washington of Charles Town, of whom Iheard an amusing story. With another Charles Town lady this Mrs. Washington went to theColumbian Exposition in Chicago, and the two attended the Fair togetheron Washington Day. On this occasion Mrs. Washington made a purchase inone of the buildings, and ordered it sent to her home in Charles Town. "What name?" asked the clerk. "Mrs. George Washington. " The clerk concluded that she was joking. "I want your _real_ name, " he insisted with a smile. "But, " plaintively protested the gentle Mrs. Washington, "that is theonly name I _have_!" * * * * * One of the most charming of the old houses in the neighborhood ofCharles Town, and one of the few which is still occupied by thedescendants of its builder, is Piedmont, the residence of the Briscoefamily. It is a brick house, nearly a century and a half old, with alovely old portico, and it contains two of the most interesting relics Isaw on my entire journey in the South. The first of these is the wallpaper of the drawing-room, upon which is depicted, not in pattern, butin a series of pictures with landscape backgrounds, various scenesrepresenting the adventures of Telemachus on his search for his father. I remember having seen on the walls of the parlor of an old hotel atSouth Berwick, Maine, some early wall paper of this character, but thepictures on that paper were done in various shades of gray, whereas thePiedmont wall paper is in many colors. The other relic is a letter whichMrs. Briscoe drew from her desk quite as though it had been a notereceived that morning from a friend. It was written on toughbuff-colored paper, and, though the ink was brown with age, thehandwriting was clear and legible and the paper was not broken at thefolds. It was dated "Odiham, Sept. 1st, 1633, " and ran as follows: To Dr. John Briscoe, _Greetings_. Dear Sir: As the Privy Council have decided that I shall not be disturbed or dispossessed of the charter granted by his Majesty--the _Ark_ and Pinnace _Dove_ will sail from Gravesend about the 1st of October, and if you are of the same mind as when I conversed with you, I would be glad to have you join the colony. With high esteem, Your most obedient servant, Cecilius Baltimore. This letter from the second Lord Baltimore refers to the historic voyagewhich resulted in the first settlement of Maryland, thirteen years afterthe landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth. As for Dr. Briscoe, to whom theletter was written, he was one of the three hundred original colonists, but after settling in St. Mary's, near the mouth of the Potomac, removedto the place where his descendants still reside. Farther out in Jefferson County the motorist may pass through twocurious hamlets which, though not many miles from Charles Town, have theair of being completely removed from the world. One of these was known, many years ago, as Middleway, and later as Smithfield, but is now calledClip--and for a curious reason. When the stagecoaches were running, the town was quite a place, as itsseveral good old houses indicate; but the railroads, when they werebuilt, ignored the town, but killed the stage lines, with the resultthat the little settlement dried up. Even before this an oldplaster-covered house, still standing, became haunted. The witches whoresided in it developed the unpleasant custom of flying out at night andcutting pieces from the clothing of passers-by. And that is how the towncame to be called Clip. A century or so ago, when the rudeness of the witches had long annoyedthe inhabitants of Clip, and had proved very detrimental to theirclothing, a Roman Catholic priest came along and told them that if theywould give him a certain field, he would rid them of the evil spirits. This struck the worthy citizens of Clip as a good bargain; they gave thepriest his field (it is still known as the Priest's Field, and is nowused as a place for basket picnics) and forthwith the operations of thewitches ceased. So, at least, the story goes. Not far beyond Clip lies the hamlet of Leetown, taking its name fromthat General Charles Lee who commanded an American army in theRevolutionary War, but who was suspected by Washington of being atraitor, and was finally court-martialed and cashiered from the army. The old stone house which Lee built at Leetown, and in which he livedafter his disgrace, still remains. Instead of having partitions in hishouse the old general lived in one large room, upon the floor of whichhe made chalk marks to indicate different chambers. Here he dweltsurrounded by innumerable dogs, and here he was frequently visited byGenerals Horatio Gates and Adam Stephen, who were neighbors and croniesof his, and met at his house to drink wine and exchange stories. It is said that upon one of these occasions Lee got up and declared: "The county of Berkeley is to be congratulated upon having as citizensthree noted generals of the Revolution, each of whom was ignominiouslycashiered. You, Stephen, for getting drunk when you should have beensober; you, Gates, for advancing when you should have retreated; andyour humble servant for retreating when he should have advanced. " Lee was a turbulent, insubordinate, hard-drinking rascal, and nothingcould be more characteristic than the will, written in his ownhandwriting, filed by the old reprobate with the clerk of the BerkeleyCounty Court, and expressing the following sentiments: I desire most earnestly that I may not be buried in any church or churchyard, or within a mile of any Presbyterian or Anabaptist meeting house, for since I have resided in this county I have kept so much bad company when living that I do not desire to continue it when dead. During Lee's life there, Leetown was probably a livelier place than itis to-day. Something of its present state may be gathered from the factthat when a lady of my acquaintance stopped her motor there recently, and asked some men what time it was, they stared blankly at her for amoment, after which one of them said seriously: "We don't know. We don't have time here. " CHAPTER XII I RIDE A HORSE And vaulted with such ease into his seat As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus And witch the world with noble horsemanship. --KING HENRY IV. Claymont Court, near Charles Town, the house in which my companion and Iwere so fortunate as to be guests during our visit to this part of thecountry, is one of the old Washington houses, having been built byBushrod Corbin Washington, a nephew of the first President. It is abeautiful brick building, with courts at either end, the brick walls ofwhich, connecting with the house, extend its lines with peculiar grace, and tie to the main structure the twin buildings which balance it, according to the delightful fashion of early Virginia architecture. Thehexagonal brick tile of the front walk at Claymont Court, and the squarestone pavement of the portico, resemble exactly those at Mount Vernon, and are said to have been imported at the same time; and it is believedalso that the Claymont box trees were brought over with those growing atMount Vernon. The estate was sold out of the Washington family in 1870, when it wasacquired by a Colonel March, who later sold it to a gentleman whose wildperformances at Claymont are not only remembered, but are commemoratedin the house. In the cellar, for instance, bricked up in a room barelylarge enough to hold it, whence it cannot be removed except by tearingdown a heavy wall, stands a huge carved sideboard to which the young mantook a dislike, and which he therefore caused to be carried to thecellar and immured, despite the protests of his family. It is said thatupon another occasion he conceived the picturesque idea of riding hishorse upstairs and hitching it to his bedpost; and that he did so iswitnessed by definite marks of horseshoes on the oak treads of thestair. Later Frank R. Stockton purchased the place, and there he wrotehis story "The Captain of the Toll-Gate, " which was publishedposthumously. But in all its history this glorious old house has never been a happierhome, or a more interesting one, than it is to-day. For now it is theresidence of four young ladies, sisters, who, because of their divergenttastes and their complete congeniality, continually suggest the fancythat they have stepped out of a novel. One of them is the EfficientSister, who runs the automobile and the farm of two or three hundredacres, sells the produce, keeps the accounts, and pays off the men;another is the Domestic Sister, who conducts the admirable ménage;another is the Sociological and Artistic Sister, who draws and plays andthinks about the masses; while the fourth is the Sprightly Sister WhoLikes to Dance. Never had my companion or I seen a more charming, a more variedhousehold, an establishment more self-contained, more complete in allthings from vegetables to brains. No need to leave the place foranything. Yet if one wished to look about the country, there was themotor, and there were the saddle horses in the stable--all of themmembers of old Virginian families--and there were four equestrian youngladies. "Would you-all like to ride to-day?" one of the sisters asked us atbreakfast. To my companion, horseback riding is comparatively a new thing. He hadtaken it up a year before--partly because of appeals from me, partlybecause of changes which he had begun to notice in his topography. Compared with him I was a veteran horseman, for it was then a year andthree months since I had begun my riding lessons. I said that I would like to ride, but he declared that he must staybehind and make a drawing. Sometimes, in the past, I had thought I would prefer to make my livingas a painter or an illustrator than as a writer, but at this juncture itoccurred to me that, though the writer's medium of expression is a lessagreeable one than that of the graphic artist, it is much pleasanter toride about with pretty girls than to sit alone and draw a picture oftheir house. I began to feel sorry for my companion: the thought of ourriding gaily off, and leaving him at work, made him seem pathetic. Myappeals, however, made no impression upon his inflexible sense of duty, and I soon ceased trying to persuade him to join us, and began tospeculate, instead, as to whether all four sisters would accompany me, or whether only two or three of them would go--and if so, which. "What kind of horse do you like?" asked one. Such a question always troubles me. It is embarrassing. Imagine sayingto a young lady who likes to ride thoroughbred hunters across fields andover ditches and fences: "I should like a handsome horse, one that willcause me to appear to advantage, one that looks spirited but is inreality tame. " Such an admission would be out of character with the whole idea ofriding. One could hardly make it to one's most intimate male friend, letalone to a girl who knows all about withers and hocks and pasternjoints, and talks about "paneled country, " and takes the "RacingCalendar. " To such a young lady it is impossible to say: "I have ridden for alittle more than a year; the horses with which I am acquainted arebenevolent creatures from a riding school near Central Park; they goaround the reservoir twice, and return automatically, and they sighdeeply when one mounts and again when one gets off. " No; that sort of thing will not do at all; for the horse--besides havingbeen placed in a position more aristocratic than ever, through thephilanthropies of Henry Ford--is essentially "sporty. " You must be a"sport" or you must keep away from him. You must approach him with dashor you must not approach him at all. And when a young lady inquires whatkind of horse you like, there is but one way to reply. "It doesn't matter at all, " I answered. "Any horse will do for me. "Then, after a little pause, I added, as though it were merely an amusingafterthought: "I suppose I shall be stiff after my ride. I haven't beenon a horse in nearly two months. " "Then, " said the sympathetic young lady, "you'll want an easy ride. " "I suppose it _might_ be more sensible, " I conceded. "Better give him the black mare, " put in the Efficient Sister. "She hasn't been out lately, " said the other. "You know how she actswhen she hasn't been ridden enough. He might not know just how to takeher. I was thinking of giving him 'Dr. Bell. '" "Dr. Bell's too gentle, " said the Efficient Sister. "Which horse do you think you'd like?" the other asked me. "Dr. Bell hasplenty of life, but he's gentle. The black mare's a little bit flightyat first, but if you can ride her she soon finds it out and settlesdown. " I want to ask: "What happens if she finds out that you _can't_ ride her?What does she do then?" But I refrained. "She's never thrown anybody but a stable boy and a man who came up hereto visit--and neither one of them could ride worth a cent, " said theEfficient Sister. Meanwhile I had been thinking hard. "What color is Dr. Bell?" I asked. "He's a sorrel. " "Then, " I said, "I believe I'd rather ride Dr. Bell. I don't like blackhorses. It is simply one of those peculiar aversions one gets. " They seemed to accept this statement, and so the matter was agreeablysettled. When, at ten o'clock, I came down dressed for riding, my companion wasout in front of the house, making a drawing; the four young ladies werewith him, all seemingly enchanted with his work, and none of them inriding habits. "Who's going with me?" I asked as I strolled toward them. They looked at one another inquiringly. Then the Efficient Sister said:"I'd like to go, but this is pay day and I can't leave the place. " "I have to go to town for some supplies, " said the Domestic Sister. "I want to stay and watch this, " said the Sociological and ArtisticSister. (She made a gesture toward my companion, but I think shereferred to his drawing. ) "I'm going away to a house party, " said the Sprightly Sister who Likesto Dance. "I must pack. " "You can't get lost, " said the Domestic Sister. "Even if you should, " put in the Efficient Sister, "Dr. Bell would bringyou home. " During this conversation my companion did not look up from his work, neither did he speak; yet upon his back there was an expression ofderisive glee which made me hope, vindictively, that he would smudge hisdrawing. However inscrutable his face, I have never known a man with aback so expressive. "Here comes Dr. Bell, " remarked the Sociological and Artistic Sister, asa negro groom appeared leading the sorrel steed. "Well, " I said, trying to speak debonairely as I started toward thedrive, "I'll be going. " I wished to leave them where they were and go around to the other sideof the house to mount. I had noticed a stone block there and meant touse it if no one but the groom were present; also I intended to tip thegroom and ask him a few casual questions about the ways of Dr. Bell. I might have managed this but for a sudden manifestation of interest onthe part of my companion. "Come on, " he said to the young ladies, "let's go and see him off. " Itseemed to me that he emphasized the word "off" unpleasantly. However Itried to seem calm as we moved toward the drive. Dr. Bell had a bright brown eye; there was something alert in the gazewith which he watched us moving toward him. However, to my great reliefhe stood quite still while two of the sisters who preceded me by a fewsteps, went up and patted him. Evidently he liked to be patted. Idecided that I would pat him also. I had approached him from the left and in order to mount I now found itnecessary to circle around, in front of him. I was determined that ifthe horse would but remain stationary I should step up to him, speak tohim, give him a quick pat on the neck, gather the reins in my hand, place my foot swiftly in the stirrup, take a good hop, and be on hisback before any one had time to notice. Dr. Bell, however, caused me to alter these plans; for though he hadstood docile as a dog while the sisters patted him, his manner underwenta change on sight of me. I do not think this change was caused by anypersonal dislike for me. I believe he would have done the same had anystranger appeared before him in riding boots. The trouble was, probably, that he had expected to be ridden by one of the young ladies, and wasshocked by the abrupt discovery that a total stranger was to ride him. This is merely my surmise. I do not claim deep understanding of themental workings of any horse, for there is no logic about them or theirperformances. They are like crafty lunatics, reasoning, if they reasonat all, in a manner too treacherous and devious for human comprehension. Their very usefulness, the service they render man, is founded on theirown folly; were it not for that, man could not even catch them, letalone force them to submit, like weak-minded giants, to his will. The fact is that, excepting barnyard fowls, the horse is the mostidiotic of all animals, and, pound for pound, even the miserable hen ishis intellectual superior. Indeed, if horses had brains no better thanthose of hens, but proportionately larger, they would not be drawingwagons, and carrying men upon their backs, but would be lecturing towomen's clubs, and holding chairs in universities, and writing essays onthe Development of the Short Story in America. Horse lovers, who are among the most prejudiced of all prejudicedpeople, and who regard horses with an amiable but fatuous admirationsuch as young parents have for their babies, will try to tell you thatthese great creatures which they love are not mentally deficient. Askthem why the horse, with his superior strength, submits to man, and theywill tell you that the horse's eye magnifies, and that, to the horse, man consequently appears to be two or three times his actual size. Nonsense! There is but one reason for the yielding of the horse: he isan utter fool. Everything proves him a fool. He will charge into battle, he will walkcheerfully beside a precipice, he will break his back pulling a heavywagon, or break his leg or his neck in jumping a hurdle; yet he will gointo a frenzy of fright at the sight of a running child, a roadsiderock, or the shadow of a branch across the path, and not even a Germanchancellor could shy as he will at a scrap of paper. As I passed in front of Dr. Bell he rolled his eyes at me horribly, androse upon his hind legs, almost upsetting the groom as he went up andbarely missing him with his fore feet as he brought them to earth again. "What's the matter with him?" I asked, stopping. "I guess he just feels good, " said the Efficient Sister. "Yassuh, tha 's all, " said the groom cheerfully. "_He's_ aw' right. Gentle ath a lamb. " As he made this statement, I took another step in the direction of thehorse, whereat he reared again. "_Well_, now!" said the groom, patting Dr. Bell upon the neck. "Feelin'pretty good 's mawnin', is you? There, there!" Dr. Bell, however, paid little attention to his attendant, but gazedsteadily at me with an evil look. "Does he always do like that?" I asked the Domestic Sister. "I never saw him do it before, " she said. "Maybe he doesn't admire the cut of your riding breeches, " suggested mycompanion. "Oh, no, suh, " protested the groom. "It 's jes' his li'l way tryin' t'tell you he likes de ladies t' ride him better 'n he likes de gemmen. " "He means he doesn't want me to ride him?" "Yassuh, da 's jes' his li'l idee 't he 's got _now_. He be all rightonce you in de saddle. " "But how am I to get in the saddle if he keeps doing that?" "I hold 'im all right, " said the groom. "You jes' get on 'im, suh. Hesoon find out who 's boss. " "I think he will, " said my heartless companion. "Nevvah you feah, suh, " the man said to me. "Ah knowed the minute Ah sawyo' laigs 't you was a _horse_man. Yassuh! Ah says t' ole Gawge, Ahsays, 'Dat gemman's certain'y been 'n de cava'ry, he has, wid dem finecrooked laigs o' hisn. '" "You should have told that to Dr. Bell, instead, " suggested mycompanion. At this every one laughed. Even the groom laughed a wheezy, cacklingnegro laugh. The situation was becoming unbearable. Clearly I must tryto mount. Perhaps I should not succeed, but I must try. As I wasendeavoring to adjust my mind to this unpleasant fact the EfficientSister spoke. "That horse is going to be ridden, " she said firmly, "if I have to goupstairs and dress and ride him myself. " That settled it. "Now you hold him down, " I said to the groom, and stepped forward. As I did so Dr. Bell reared again, simultaneously drawing back sidewiseand turning his flank away from me, but this time the Efficient Sisterhit him with a crop she had found somewhere, and he came down hastily, and began to dance a sort of double clog with all four feet. After several efforts I managed to get beside him. Gathering the reinsin my left hand I put my foot up swiftly, found the stirrup, and with ahop, managed to board the beast. As I did so, the groom let him go. Both stirrups were short, but it wastoo late to discuss that, for by the time I was adjusted to my seat wehad traveled, at a run, over a considerable part of the lawn and throughmost of the flowerbeds. The shortness of the stirrups made me bounce, and I had a feeling that I might do better to remove my feet from thementirely, but as I had never ridden without stirrups I hesitated to tryit now. Therefore I merely dug my knees desperately into the saddleflaps and awaited what should come, while endeavoring to check theanimal. He, however, kept his head down, which not only made itdifficult to stop him, but also gave me an unpleasant sense as of ridingon the cowcatcher of a locomotive with nothing but space in front of me. Once, with a jerk, I managed to get his head up, but when I did that hereared. I do not care for rearing. To add to my delight, one of the dogs now ran out and began to bark andcircle around us, jumping up at the horse's nose and nipping at hisheels. This brought on new activities, for now Dr. Bell not only rearedbut elevated himself suddenly behind, to kick at the dog. However, therewas one good result. We stopped running and began to trot rapidly aboutin circles, dodging the dog, and this finally brought us back toward thehouse. "My stirrups are too short!" I shouted to the groom. "Ride oveh heah, suh, " he called back. I tried to do it, but Dr. Bell continued to move in circles. At last, however, the man managed to catch us by advancing with his handextended, as though offering a lump of sugar, at the same time talkinggently to my steed. Then, while my companion held the bit the negroadjusted the stirrup leathers. I was glad of the breathing spell. Iwished that it took longer to adjust stirrups. "You'd better go out by the drive this time, " said the Efficient Sister. "I intended to before, " I told her, "but he didn't seem to understandthe signals. " "You've got spurs on. Give him the spur. " As a matter of fact, I had hesitated to give him the spur. It seemed tome that he was annoyed with me anyway, and that the spur would onlyserve to increase his prejudice. I wanted to rule him not by brute forcebut by kindness. I wished that I could somehow make him know that I wasa regular subscriber to the S. P. C. A. , that I loved children and animalsand all helpless creatures, both great and small, that I used the dumbbrutes gently and only asked in return that they do the same by me. Buthow is one to communicate such humanitarian ideas to a big, stupid, wilful, perverse, diabolical creature like a horse? I was determined that when we started again we should not run over thelawn if I could possibly prevent it. Therefore I had the groom head thehorse down the drive, and the moment he released him, I touched Dr. Bellwith the spurs. The result was magical. He started on a run but kept inthe road where I wanted him to be, giving me, for the moment, a sense ofhaving something almost like control over him. At the foot of the drivewas a gate which I knew could be opened without dismounting, by pullinga rope, and as no horse, unless quite out of his mind, will deliberatelyrun into a gate, I had reason to hope that Dr. Bell would stop when hegot there. Imagine my feelings, then, when on sight of the gate he notonly failed to slacken his pace, but actually dashed at it faster thanever. Within a few feet of the barrier he seemed to pause momentarily, hunching himself in a peculiar and alarming manner: then he arose, sailed through the air like a swallow, came down beyond like a load oftrunks falling off from a truck, and galloped down the highway, seemingly quite indifferent to the fact that the stirrups were flappingat his sides and that I had moved from the saddle to a point near thebase of his neck. My position at the moment was one of considerable insecurity. By holdingon to his mane and wriggling backward I hoped to stay on, provided hedid not put down his head. If he did that, I was lost. Fortunately forme, however, Dr. Bell did not realize with what ease he could havedropped me at that moment, and by dint of cautious but eager gymnastics, I managed to regain the saddle and the stirrups, although in doing so Ipricked him several times with the spurs, with the result that, thoughhe ran faster than ever for a time, he must have presently concludedthat I didn't care how fast he went; at all events, he slackened hispace to a canter, from which, shortly, I managed to draw him down to atrot and then to a walk. I am glad to say that not until now had we met any vehicle. Even whilehe was running, even while I was engaged in maintaining a precariousseat upon his neck, I had found time to hope fervently that we shouldnot encounter an automobile. I was afraid that he would jump it if wedid. Now, however, I saw a motor approaching. Dr. Bell saw it, too, andpricked up his ears. Seizing the reins firmly in one hand, I waved withthe other, signalling to the motorist to stop, which he did, pulling outinto the ditch. Meanwhile I talked to Dr. Bell, patting him on the neckand telling him to go on and not to be afraid, because it was all right. Dr. Bell did go on. He went up to the front of the motor, past the sideof it, and on behind it, without showing the least sign of alarm. He didnot mind it at all. But the man in the motor minded. Annoyed with me forhaving stopped him unnecessarily, he shouted something after me. But Ipaid no attention to him. Under the circumstances, it seemed the onlything to do. I might have gotten off; I might conceivably have beatenhim; but I never could have held the horse while doing it, or havegotten on again. Presently, when I was changing the position of the reins, which werehurting my fingers because I had gripped them so tight, I accidentallyshifted the gears in some way, so to speak, sending Dr. Bell off at apace which was neither a trot nor a canter, but which carried us alongat a sort of smooth, rapid glide. At first I took this gait to be aswift trot, and attempted to post to it; then, as that did not work, Isat still in the saddle and, finding the posture comfortable, concludedthat Dr. Bell must be single-footing. I had never single-footed before. Just as I was beginning to like it, however, he changed to a trot, thenback to single-footing again, and so on, in a curious puzzling manner. Except for the changes of gait, we were now going on rather well, and Ihad begun, for the first time, to feel a little security, when all of asudden he swerved off and galloped with me up a driveway leading towarda white house which stood on a hill two or three hundred yards from theroad. Again I tried to stop him, but when I pulled on the reins he shookhis head savagely from side to side and snorted in a loud andthreatening manner. As we neared the house I saw that two ladies were sitting on the porchregarding our approach with interest. I hoped that Dr. Bell would findsome way of keeping on past the house and into the fields, but he had nosuch intention. Instead of going by, he swung around the circle beforethe porch, and stopped at the steps, upon which the two ladies weresitting. One of them was a white-haired woman of gentle mien; the other was agirl of eighteen or twenty with pretty, mischievous eyes. Both the ladies looked up inquiringly as Dr. Bell and I stopped. I lifted my hat. It was the only thing I could think of to do at themoment. At this they both nodded gravely. Then we sat and stared at oneanother. "Well?" said the old lady, when the silence had become embarrassing. I felt that I must say something, so I remarked: "This is a very prettyplace you have here. " At this, though the statement was quite true, they looked perplexed. "Is there any message?" asked the young woman, after another pause. "Oh, no, " I answered lightly. "I was riding by and thought I'd take theliberty of coming up and telling you--telling you that although I am aNortherner and a stranger here, I love the South, the quaint oldSouthern customs, the lovely old houses, the delicious waffles, the--" "That is very gratifying, " said she "I am sorry to say we are all out ofwaffles at present. " "Oh, I don't want any now, " I replied politely. "Well, if you don't mind my asking, what _do_ you want?" "I want, " I said, desperately, "to see your groom for a moment, ifpossible. " "He's gone to town, " she replied. "Is there anything I can do? I seethat your stirrup leather is twisted. " With that she arose, came down, removed my foot from the stirrup, in a businesslike manner, reversed theiron, and put my foot back for me. I thanked her. "Anything else?" she asked, her wicked eye twinkling. "Perhaps, " I ventured, "perhaps you know how to make a horsesingle-foot?" "There are different ways, " she said. "With Dr. Bell you might try usingthe curb gently, working it from side to side. " "I will, " I said. "Thank you very much. " "And, " said the girl, "if he ever takes a notion to bolt with you, or togo up to some house where you don't want him to go, just touch him withthe curb. That will fix him. He's very soft-bitted. " "But I tried that, " I protested. She looked at my reins, then shook her head. "No, " she said, "you've got your curb rein and your snaffle rein mixed. " "I am very much indebted to you, " I said, as I changed the position ofthe reins between my fingers. "Not at all, " said she. "I hope you'll get safely back to the Claymont. If you want to jump him, give him his head. He'll take off all right. " "Thanks, " I returned. "I don't want to jump him. " Then lifting my hat and thanking her again, I wiggled the curb gentlyfrom side to side, as directed, and departed, singlefooting comfortably. Dr. Bell and I got home very nicely. He wanted to jump the gate again, but I checked him with the curb. After pulling the rope to open the gateI must have got the reins mixed once more, for as I was nearing thehouse, calm in the feeling that I had mastered the animal, and intentupon cantering up to the porch in fine style, Dr. Bell swerved suddenlyoff to the stable, went into the door, and, before I could stop him, entered his stall. There I dismounted in absolute privacy. It was quite easy. I had only toclimb on to the partition and drop down into the next stall, which, bygood fortune, was vacant. With a single exception, this was the only riding I did in the South, and on the one other occasion of which I speak I did not ride alone, buthad, surrounding me, the entire Eleventh United States Cavalry. CHAPTER XIII INTO THE OLD DOMINION When two men are traveling together on an equal footing, and it becomesnecessary to decide between two rooms in a hotel, how is the decision tobe made? Which man is to take the big, bright corner room, and which thelittle room that faces on the court and is fragrant of the bakery below?Or again, which man shall occupy the lower berth in a Pullmandrawing-room, and which shall try to sleep upon the shelf-like couch? Orwhen there is but one lower left, which shall take the upper? If anextra kit bag be required for the use of both, who shall pay for it andown it at the journey's end? Who shall pay for this meal and who forthat? Or yet again, if there be but one cheap heavy overcoat in a shop, and both desire to own that coat, which one shall have the right ofpurchase? Who shall tip the bell boy for bringing up the bags, or theporter for taking down the trunks? Who shall take home from a dance thegirl both want to take, and who shall escort the unattractive one whoresides in a remote suburb? Between two able-bodied men there is no uncomfortable complication ofpoliteness in such matters. On a brief journey there might be, but on along journey the thin veil of factitious courtesy is cast aside; eachwants his fair share of what is best and makes no pretense to thecontrary. Upon our first long journey together, some years ago, my companion and Iestablished a custom of settling all such questions by matching coins, and we have maintained this habit ever since. Upon the whole it hasworked well. We have matched for everything except railroad fares andhotel bills, and though fortune has sometimes favored one or the otherfor a time, I believe that, had we kept accounts, we should findourselves to-day practically even. Our system of matching has some correlated customs. Now and then, forinstance, when one of us is unlucky and has been "stuck" for a series ofmeals, the other, in partial reparation, will declare a "party. "Birthdays and holidays also call for parties, and sometimes there willbe a party for no particular reason other than that we feel like havingone. Two of our parties on this journey have been given in the basement caféof the Shoreham Hotel in Washington. Both were supper parties. The firstI gave in honor of my companion, for the reason that we both like theShoreham café, and that a party seemed to be about due. That partybrought on the other, which occurred a few nights later and was given byus jointly in honor of a very beautiful and talented young actress. Andthis one, we agree, was, in a way, the most amusing of all the partieswe have had together. It was early in the morning, when we were leaving the café after thefirst party, that we encountered the lady who caused the second one. Ihad never met her, but I was aware that my companion knew her, for hetalked about her in his sleep. She was having supper with a gentleman ata table near the door, and had you seen her it would be unnecessary forme to tell you that my companion stopped to speak to her, and that Ihung around until he introduced me. After we had stood beside her, for a time, talking and gazing down intoher beautiful world-wise eyes, the gentleman with whom she was suppingtook pity upon us, and upon the waiters, whose passageway we blocked, and invited us to sit down. It was doubly delightful to meet her there in Washington, for besidesbeing beautiful and celebrated, she had just come from New York and wasable to give us news of mutual friends, bringing us up to date on suitsfor separation, alimony, and alienation of affections, on divorces andremarriages, and all the little items one loses track of when one hasbeen away for a fortnight. "I shall be playing in Washington all this week, " she said as we wereabout to leave. "I hope that we may see each other again. " Whom did she mean by "we"? True, she looked at my companion as shespoke, but he was seated at one side of her and I at the other, and evenwith such eyes as hers, she could not have looked at both of us atonce. Certainly the hope she had expressed was shared by me. _I_ hopedthat "we" might meet again, and it seemed to me desirable at the momentthat she should understand (and that my companion should be reminded)that he and I were as Damon and Pythias, as Castor and Pollux, asPylades and Orestes, and all that sort of thing. Therefore I leapedquickly at the word "we, " and, before my companion had time to answer, replied: "I hope so too. " This brought her eyes to me. She looked surprised, I thought, but whatof that? Don't women like to be surprised? Don't they like men to bestrong, resolute, determined, like heroes in the moving pictures? Don'tthey like to see a man handle matters with dash? I was determined to bedashing. "We are off to Virginia to-morrow morning, " I continued. "We are goingto Fredericksburg and Charlottesville, and into the fox-hunting country. If we can get back here Saturday night let's have a party. " I spoke of the hunting country debonairely. I did not care what shethought my companion was going to the hunting country for, but I did notwish her to think that I was going only to look on. On the contrary, Idesired her to suppose that I should presently be wearing a pair ofbeautiful, slim-legged riding boots and a pink coat, and leaping athoroughbred mount over fences and gates. I wished her to believe me awild, reckless, devil of a fellow, and to worry throughout the weeklest I be killed in a fall from my horse, and she never see memore--poor girl! That she felt such emotions I have since had reason to doubt. However, the idea of a party after the play on Saturday night seemed to appeal toher, and it was arranged that my companion and I should endeavor to getback to Washington after the Piedmont Hunt races, which we were toattend on Saturday afternoon, and that if we could get back we shouldtelegraph to her. We kept our agreement--but I shall come to that later. * * * * * Next morning we took train for Fredericksburg. The city manager who runs the town is a good housekeeper; his streetsare wide, pretty, and clean; and though there are many historicbuildings--including the home of Washington's mother and the house inwhich Washington became a Mason--there are enough good new ones to givethe place a progressive look. In the days of the State's magnificence Fredericksburg was the centerfor all this part of northeastern Virginia, and particularly for theRappahannock Valley; and from pre-Revolutionary times, when tobacco waslegal tender and ministers got roaring drunk, down to the Civil War, there came rolling into the town the coaches of the great plantationowners of the region, who used Fredericksburg as a headquarters fordrinking, gambling, and business. Among these probably the most famouswas "King" Carter, who not only owned miles upon miles of land and athousand slaves, but was the husband of five (successive) Mrs. Carters. Falmouth, a river town a mile above Fredericksburg, where a fewscattered houses stand to-day, was in early times a busy place. It issaid that the first flour mill in America stood there, and that oneGordon, who made his money by shipping flour and tobacco direct from hiswharf to England, and bringing back bricks as ballast for his ships, wasthe first American millionaire. Besides having known intimately such historic figures as Washington, Monroe, and Robert E. Lee, and having been the scene of sanguinaryfighting in the Civil War, the neighborhood of Fredericksburg boasts thebirth-place of a man of whom I wish to speak briefly here, for thereason that he was a great man, that he has been partially overlooked byhistory, and that it is said in the South that the fame which shouldjustly be his has been deliberately withheld by historians andpoliticians for the sole reason that as a naval officer he espoused thesouthern cause in the Civil War. Every one who has heard of Robert Fulton, certainly every one who hasheard of S. F. B. Morse or Cyrus W. Field, ought also to have heard ofMatthew Fontaine Maury. But that is not the case. For myself, I mustconfess that, until I visited Virginia, I was ignorant of the fact thatsuch a person had existed; nor have northern schoolboys, to whom I havespoken of Maury, so much as heard his name. Yet there is no one livingin the United States, or in any civilized country, whose daily life isnot affected through the scientific researches and attainments of thisman. Maury's claim to fame rests on his eminent services to navigation andmeteorology. If Humboldt's work, published in 1817, was the first greatcontribution to meteorological science, it remained for Maury to makethat science exact. While it is perhaps an exaggeration to say that Maury alone laid thefoundation for our present Weather Bureau, he certainly shares withProfessors Redfield, Espy, Loomis, Joseph Henry, Dr. Increase Lapham, and others, the honor of having been one of the first to suggest thefeasibility of our present systematic storm warnings. Maury was born in 1806. When nineteen years of age he secured amidshipman's warrant, and, as there was no naval academy at Annapolisthen, was immediately assigned to a man-of-war. Within six years he wasmaster of an American war vessel. Before starting on a voyage to thePacific he sought information on the winds and currents, and findingthat it was not available, determined himself to gather it for generalpublication. This he did, issuing a book upon the subject. When a broken leg, the result of a stage-coach accident, caused hisretirement from active service at sea, he continued his studies, and, inrecognition of his services to navigation, was given charge of the Depotof Charts and Instruments at Washington. There he found stored away thelog books of American naval vessels, and from the vast number ofobservations they contained, began the compilation of the Wind andCurrents Charts known to all mariners. A monograph on Maury, issued by N. W. Ayer & Son, of Philadelphia, saysof these charts: "They were, at first, received with indifference and incredulity. Finally, a Captain Jackson determined to trust the new chart absolutely. As a result he made a round trip to Rio de Janeiro in the time oftenrequired for the outward passage alone. Later, four clipper shipsstarted from New York for San Francisco, via Cape Horn. These vesselsarrived at their destination in the order determined by the degree offidelity with which they had followed the directions of Maury's charts. The arrival of these ships in San Francisco marked, likewise, thearrival of Maury's Wind and Currents Charts in the lasting favor of themariners of the world. The average voyage to San Francisco was reduced, by use of the charts, from one hundred and eighty-three to one hundredand thirty-five days, a saving of forty-eight days. "Soon after this, the ship _San Francisco_, with hundreds of UnitedStates troops on board, foundered in an Atlantic hurricane. The rumorreached port that there was need of help. Maury was called upon toindicate her probable location. He set to work to show where the windand currents would combine to place a helpless wreck, and marked theplace with a blue pencil. There the relief was sent, and there thesurvivors of the wreck were found. From that day to this, Maury's wordhas been accepted without challenge by the matter-of-fact men of thesea. "These charts, only a few in number, are among the most wonderful anduseful productions of the human mind. One of them combined the result of1, 159, 353 separate observations on the force and direction of the wind, and upward of 100, 000 observations on the height of the barometer, atsea. As the value of such observations was recognized, more of them weremade. Through the genius and devotion of one man, Commander Maury, everyship became a floating observatory, keeping careful records of winds, currents, limits of fogs, icebergs, rain areas, temperature, soundings, etc. , while every maritime nation of the world coöperated in a work thatwas to redound to the benefit of commerce and navigation, the increaseof knowledge, the good of all. "In 1853, at the instance of Commander Maury, the United States calledthe celebrated Brussels Conference for the coöperation of nations inmatters pertaining to maritime affairs. At this conference, Mauryadvocated the extension of the system of meteorological observation tothe land, thus forming a weather bureau helpful to agriculture. This heurged in papers and addresses to the close of his life. Our presentWeather Bureau and Signal Service are largely the outcome of hisperception and advocacy. " Maury's "Physical Geography of the Sea, " the work by which he is bestknown, was published in 1855. He discovered, among other things, thecauses of the Gulf Stream, and the existence of the still-water plateauof the North Atlantic which made possible the laying of the first cable. Cyrus W. Field said, with reference to Maury's work in this connection:"Maury furnished the brains, England gave the money, and I did thework. " Maury was decorated by many foreign governments but not by his own. Owing, it is said, to his having taken up the Confederate cause, national honors were withheld from him, not only during the remainder ofhis life, but until 1916, when one of the large buildings at the NavalAcademy--the establishment of which, by the way, Maury was one of thefirst to advocate--was named for him, and Congress passed a billappropriating funds for the erection of a monument to the "Pathfinder ofthe Sea, " in Washington. Maury died in 1873, one of the most loved and honored men in the Stateof Virginia. It is recorded that, near the end, he asked his son: "Am I dragging myanchors?" And when the latter replied in the affirmative, the father gave a bravesailor's answer: "All's well, " he said. * * * * * Across the river from Fredericksburg stands Chatham, the old Fitzhughhouse, one of the most charming of early Virginian mansions. Chatham wasbuilt in 1728, and it is thought that the plans for it were drawn bySir Christopher Wren at the order of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, andsent by the latter to William Fitzhugh, who had been his classmate atEton and Oxford. Not only does the name of the house lend color to thetale, but so do its proportions, which are very beautiful, reminding onesomewhat of those of Doughoregan Manor. Chatham, however, has theadvantage of being (as the Hon. Charles Augustus Murray wrote of it inhis quaint "Travels in North America, " published in 1839) "situated onan eminence commanding a view of the town, and of the bold, sweepingcourse of the Rappahannoc. " Murray also tells of the beautiful garden, with its great box trees and its huge slave-built terraces, steppingdown to the water like a giant's stairway. In this house my companion and I were guests, and as I won the toss forthe choice of rooms, mine was the privilege of sleeping in the historicwest bedchamber, the principal guest room, and of opening my eyes, inthe morning, upon a lovely wall all paneled in white-painted wood. I shall always remember the delightful experience of awakening in thatroom, so vast, dignified, and beautiful, and of lying there a littledrowsy, and thinking of those who had been there before me. This was theroom occupied by George and Martha Washington when they stopped for afew days at Chatham on their wedding journey; this was the room occupiedby Madison, by Monroe, by Washington Irving, and by Robert E. Lee whenhe visited Chatham and courted Mary Custis, who became his wife. And, most wonderful of all to me, this was the room occupied by Lincoln whenhe came to Fredericksburg to review the army, while Chatham was Unionheadquarters, and the embattled Lee had headquarters in the old houseknown as Brompton, still standing on Marye's Heights back of the riverand the town. It is said that Lee during the siege of Fredericksburgnever trained his guns on Chatham, because of his sentiment for theplace. As I lay there in the morning I wondered if Lee had been aware, at the time, that Lincoln was under the roof of Chatham, and whetherLincoln knew, when he slept in "my" room, that Washington and Lee hadboth been there before him. War, I thought, not only makes strange bedfellows, but strangecombinations in the histories of bedrooms. Then the maid rapped for the second time upon my door, and though thistime I got up at once, my ruminations made me scandalously late forbreakfast. After breakfast came the motor, which was to take us to thebattlefields, its driver a thin dry-looking, dry-talking man, with theair of one a little tired of the story he told to tourists day in andday out, yet conscientiously resolved to go through with it. Before thehuge cemetery which overlooks the site of the most violent fighting thatoccurred in the bloody and useless Battle of Fredericksburg, he pausedbriefly; then drove us to the field of Chancellorsville, to that of theBattles of the Wilderness, and finally to the region of SpottsylvaniaCourthouse; and at each important spot he stopped and told us what hadhappened there. He knew all about the Civil War, that man, and he had away of passing out his information with a calm assumption that hishearers knew nothing about it whatever. This irritated my companion, whoalso knows all about the War, having once passed three days in theneighborhood of a Soldiers' Home. Consequently he kept cutting in, supplying additional details--such, for instance, as that StonewallJackson, who died in a house which the driver pointed out, was shot bysome of his own men, who took him for a Yankee as he was returning froma reconnaissance. Either one of these competitive historians alone, I could have stood, but the way they picked each other up, fighting the old-time battlesover again, got on my nerves. Besides, it was cold, and as I have takenoccasion to remark before, I do not like cold motor rides. Indeed, as Ithink it over, it seems to me I do not like battlefields, either. At allevents, I became more and more morose as we traversed that bleakVirginia landscape, and I am afraid that before the day was over I wasdownright sulky. As we drove back to Fredericksburg and to the train which was to take usto Charlottesville, my companion made remarks of a general characterabout people who were trivial minded, and who didn't take a properinterest in the scenes of great historical occurrences. When he hadcontinued for some time in this vein, I remarked feebly that I loved toread about battles; but that, far from mitigating his severity, onlycaused him to change his theme. He said that physical laziness was aterrible thing because it not only made the body soft but by degreessoftened the brain, as well. He said that when people didn't want to seebattlefields, preferring to lie in bed and read about them, that was asign of the beginning of the end. On various occasions throughout the week he brought this subject upagain, and I was glad indeed when, as the time for our party with thebeautiful young actress, in Washington, drew near, he began to forgetabout my shortcomings and think of more agreeable things. CHAPTER XIV CHARLOTTESVILLE AND MONTICELLO When Virginians speak of "the university, " they do not mean Harvard, Princeton, Yale, or even Washington and Lee, but always the Universityof Virginia, which is at Charlottesville. The city of Charlottesville, in its downtown parts, is no more and noless dingy and dismal than many another town of six or seven thousandinhabitants, be it North or South. It has a long main street, lined withlittle shops and moving-picture shows, and the theatrical posters whichthrill one at first sight with hopes of evening entertainment, prove, oninspection, to have survived long after the "show" they advertise hascome and gone, or else to presage the "show" that is coming for onenight, week after next. Nor is this scarcity of theatrical entertainment confined alone to smalltowns of the South. Not all important stars and important theatricalproductions visit even the largest cities, for the South is not regardedby theatrical managers as particularly profitable territory. It would beinteresting to know whether anæmia of the theater in the South, as wellas the falling off generally of theatergoing in lesser Americancities--usually attributed to the popularity and cheapness of the"movies"--is not due in large measure to the folly of managersthemselves in sending out inferior companies. Any one who has seen atheatrical entertainment in New York and seen it later "on the road" islikely to be struck by the fact that even the larger American cities donot always get the full New York cast, while smaller cities seldom ifever get any part of it. The South suffers particularly in this respect. The little "river shows, " which arrive now and then in river towns, andwhich are more or less characteristic of the South, have the excuse ofreal picturesqueness, however bad the entertainment given, for theplayers live and have their theater on flatboats, which tie up at thewharf. But the plain fact about the ordinary little southern "road show"is that it does not deserve to make money. The life of a poor player touring the South must be very wretched, forgenerally, excepting in large cities, hotels are poor. Before we hadgone far upon our way, my companion and I learned to inquire carefullyin advance as to the best hotels, and when we found in any small cityone which was not a fire trap, and which was clean, we were surprised, while if the service was fairly good, and the meals were not very bad, we considered it a matter for rejoicing. We were advised to stop, in Charlottesville, at the New Gleason, andwhen we alighted at the dingy old brick railroad station--a stationquite as unprepossessing as that at New Haven, Connecticut--we began tofeel that all was not for the best. A large gray horse hitched to thehack in which we rode to the Gleason evidently felt the same, for atfirst he balked, and later tried to run away. The hotel lobby was a perfect example of its kind. There were severaldrummers writing at the little desks, and several more sitting idly inchairs adjacent to brass cuspidors. All of them looked despondent with adespondency suggesting pie for breakfast. Behind the desk was asleepy-looking old clerk who, as we arrived, was very busy over afinancial transaction involving change of ownership in a two-cent stamp. This enterprise concluded, he assigned us rooms. Never have I wished to win the toss for rooms as I wished it when I sawthe two allotted to us, for though the larger one could not by a flightof fancy be termed cheerful, the sight of the lesser chamber filled mewith thoughts of madness. Of course I lost. Never shall I forget that room. It was too small to accommodate mytrunks with any comfort, so I left them downstairs with the porter, descending, now and then, to get such articles as I required. Thefurniture, what there was of it, was of yellow pine; the top of thedresser was scarred with the marks of many glasses and many bottles; thelace window curtains were long, hard and of a wiry stiffness, and thewall-paper was of a scrambled pattern all in bilious brown. During theevening I persuaded my companion to walk with me through the town, andonce I got him out I kept him going on and on through shadowy streetsunknown to us, until, exhausted, he insisted upon returning to ourhostelry. I fancy that there are picturesque old houses on the outskirtsof the town, but with that wall paper and a terrible nostalgia occupyingmy mind, I was in no state to judge of what was there. On reaching the hotel my companion went to bed, but I remained untillate in the office, writing letters, doing anything rather than go up tomy room. When at last I did ascend I planned to read, but thearrangement of the light was bad, so presently I put it out and laythere sleepless and miserable, thinking of foolish things that I havesaid and done during a life rich with such items, and having chills andfever over each separate recollection. How I drifted off to sleep atlast I do not know; all I remember is waking up next morning, leapingout of bed and dressing in frantic haste to get out of my room. Therewas but one thing in it which did not utterly offend the eye: that wasthe steam pipe which ascended from floor to ceiling at one corner, andwhich, being a simple, honest metal tube, was not objectionable. As we passed through the office on our way to breakfast, the bus manentered, and in a loud, retarded chant proclaimed: "Train for theSouth!" The impressive tones in which this announcement was delivered seemed tocall for a sudden stir, a rush for bags and coats, a general exodus, but no one in the office moved, and I remember feeling sorry for the busman as he turned and went out in the midst of a crushing anti-climax. "I wonder, " I said to my companion, "if anybody ever gets up and goeswhen that man calls out the trains. " "I don't believe so, " he replied. "I don't think he calls trains for anysuch purpose. He only warns people so they will expect to hear thetrain, and not be frightened when it goes through. " * * * * * Thomas Jefferson is most widely remembered, I suppose, as the author ofthe Declaration of Independence, the third President, the purchaser ofLouisiana, and the unfortunate individual upon whom the Democratic partycasts the blame for its existence, precisely as the Republican partyblames itself on Washington and Lincoln--although the lamentable stateinto which both parties have fallen is actually the fault of living men. It is significant, however, that of this trio of Jeffersonian items, Jefferson himself selected but one to be included in the inscriptionwhich he wrote for his tombstone--a modest obelisk on the grounds atMonticello. The inscription mentions but three of his achievements: theauthorship of the Declaration, that of the Virginia statute forreligious freedom, and the fact that he was "Father of the University ofVirginia. " Regardless of other accomplishments, the man who built the universityand the house at Monticello was great. It is more true of thesebuildings than of any others I have seen that they are theautobiography, in brick and stone, of their architect. To see them, tosee some of the exquisitely margined manuscript in Jefferson's cleanhandwriting, preserved in the university library, and to read theDeclaration, is to gain a grasp of certain sides of Jefferson's naturewhich can be achieved in no other way. Monticello stands on a lofty hilltop, with vistas, between trees, ofneighboring valleys, hills, and mountains. It is a supremely lovelyhouse, unlike any other, and, while it is too much to say that one wouldrecognize it as the house of the writer of the Declaration, it is nottoo much to say that, once one does know it, one can trace a clearaffinity resulting from a common origin--an affinity much more apparent, by the way, than may be traced between the work of Michelangelo on St. Peter's at Rome, on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, and in his"David. " The introductory paragraph to the Declaration ascends into the body ofthe document as gracefully and as certainly as the wide flights of easysteps ascend to the doors of Monticello; the long and beautifullybalanced paragraph which follows, building word upon word and sentenceupon sentence into a central statement, has a form as definite andgraceful as that of the finely proportioned house; the numberedparagraphs which follow, setting forth separate details, are like roomswithin the house, and--I have just come upon the coincidence with apleasant start such as might be felt by the discoverer of some complexand important cipher--as there are twenty-seven of the numberedparagraphs in the Declaration, so there are twenty-seven rooms inMonticello. Last of all there are two little phrases in the Declaration(the phrases stating that we shall hold our British brethren in futureas we hold the rest of mankind--"enemies in war; in peace, friends"), which I would liken to the small twin buildings, one of them Jefferson'soffice, the other that of the overseer, which stand on either side ofthe lawn at Monticello, at some distance from the house. These officebuildings face, and balance upon each other, and upon the mansion, butthey are so much smaller that to put them there required daring, whileto make them "compose" (as painters say) with the great house, requiredthe almost superhuman sense of symmetry which Jefferson assuredlypossessed. The present owner of Monticello is Mr. Jefferson Monroe Levy, formerUnited States congressman from New York. Mr. Levy is a Democrat and abachelor, according to the Congressional Directory, which states furtherthat he inherited Monticello from an uncle, Commodore Uriah P. Levy, U. S. N. , and that the latter purchased the place in 1830 "at thesuggestion of President Jackson. " Dorothy Dix, writing in "Good Housekeeping, " tells a tale which I haveheard repeatedly of the acquisition of Monticello by Uriah Levy. SaysMiss Dix: "Monticello was sold to a stranger, and Jefferson's only daughter, Mrs. Randolph, widowed and with eleven children, was left homeless.... Asubscription of three thousand dollars was raised ... To buy back thehouse ... And this money was intrusted to a young relative of theJeffersons' to convey to Charlottesville. Traveling in the stagecoachwith the young man was Captain Uriah P. Levy, to whom he confided hismission. The young man became intoxicated and dallied, but Captain Levyhastened on to Charlottesville, and purchased Monticello for twothousand five hundred dollars. The next day the repentant and soberyoung man arrived and besought Captain Levy to take the three thousanddollars ... And let Monticello go back to the Jefferson family. CaptainLevy refused to part with his bargain, but at his death he willedMonticello to 'the people of the United States to be held as a memorialof Thomas Jefferson'.... The Levy heirs contested the will, and it wasfinally decided upon a technicality that 'the people of the UnitedStates' was too indefinite a term to make the bequest binding, and theestate passed into the hands of the Levys, and so to its presentowner.... " In a biographical note upon the latter, the Congressional Directorystates that the house is "kept open to the public all the year. " Mycompanion and I were admitted to the grounds, but were informed that, though the building was unoccupied, no one was permitted to enter. Whilewe were in the vicinity of the house we were attended by one of the menemployed on the place, who told us that when people were allowed toroam about at will, there had been much vandalism; ivy had been pulledfrom the walls, shrubbery broken, pieces of brick chipped out of thesteps, and teeth knocked from the heads of the marble lions which flankthem. Of recent years there has been on foot a movement, launched, I believe, by Mrs. Martin W. Littleton, of New York, to influence the Government topurchase Monticello from its present owner. It is difficult to seeprecisely how Mr. Levy could be forced to part with his property, if hedid not wish to. Nevertheless public sentiment on this subject hasbecome so strong that he has agreed to let the Government haveMonticello "at a price"--so, at least, I was informed inCharlottesville. CHAPTER XV THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA The opening of the University of Virginia was an event of prime importance for the higher education in the whole country, and really marks a new era. --CHARLES FORSTER SMITH. Like Monticello, the buildings of the University of Virginia are thoseof an intellectual, a classicist, a purist, and, like it, they mighthave been austere but for the warmth of their red brick and the glow oftheir white-columned porticos. But they are cheerful buildings, which, individually and as a group, attain a geometrical yet soft perfection, asupreme harmony of form and color. The principal buildings are grouped about a large campus, called theLawn, which is dominated by the rotunda, suggesting in its outlines thePantheon at Rome. From the rotunda, at either side, starts awhite-columned arcade connecting the various houses which aredistributed at graceful intervals along the margins of the rectangularlawn, above which loom the tops of even rows of beautiful old trees. Flanking the buildings of the lawn, and reached by brick walks whichpass between the famous serpentine walls (walls but one brick thickwhich support themselves on the snake-fence principle, by progressing ina series of reverse curves), are the "ranges": solid rows of one-storystudent dormitories built of brick and fronted by colonnades whichcommand other lawns and other trees. With a single exception, restorations and additions to the universityhave been made with reverence and taste, and the Brooks Museum, the onearchitectural horror of the place, fortunately does not stand upon thelawn. Since it is said that beauty could not exist were there notugliness for contrast, this building may have its uses; certainly, aftera glance at it, one looks back with renewed delight at the structures ofthe central group. Most superb of all, always there hangs at night, above the buildings andthe tree-tops, a glorious full moon. At least I suppose it always hangsthere, for though it seemed to us very wonderful, every one else seemedused to it. Like Venice, the University of Virginia should first be seen bymoonlight. There could not have been a finer moonlit night, I thought, than that cold, crisp one upon which my companion stood for two hoursbeside the rotunda, gazing at the lawn and drawing it, its frosty grassand trees decked with diamonds, its white columns standing out softlyfrom their shadow backgrounds like phosphorescent ghosts in the luminousblue darkness. Until I was nearly frozen I stayed there with him. Thatdrawing cost him one of the worst colds he ever had. The university ought to have, and has, many traditions, and life thereought to be, and is, different from life in any other college. Jeffersonbrought from Italy the men who carved the capitals of the columns (thedescendants of some of these Italian workmen live in Charlottesvilleto-day), and when the columns were in place he brought from Europe theprofessors to form the faculty, creating what was practically a smallEnglish university in the United States. Never until, a dozen years ago, Dr. E. A. Alderman became president, had there been such an office;before that time the university had a rector, and the duties ofpresident were performed by a chairman of the faculty, elected by thefaculty from among its members. This was the first university to adoptthe elective system, permitting the students, as Jefferson wrote, "uncontrolled choice in the lectures they shall attend, " instead ofprescribing one course of reading for all. No less important, theUniversity of Virginia was the first college to introduce (1842) thehonor system, and still has the most complete honor system to be foundamong American colleges. This system is an outgrowth of the Jeffersonianidea of student self-government; under it each student signs, withexamination papers, a pledge that he has neither given nor receivedassistance. That is found sufficient; students are not watched, nor needthey be. With time this system has been extended, so that it now coversnot only examinations, but many departments of college life, eliminatingprofessionalism in athletics and plagiarism in literary work, andresulting in a delightful mutual confidence between the student body andthe faculty. Madison and Monroe were active members of the university's first boardof visitors; the first college Y. M. C. A. Was started there; and amongmany famous men who have attended the university may be mentioned EdgarAllan Poe, Thomas Nelson Page, and Thomas Woodrow Wilson, whose nameappears thus upon the "University Magazine" for 1879-80, as one of itsthree editors. The ill-starred Poe attended the university for only oneyear, at the end of which time his adopted father, Mr. Allan, ofRichmond, withdrew him because of debts he had contracted whileacquiring his education in gambling and drinking champagne. Poe's formerroom, No. 13 West Range, is now the office of the magazine. The clean, lovely manuscript in Jefferson's handwriting, of the firstAnglo-Saxon grammar written in the United States, is to be seen in theuniversity library; Jefferson was Vice-President of the United Stateswhen he wrote it; he put Anglo-Saxon in the first curriculum of theuniversity, and it has been taught there ever since. In a note which isa part of the manuscript, he advocates the study of Anglo-Saxon as anintroduction to modern English on the ground that though about half thewords in our present language are derived from Latin and Greek, thesebeing the scholarly words, the other half, the words we use most often, are Anglo-Saxon. Before the war it was not uncommon for students at the university tohave their negro body servants with them, and it has occasionallyhappened since that some young sprig of southern aristocracy has cometo college thus attended. Perhaps the most striking and characteristic feature of student lifeto-day, from the point of view of the stray visitor, is the formalattitude of students toward one another. There is no easy-goingcasualness between them, no calling back and forth, no "hello, " by wayof greeting. They pass each other on the walks either without speaking(men have been punished at the university by being ignored by the entirestudent body), or if they do greet each other the customary salutationis "How are you, sir?" or "How are you, gentlemen?" First-year men areexpected to wear hats, and not to speak to upper classmen until theyhave been spoken to; and, though there is no hazing at the university, woe betide them if they do not heed these rules. In the early days of the university there was an effort to exerciserestraint over students, to make them account for their goings andcomings, and to prevent their going to taverns or betting upon horseraces. Also they were obliged to wear a uniform. The severity was sogreat that they appealed to Jefferson, who sided with them. He, however, died in the same year, and friction prevailed for perhaps a decadelonger, with many student disorders, culminating in the shooting of aprofessor by a student. In 1840 the students were at last granted fullfreedom, and two years later the honor system was adopted. During the university's first years young men from the far South, wheredueling was especially prevalent, did not come in large numbers to theUniversity of Virginia, but went, as a rule, to the northern colleges, but about the middle of the century, as feeling between North and Southover taxation, States' Rights and slavery became more acute, these menbegan to flock to the college at Charlottesville. Between 1850 and 1860the university almost doubled in size, and at about the same time theredeveloped a good deal of dueling between students. When the War ended many men who had gone into the Confederate army atsixteen or seventeen years of age came to Charlottesville to completetheir education. The hard life of the army had made some of these into awild lot, and there was a great deal of gambling and drinking duringtheir time, and also after it, for several succeeding generations ofstudents looked up to the ex-soldiers as heroes, and carried on theunfortunate traditions left by them at the university. In the nineties, however, a change came, and though there is still some drinking andgambling, it is doubtful whether such vices are now more prevalent atthe University of Virginia than at many other colleges. The honor systemhas never been extended to cover these points. It is related that, in Poe's time, gambling became such a seriousobstacle to discipline and work that the university authorities set thetown marshal after a score or so of gambling students, Poe among them, whereupon these students fled to the Ragged Mountains, near by, andremained for two weeks, during which time Poe is said to have mightilyentertained them with stories and prophecies, including a forecast ofthe Civil War, in which, he declared, two of the youths present wouldfight on opposite sides. The Poe tradition is kept vigorously alive at the university. Not longago a member of the Raven Society, one of the rather too numerousstudent organizations, discovered the burial place of Poe's mother, whowas an actress, and who died penniless in Richmond at the age oftwenty-four and was buried with the destitute. By a happy inspiration afund was raised among the students for the erection of a monument toher--an example of fine and chivalrous sentiment on the part of theseyoung men, which, one feels, is somehow delicately intertwined with thetraditions of the honor system. The Poe professor of English at the university, when we were there, wasDr. C. Alphonso Smith, who has since taken the professorship of Englishat the United States Naval Academy. By a coincidence which has proved ahappy one for those who love the stories of the late Sidney Porter (O. Henry), Dr. Smith grew up as a boy with Porter, in Greensboro, NorthCarolina. Because of this, and also because of Dr. Smith's own gifts asa writer and an analyst, it is peculiarly fitting that he should haveundertaken the work which has occupied him for several years past, theresult of which has recently been given to us in the form "The O. HenryBiography. " Dr. Smith was Roosevelt exchange professor at the University of Berlinin 1910-11, holding the chair of American History and Institutions. While occupying that professorship he met the Kaiser. "I talked with him twice, " he said, "and upon the second occasion undervery delightful circumstances, for I was invited to dinner at the Palaceat Potsdam, and was the only guest, the Kaiser, Kaiserin, and PrincessVictoria Luise being present. "The Kaiser is, of course, a very magnetic man. His eyes are his mostremarkable feature. They are very large, brilliant, and sparkling, andhe rolls them in a manner most unusual. While he is always the king andthe soldier, he can be genial and charming. One might expect a man inhis position to be blasé, but that, most of all, is what he is not. Heis like a boy in his vitality and vividness, and he has a great andpersistent intellectual curiosity. It is this, I think, which used tocause him to be compared with Colonel Roosevelt. Both would like to knowall things, and both have had, and have exercised more, perhaps, thanany other two living men, the power to bring to themselves the centralfigures in all manner of world events, and thus learn at first hand, from acknowledged authorities, about the subjects that interestthem--which is to say, everything. "He frankly admired America. I don't mean that he said so for the sakeof courtesy to me, but that he has--or did have, then--an immense andrather romantic interest in this country. A great many Germans used toresent this trait in him. America held in his mind the same romanticposition that the idea of monarchy did in the minds of some of us. Imean that the average American went for romance to stories of monarchy, but that the Kaiser, being used to the monarchial idea, found hisromance over here. (I am, of course, speaking of him as he was five orsix years ago. ) He wished to come to America, but was never able to doso, since German law forbids it. And, perhaps because he could not come, America was the more a sort of dream to him. "He asked me about some of the things in Berlin which I had noticed asbeing different from things at home, and when I mentioned the way thathistory was kept alive in the very streets of Berlin, his eyes danced, and he said that was one of the things he had tried to accomplish by theerection of the numerous monuments which have been placed in Berlinduring his reign. He told me of other means by which history was keptalive in Germany: among them that every officer has to know in detailthe history of his regiment, and that German regiments always celebratethe anniversaries of their great days. "He speaks English without an accent, though we might say that he spokeit with an English accent. He told me that he had learned English beforehe learned German, and had also caused his children to learn it first. He reads Mark Twain, or had read him, and he enjoyed him, but he saidthat when he met Mark Twain the latter had little or nothing to say, andthat it was only with the greatest difficulty that he got him to talk atall. He subscribed, he told me, to 'Harper's Magazine, ' and he was inthe habit of reading short stories aloud to his family, in English. Headmired the American short story, and I remember that he declared: 'TheAmericans know how to plunge into a short story. We Germans are toolong-winded. '" When Professor Smith talks about the Kaiser, you say to yourself: "Iknow that it is growing late, but I cannot bear to leave until I haveheard the rest of this"; when he drifts presently to O. Henry, you saythe same; and so it is always, no matter what his subject. At last, however, the grandfather's clock in the hall below his study sends up astern message which is not to be mistaken, whereupon you arisereluctantly from your comfortable chair, spill the cigar ashes out ofyour lap onto the rug, dust off your clothing, and take your leave. Noris your regret at departing lessened by the fact that you must go toyour bilious-colored bedroom in the New Gleason, and that you will notsee the university, or Professor C. Alphonso Smith, or Mrs. Smith again, because you are leaving upon the morrow. So it must always be with the itinerant illustrator and writer. They areforever finding new and lovely scenes only to leave them; forever makingnew and charming friends only to part with them, faring forth again intothe unknown. CHAPTER XVI FOX-HUNTING IN VIRGINIA Better to hunt in fields for health unbought Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. The wise for cure on exercise depend; God never made his work for man to mend. --DRYDEN. It is my impression that the dining-car conductor on the Chesapeake &Ohio train by which we left Charlottesville was puzzled when I asked hisname; but if he sees this and remembers the incident he will now knowthat I did so because I wished here to mention him as a humane citizen. His name is C. G. Mitchell, and he was so accommodating as to serve alight meal, after hours, when he did not have to, to two hungry men whoneeded it. If travel has taught my companion and me anything, it hastaught us that not all dining-car conductors are like that. Nor, Ijudge, can all dining-car conductors play the violin, pleasantly, in offhours, as does Mr. Mitchell. Better one merciful dining-car conductorthan twenty who wear white carnations at their left lapels, but wear nohearts below them! The road by which we drove from the railroad into the fastnesses ofLoudon County, where, near the little settlement of Upperville, the racemeet of the Piedmont Hunt was to be held, suggested other times andother manners, for though we rode in a motor car, and though we passedanother now and then, machines were far outnumbered by the horses which, under saddle, or hitched to buggies, surreys, and carts of alldescriptions, were heading toward the meeting place. On these roads, one felt, the motor was an outsider; this was thekingdom of the horse that we were visiting; soft dirt roads were therefor him to trot and gallop on, and fences of wood or stone, free frombarbed wire, were everywhere, for him to jump. Throughout the week we had looked forward to this day, and even more, perhaps, to the party which, if we could get back to Washington thatnight, was to follow it; wherefore the first thing we did on reaching aplace where information was obtainable was to inquire about facilitiesfor leaving. Herein my companion had the advantage of me, for there wasnothing to prevent his departing immediately after the races, whereas Imust remain behind for an hour or two, to learn something of fox-huntingas practised in this region. By motoring immediately after the races to a neighboring town--Bluemontif I remember rightly--and there taking an interurban trolley to someother place, and changing cars, and going without his dinner, mycompanion found that he could get to Washington by nine o'clock. My casewas different. Should I be delayed more than two hours I could not getaway at all that night, but must miss the much anticipated partyaltogether; and, though my companion seemed to view this possibilitywith perfect equanimity, my memories of the charming lady whom we wereto meet at the stage door, after the performance, were too clear topermit of indifference in me. The trolley my companion meant to catchwas, however, the last one; my only hope, therefore, was to motor adistance of perhaps a dozen miles, over roads which I was frankly toldwere "middling to bad, " and try to catch a train at The Plains station. If I missed this train, I was lost, and must spend a solitary night insuch a room as I might be able to find in a strange village. Thatpossibility did not appeal to me. I began to wish that there was no suchthing as fox-hunting, or that, there being such a thing, I had chosen toignore it. "Now, " said my companion cheerfully, "we'll telegraph her. " At a telegraph office he seized the pencil and wrote the followingmessage: _Will call for you to-night after performance. _ To this he signed his own name. "What about me?" I suggested, after glancing over his shoulder at themessage. "Oh, well, " said he, "there's no use in going into all that in atelegram. It's sufficient to let her know that one of us is coming. " "But I proposed this party. " "Well, " he gave in, with an air of pained patience, "what shall I say, then? Shall I add that you are unavoidably detained?" "Not by a jugful!" I returned. "Add that I hope to get there too, andwill make every effort to do so. " He wrote it out, sighing as he did so. Then, by careful cutting, he gotit down to fourteen words. By that time the operator couldn't read it, so he wrote it out again--gloomily. This accomplished, we matched coins to see who should pay for themessage. He lost. "All right!" he said. "I'll pay for it, but it's all foolishness to sendsuch a long telegram. " "No, " I returned, as we left the office and got into the machine, "it isnot foolishness. If I can make life a little brighter for a beautifulwoman, by adding a few words to a telegram, and sticking you for it, Ishall do it every time. " He looked away over the fields and did not answer me. So we drove on insilence to where stands the beautiful manor house called Huntland, whichis the residence of Mr. Joseph B. Thomas, M. F. H. Of the Piedmont Hunt. There is, I have been told, no important hunt in the United States inwhich the master of foxhounds is not the chief financial supporter, thesport being a very costly one. Of American hunts, the Middlesex, inMassachusetts, of which Mr. A. Henry Higginson is M. F. H. , has thereputation of being the best appointed. The Piedmont Hunt is, however, one of the half dozen leading organizations of the kind, and it isdifficult indeed to imagine a finer. In a well-kept park near Mr. Thomas's house stand extensiveEnglish-looking buildings of brick and stucco, which, viewed from adistance, suggest a beautiful country house, and which, visited, teachone that certain favored hounds and horses in this world live muchbetter than certain human beings. One building is given over to thekennels, the other the stables; each has a large sunlit court, and eachis as beautiful and as clean as a fine house--a house full of trophies, hunting equipment, and the pleasant smell of well-cared-for saddlery. Ina rolling meadow, not far distant, is the race course, all green turf, and here, soon after luncheon, gathered an extraordinary diversifiedcrowd. For the most part the crowd was a fashionable one: men and women of thetype whose photographs appear in "Vogue" and "Vanity Fair, " and whosecostumes were like fashion suggestions for "sport clothes" in thosepublications. One party was stationed on the top of an old-time mailcoach, the boot of which bore the significant initials"F. F. V. "--standing, as even benighted Northerners must be aware, for"First Families of Virginia"; others were in a line of motors andheterogeneous horse-drawn vehicles, parked beside the course; andscattered through the gathering, like brushmarks on an impressionistcanvas, one saw the brilliant color of pink coats. Handsome hunterswere being ridden or led about by negro grooms, and others keptarriving, ridden in by farmers and breeders, while here and there onesaw a woman rider, her hair tightly drawn back under a mannish derbyhat, her figure slender and graceful in a severely-cut habit coat. Jumbled together in a great green meadow under a sweet autumnal sun, these things made a picture of what, I am persuaded, is the ultimate inextravagant American country life. There was something, too, about thisblending of fashionables and farmers, which made me think of thetheater; for there is, in truth, a distinct note of histrionism aboutmany of the rich Americans who "go in for" elaborate ruralness, andthere is a touch of it very often, also, about "horsey" people. Theylike to "look the part, " and they dress it with no less care than theyexercise, at other seasons, in dressing the parts of opera-goingcosmopolites, or wealthy loungers at the beaches. In other words, thesefashionables had the overtrained New York look all over them, and thelocal rustics set them off as effectively as the villainous young squireof the Drury Lane melodrama is set off by contrast with honest oldJasper, the miller, who wears a smock, and comes to the Great House tobeg the Young Master to "make an honest woman" of poor Rose, the fairestlass in all Hampshire. About the races themselves there was something fascinatinglynonprofessional. They bore the same relation to great races on greattracks that a very fine performance of a play by amateurs might bear toa professional performance. First came a two-mile steeplechase, with brush hurdles. Then, after acouple of minor events, a four-mile point-to-point race for huntersridden by gentlemen in hunt uniform. This was as stiff a race for bothhorses and riders as I have ever seen, and it was very picturesque towatch the pink coats careering up hill and down dale, now over a tallstone wall, now over a brook or a snake fence; and when a rider wenthead over heels, and lay still upon the ground where he fell, while hishorse cantered along after the field, in that aimless and pathetic waythat riderless horses have, one had a real sensation--which was thepleasanter for knowing, a few minutes later, that the horseman had onlybroken an arm. Next was run a rollicking race for horses owned by farmers, and others, whose land is hunted over by the Piedmont and Middleburg foxhounds; andlast occurred a great comedy event--a mule race, free for all, in whichone of the hunting men, in uniform, made such a handsome showing againsta rabble of white and colored boys, all of them yelling, all of thembeating their long-eared animals with sticks, that he would have won, had he not deliberately pulled his mount and "thrown" the race. The last event was not yet finished when my companion, who had becomenervous about his interurban trolley, got into a machine to drive toBluemont. "Of course, " he said as we parted, "we'll miss you to-night. " "Oh, " I said, "I hope not. I expect to get there. " "I don't see how you can make it, " said he. "You have a lot of materialto gather. " "I shall work fast. " "Well, " said he, trying to speak like the voice of Conscience, "I hopeyou won't forget your _duty_--that's all. " "I proposed this party to-night. It is my duty to be there. " "You didn't make any definite engagement, " said he, "and, besides, yourfirst duty is to your editors and your readers. " Having tossed me this disgusting thought, he departed in a cloud ofdust, leaving me sad and alone, but not yet altogether in despair. The last race over, I hastened to Mr. Thomas's house, which, by thistime, looked like an old English hunting print come to life, for it wasnow crowded with pink coats. For most of the technical informationcontained in this chapter I am indebted to various gentlemen whom Iencountered there. In Virginia--which is the oldest fox-hunting State in the Union, thesport having been practised there for nearly two centuries--the words"hunt" or "hunting" never by any chance apply to shooting, but alwaysrefer to hunting the fox with horse and hounds. A "hunter" is not a manbut a horse; a huntsman is not a member of the hunt but a hunt-servant;the "field" may be the terrain ridden over by the hunt, or it may bethe group of riders following the hounds--"hunt followers, " "huntingmen, " and "hunting women. " The following items, from "Baily's Hunting Directory, " a British annual, give some idea of certain primary formalities and practicalities ofhunting: HINTS TO BEGINNERS Buy the best horses you can afford; but remember that a workably sound horse, though blemished or a bit gone in the wind, will give you plenty of fun, if you do not knock him about. Obey the Master's orders without argument; in the field he is supreme. Hold up your hat if you view the fox away; do not halloa. If none of the hunt servants see your uplifted hat, go and tell the nearest of them. Ride fast at water; if hounds clear a brook a horse has a good chance of doing so. Steady your horse and let him take his own pace at big timber. Keep well away from hounds, and down wind of them at a check. The steam from heated horses adds a fresh difficulty to recovery of lost scent. Look out for signs that may indicate the whereabouts or passing of the fox. Huddling sheep, staring cattle, chattering magpies, circling rooks, may mean that they see, or have just seen, the fox. Never lark over fences; it tires your horse needlessly and may cause damage and annoy the farmer. Never take a short cut through a covert that is likely to be drawn during the day; and keep well away from a covert that hounds are drawing if you start for home before the day's sport is over, lest you head the fox. Always await your turn at a gate or gap; do not try and push forward in a crowd. If you follow a pilot, do not "ride in his pocket"; give him plenty of room, say fifteen lengths, at fences, or if he falls you might jump on him. If your horse kicks, tie a knot of red ribbon in his tail. N. B. --Do not be guilty of using this "rogue's badge" for the sake of getting room in a crowd, as some men have been known to do. If a man is down and in danger of being kicked, put your own saddle over his head. HINTS CONCERNING THE HUNTER It should be remembered that in the ordinary routine the horse is fed three or four times a day. On a hunting day he gets one good feed early in the morning and loses one or two feeds. Moreover, he is doing hard work for hours together, with a weight on his back. Carry a couple of forage biscuits in your pocket to give him during the day. Also get off and relieve him of your weight when you can do so. When he is brought home, put him in his stall or box, slack the girths, take off the bridle and give him his gruel at once. Throw a rug over his loins and pull his ears for a minute or two. An old horse needs more clothing than a young one. Condition is a matter of seasons, not of months; a horse in hard condition can take without injury a fall that would disable a soft one for weeks. In old times many of Virginia's country gentlemen kept their own packs, but though some followed the hounds according to the English tradition, there developed a less sportsmanlike style of hunting called"hilltopping, " under which the hunting men rode to an elevated point andwatched the hounds run the fox, without themselves attempting to followacross country and be in at the kill. As a result, the fox was, ifcaught, torn to pieces by the hounds, and the brush and head wereinfrequently saved. Under the traditions of English fox-hunting--traditions the strictnessof which can hardly be exaggerated--"hilltopping" is a more thandoubtful sport, and, since organized fox-hunting in the United States istaken entirely from the English idea, the practice is tabooed onfirst-class hunting regions. The origin of hilltopping is, however, easily understood. The oldfox-hunters simply did not, as a rule, have horses adequate to negotiatethe country, hunters not having been developed to any great extent inAmerica in early times. The perfect type of hunter is of thoroughbred stock. By the term"thoroughbred" horsemen do not mean highly bred horses of any kind, asis sometimes supposed, but only running horses. All such horses comeoriginally of British stock, for it is in Great Britain that the breedhas been developed, although it traces back, through a number ofcenturies, to a foundation of Arabian blood. I am informed that climaticand other conditions in a certain part of Ireland are for some reasonpeculiarly favorable to the development of hunters and that theseconditions are duplicated in the Piedmont section of Virginia, andnowhere else in the whole world. Only the stanchest, bravest, fastesttype of horse is suited for hunting in Virginia, and for this reason themore experienced riders to hounds prefer the thoroughbred, thoughhalf-bred and three-quarter-bred horses are also used to some extent, the thoroughbred often being too mettlesome, when he becomes excited, for any but the best riders. The finest qualities of a horse are broughtout in hunting in the Piedmont section, for the pace here is veryfast--much faster than in England, though it should be added that in theEnglish hunting country there are more hedges than over here, and thatthe jumps are, upon the whole, stiffer. The speed of the Piedmont Hunt and other hunts in Virginia is doubtlessdue to the use of southern hounds, these being American hounds, smallerand faster than English hounds, from which, however, they wereoriginally bred. The desirable qualities in a pack of hounds areuniformity of type, substance, speed, and color. These points have to donot only with the style of a pack, but also with its hunting quality. Thus in the Piedmont pack they breed for a red hound with whitemarkings, so that the pack may have an individual appearance, but in allpacks a great effort is made to secure even speed, for a slow houndlags, while a fast one becomes an individual hunter. The unusual houndis therefore likely to be "drafted" from the pack. There has been a long controversy as to whether the English or Americantype of hound is best suited for hunting in this country, and the matterseems still to remain one of opinion. Probably the best English pack inthe United States is that of Mr. A. Henry Higginson. Some years since, Mr. Higginson and Mr. Harry Worcester Smith, of Worcester, Massachusetts, master of the Grafton pack, made a bet of $5000 a side, each backing his own hounds, the question being that of the generalsuitability of the American versus the English hound for Americancountry. The trials were made in the Piedmont region of Virginia, andMr. Smith's American hounds won the wager for him. In the last ten or twenty years hunting in the United States has beenorganized under the Hunts Committee of the National SteeplechaseAssociation. Practically all the important hunting organizations aremembers of this association, there being forty of these: eleven inVirginia, nine in Pennsylvania, six in New York, four in Massachusetts, three each in Maryland and New Jersey, and one each in Connecticut, Vermont, Ohio, and Michigan--the Grosse Pointe Hounds, near Detroit, being the most westerly of recognized hunts, although there is someunrecognized hunting near Chicago. An idea of the comparative importance of hunting in the United Statesand in England may be gathered from the fact that in England and Walesalone there are more than 180 packs of foxhounds, 88 packs of beagles, and 16 packs of staghounds, while Ireland and Scotland have many also. The war, however, has struck hard at hunting in the British Isles. Baily's Hunting Directory for 1915-16, says: "Hunting has given her best, for of those who have gone from the huntingfield to join the colors, the masters lead, as they have led in morehappy days, with a tale of over 80 per cent. Of their number, the huntsecretaries following with over 50 per cent. , while the hunt servantsshow over 30 per cent. No exact data are available to tell of themultitude from the rank and file that has followed this magnificentlead, excepting that from all the hunts there comes the same report, that practically every man fit for service has responded to the call. " It is estimated that 17, 000 horses were drafted from hunting for thecavalry in England at the beginning of the war; and it is to be noticedthat so soon after the outbreak as July, 1915, the "Directory" publisheda list of names of well-known hunting men killed in action, whichoccupied more than seven large pages printed in small type. Under the heading "Incidents of the 1914-15 Season" are to be found manyitems of curious early war-time interest, a few of which I quote: Lady Stalbridge announces willingness to act as field master of the South and West Wilts Hounds during her husband's absence in France. Lieutenant Charles Romer Williams took out to the front a pack of beagles, with which the officers of the Second Cavalry Brigade hoped to hunt Belgian hares. Capt. E. K. Bradbury, a member of the Cahir Harriers, earned the V. C. At Nery, but died from wounds. The Grafton Hounds have seventy-six followers with the colors. Admiral Sir David Beatty, of North Sea fame, has a hunting box at Brooksby Hall, in the Melton Mowbray country. Five members of the Crawley and Horsham Hounds have been killed, three wounded, and two are missing. Quorn fields down to about 30, instead of 300 last season. Captain the Honorable R. B. F. Robertson (Twenty-first Lancers) a prisoner of war. He took over the North Tipperary Hounds in May, and, of course, did not get a chance to have any sport. We now learn that the French authorities have discouraged fox-hunting behind the fighting lines. So did the Germans. One day British hounds took up the scent on their own initiative. The usual followers had bigger game afoot, and were in the thick of an engagement. The Germans gained ground and occupied the kennels. When the hounds returned from their chase and challenged the intruders they were shot down one by one. Such is the lore I had acquired when the motor came for me; whereupon, taking a few sandwiches to sustain me until supper time, I set forththrough the night by Ford, for the station at The Plains. * * * * * The publication of the larger part of the foregoing chapter on foxhunting, in "Collier's Weekly, " brought me a number of letterscontaining hunting anecdotes. Mr. J. R. Smith of Martinsville, Virginia, calls my attention to markeddifference in character between the red fox and the gray. The red fox, he says, depends upon his legs to elude the hounds, and will sometimeslead the hunt twenty-five miles from the place where he gets up, but thegray fox depends on cunning, and is more prone to run a few miles and"tack. " Mr. Smith tells the following story illustrative of the gray fox'samazing artfulness: "We had started a fox on three different occasions, " he writes, "runninghim a warm chase for about four miles and losing him every time in asheep pasture. Finally we stationed a servant in that pasture to seewhat became of the fox. We started him again and he took the same routeto the pasture. There the mystery was solved. The fox jumped on the backof a large ram, which, in fright, ran off about half a mile. The foxthen jumped off and continued his run. When the hounds came up we urgedthem on to the point where the fox dismounted, and soon had his brush. " * * * * * Another correspondent calls my attention to the fact that, in Virginia, hunting is not merely the sport of the rich, but that the farmers areenthusiastic members of the field--sometimes at the expense of theircattle and crops. He relates the following story illustrative of thepoint of view of the sporting Virginia farmer: "A man from the Department of Agriculture came down into our section tolook over farms and give advice to farmers. He went to see one farmerin my county and found that he had absolutely nothing growing, and thathis livestock consisted of three hunters and thirty-two couples ofhounds. The agricultural expert was scandalized. He told the farmer heought to begin at once to raise hogs. 'You can feed them what you feedthe dogs, ' he said, 'and have good meat for your family aside from whatyou sell. ' "After hearing his visitor out, the farmer looked off across the countryand spat ruminatively. "'I ain't never seen no hawg that could catch a fox, ' he said, and withthat turned and went into the barn, evidently regarding the matter asclosed. Clearly he did not share the view of the Irishman who dismissedfox hunting with the remark that a fox was 'damned hard to catch and nogood when you got him. '" CHAPTER XVII "A CERTAIN PARTY" Kind are her answers, But her performance keeps no day; Breaks time, as dancers From their own music when they stray. Lost is our freedom When we submit to women so: Why do we need 'em When, in their best, they work our woe? --THOMAS CAMPION. The motor ride to The Plains was a cold and rough one. I remember thatwe had to ford a stream or two, and that once, where the mud had beenchurned up and made deep by the wheels of many vehicles, we almoststuck. Excepting at the fords, the road was dusty, and the dust was keptin circulation by the feet of countless saddle horses, on which men fromthe country to the south of Upperville were riding home from the races. All the way to The Plains our lights kept picking up these riders, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups, all of them going our way, wetaking their dust until we overhauled them, then giving them ours. Dust was over me like a close-fitting gray veil when I reached therailroad station only to find that the train was late. I had a magazinein my bag, but the light in the waiting-room was poor, so I took a placenear the stove and gave myself up to anticipations of a bath, acomfortable room, clean clothing, and a good supper with mycompanion--and another companion much more beautiful. I tried to picture her as she would look. She would be in evening dress, of course. After thinking over different colors, and trying them uponher in my mind, I decided that her gown should be of a delicate pink, and should be made of some frail, beautiful material which would floatabout her like gossamer when she moved, and shimmer like the light ofdawn upon the dew. You know the sort of gown I mean: one of those gownsupon which a man is afraid to lay his finger-tips lest the material meltaway beneath them; a gown which, he feels, was never touched byseamstress of the human species, but was made by fairies out of wovenmoonlight, star dust, afterglow, and the fragrance of flowers. Such agown upon a lovely woman is man's proof that woman is indeed the thingwhich so often he believes her--that she is more goddess than earthlybeing; for man knows well that he himself is earthly, and that a costumemade from such dream stuffs and placed on him, would not last out thehour. He has but to look up at the stars to realize the infinity ofspace, and, similarly, but to look at her in her evening gown to realizethe divinity of woman. And that is where she has him. For it isn't so! At last came the train--just the dingy train to stop at such a station. I boarded it, found a seat, and continued to dream dreams as we rattledon toward Washington. Even when I found myself walking through that great terminal by whichall railroads enter the capital, I hardly believed that I was there, nordid I feel entirely myself until I had reached my room in the NewWillard. Having started my bath, I went and knocked upon the door of the near-byroom where the clerk had told me I should find my fellow traveler. "Oh, " he said, without enthusiasm as he discovered me. "You're here, areyou?" He looked imposing and severe in his evening dress. I feltcorrespondingly dirty and humble. "Yes, " I replied meekly. "Any news?" "None, " he replied. "I've reserved a table at Harvey's. They dancethere. At first they said there was not a table to be had--Saturdaynight, you know--but I told them who was to be with us, and they changedtheir minds. " "Good. I'll be dressed in a little while. Silk hats?" He nodded. I returned to my own room. Less than an hour later, my toilet completed, I rejoined him, andtogether we descended, in full regalia, to the lobby. "Shall we take a taxi?" he suggested, as we passed out of the sideentrance. "How far away is the theater?" "I don't know. " We asked the carriage starter. He said it was only two or three blocks. "Let's walk, " I said. "I don't feel like walking, " he returned. We rode. The theater was just emptying when we arrived. "I suppose we'd better let the cab go?" I said. "There'll be quite awhile to wait while she's changing. " "Better keep it, " he disagreed. "Might not find another. " We kept it. At the stage door there was confusion. Having completed its week inWashington, the play was about to move elsewhere, and furniture wasalready coming out into the narrow passage, and being piled up to betaken on wagons to the train. It took us some time to find the doorman, and it took the doorman--as it always does take doormen--a long, longtime to depart into the unknown region of dressing rooms, with the cardswe gave him, and a still longer time to return. "Says to wait, " he grunted when he came back. Meanwhile more and more furniture had come out, menacing our shins andour beautifully polished hats in passing, and leaving us less room inwhich to stand. We waited. After ten minutes had passed, I remarked: "I wish we had let the taxi go. " After twenty minutes I remarked: "I always feel like an idiot when I have to wait at a stage door. " "I don't see why you do it, then, " said he. "And I hate it worse when I'm in evening dress. I hate the way theactors look at us, when they come out. They think we're a couple ofJohnnies. " "And supposing they do?" I do not know how long this unsatisfactory dialogue might have continuedhad not some one come to the inside of the stage door and spoken to thedoorman, whereat he indicated us with a gesture and said: "There they are. " At this a woman emerged. The light was dim, but I saw that she wore nohat and had on an apron. As she came toward us we advanced. "You wait for madame?" she asked, with the accent of a Frenchwoman. "Yes. " "Madame receive your telegram only this afternoon, " she said. "All week, she say, she wait to hear. This morning she have receive a telegram fromMr. Woods that say she mus' come to New York. She think you not coming, so she say 'Yes. ' Then she receive your message. She don't know where toreach you. She can do nossing. She is desolated! She mus' fly to thetrain. She is ver' sorry. She hope that maybe the gentlemans will be inBaltimore nex' week? Yes?" "You mean she can't come to-night?" "Yes, monsieur. She cannot. She are fill with regret. She--" "Perhaps, " said my companion, recovering, "we can drive her to thetrain?" The maid, however, did not seem to wish to discuss this point. She shookher head and said: "Madame ver' sorry she cannot come. " "But I say, " repeated my companion, "that we shall be delighted to driveher to the train if she wishes. " "She ver' sorry, " persisted the maid negatively. "Oh, I see, " he said. "Very well. Please say to her that we are sorry, too. " "Yes, monsieur. " The maid retired. "I want something to eat, " I remarked as we passed down the longfurniture-piled passage leading to the street. "So do I. We have that table at Harvey's. " "I know; but--" "That's a fact, " he put in. "I mentioned her name. We can't very well gothere without her. " "And all dressed up like a pair of goats. " "No. " "There's always the hotel. " "I don't want to go back there--not now. " "Neither do I. Let's make it the Shoreham, " I suggested as we emergedupon the street. "All right. " Then, looking across the sidewalk, he added: "There's thatdamned taxi!" "Yes. We'll drive around there in it. " "No, " said he, "send it away. I don't feel like riding. " We walked to the Shoreham. The café looked cheerful, as it always does. We ordered an extensive supper. It was good. There were pretty women inthe room, but we looked at them with the austere eyes of disillusionedmen, and talked cynically of life. I cannot recall any of the things wesaid, though I remember thinking at the time that both of us were beingrather brilliant, in an icy way. I suppose it was mainly about women. That was to be expected. Women, indeed! What were women to us? Nothing!And pretty women, least of all. Ah, pretty women! Pretty women!... Yes, yes! I had ordered fruit to finish off the meal, and I remember that as thedish was set upon the table, it occurred to me that we had made a verypleasant party of it after all. "Do you know, " I said, as I helped myself to some hothouse grapes, "I'vehad a bully evening. It has been fine to sit here and have a party allto ourselves. I'm not so sorry that she did not come!" Then I ate a grape or two. They were very handsome grapes, but they were sour. CHAPTER XVIII THE LEGACY OF HATE ... Immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield. --PARADISE LOST. The last time I went abroad, a Briton on the boat told me a story aboutan American tourist who asked an old English gardener how they made suchsplendid lawns over there. "First we cut the grass, " said the gardener, "and then we roll it. Thenwe cut it, and then we roll it. " "That's just what we do, " said the American. "Ah, " returned the gardener, "but over here we've been doing it fivehundred years!" In Liverpool another Englishman told me the same story. Three or fourothers told it to me in London. In Kent I heard it twice, and in Sussexfive or six times. After going to Oxford and the Thames I lost count. In the South my companion and I had a similar experience with the storyabout that daughter of the Confederacy who declared she had alwaysthought "damn Yankee" one word. In Maryland that story amused us, inVirginia it seemed to lose a little of its edge, and we are proud tothis day because, in the far southern States, we managed to grin andbear it. Doubtless the young lady likewise thought that "you-all" was one word. However I refrained from suggesting that, lest it be taken for anattempt at retaliation. And really there was no occasion to retaliate, for the story was always told with good-humored appreciation not only ofthe dig at "Yankees"--collectively all Northerners are "Yankees" in theSouth--but also of the sweet absurdity of the "unreconstructed" point ofview. Speaking broadly of the South, I believe that there survives little realbitterness over the Civil War and the destructive and grotesquely namedperiod of "reconstruction. " When a southern belle of to-day damnsYankees, she means by it, I judge, about as much, and about as little, as she does by the kisses she gives young men who bear to her thefelicitous southern relationship of "kissing cousins. " Even from old Confederate soldiers I heard no expressions of violentfeeling. They spoke gently, handsomely and often humorously of the war, but never harshly. Real hate, I think, remains chiefly in one quarter:in the hearts of some old ladies, the wives and widows of Confederatesoldiers--for there are but few mothers of the soldiers left. The wonderis that more of the old ladies of the South have not held to theirresentment, for, as I have heard many a soldier say, women are thegreatest sufferers from war. One veteran said to me: "My arm wasshattered and had to be amputated at the shoulder. There was noanesthetic. Of course I suffered, but I never suffered as my mother didwhen she learned what I had endured. " Be they haters of the North or not, the old ladies of the South areamong its chief glories, and it should be added that another of thoseglories is the appreciation that the South has for the white-hairedheroines who are its mothers, grandmothers, and great grandmothers, andthe unfailing natural homage that it pays them. I do not mean by thismerely that children and grandchildren have been taught to treat theirelders with respect. I do not mean merely that they love them. The thingof which I speak is beyond family feeling, beyond the respect of youthfor age. It is a strong, superb sentiment, something as great as it issubtle, which floods the South, causing it to love and reverence its oldladies collectively, and with a kind of national spirit, like the loveand reverence of a proud people for its flag. Among young men, I met many who told me, with suitable pride, of theparts played by their fathers and uncles in the war. Of these only onespoke with heat. He was a Georgian, and when I mentioned to him that, inall my inquiries, I had heard of no cases of atrocious attacks uponwomen by soldiers--such attacks as we heard of at the time of the Germaninvasion of Belgium and France--he replied with a great show of feelingthat I had been misinformed, and that many women had been outraged bynorthern soldiers in the course of Sherman's march to the sea. At thismy heart sank, for I had treasured the belief that, despite theroughness of war, unprotected women had generally been safe from thesoldiers of North and South alike. What was my relief, then, on laterreceiving from this same young man a letter in which he declared that hehad been mistaken, and that after many inquiries in Georgia he had beenunable to learn of a single case of such crime. If it is indeed truethat such things did not occur in the Civil War--and I believeconfidently that it is true--then we have occasion, in the light of theEuropean War, to revise the popular belief that of all wars civil war isthe most horrible. The attitude of the modern South (the "New South" which, by the way, oneSoutherner described to me as meaning "northern capital and smoke")toward its own "unreconstructed" citizens, for all its sympathy andtenderness, is not without a glint of gentle humor. More than once, whenmy companion and I were received in southern homes with a cordialitythat precluded any thought of sectional feeling, we were neverthelesswarned by members of the younger generation--and their eyes wouldtwinkle as they said it--to "look out for mother; she'sunreconstructed. " And you may be sure that when we were so warned we did"look out. " It was well to do so! For though the mother might be a frailold lady, past seventy, with the face of an angel and the normaldemeanor of a saint, we could see her bridle, as we were presented toher, over the thought there here were two Yankees in herhome--Yankees!--we could see the light come flashing up into her eyesas they encountered ours, and could feel beneath the veil of her austerecivility the dagger points of an eternal enmity. By dint of self-controlon her part, and the utmost effort upon ours to be tactful, thepresentation ceremony was got over with, and after some formal speeches, resembling those which, one fancies, may be exchanged by opposinggenerals under a flag of truce, we would be rescued from her, removedfrom the room, before her forbearance should be strained, by ourpresence, to the point of breaking. A baleful look would follow us as wewithdrew, and we would retire with a better understanding of the flamingspirit which, through that long, bloody conflict against overwhelmingodds in wealth, supplies, and men, sustained the South, and which atlast enabled it to accept defeat as nobly as it had accepted earliervictories.... How one loves a gentle old lady who can hate like that! In this chapter, when it appeared originally, in "Collier's Weekly, " Imade the statement that I had seldom spent an hour in conversation witha Southerner without hearing some mention of the Civil War, and that Ihad heard other Northerners remark upon this matter, and expresssurprise at the tenacity with which the war holds its place in theforeground of the southern mind. This, like many another of my southern observations, brought me lettersfrom readers of "Collier's, " residing in the South. A great number ofthe letters thus elicited, as well as comments made upon these chaptersby the southern press, have been of no small interest to me. On atleast one subject (the question discussed in the next chapter, as towhether the expression "you-all" is ever used in the singular) mycorrespondents have convinced me that my earlier statement was an error, while on other subjects they have modified my views, and on still othersmade my convictions more profound. Where it has been possible, and whereit has seemed, for one reason or another, to be worth while, I haveendeavored, while revising the story of my southern wanderings for thisbook, to make note of the other fellow's point of view, especially incases where he disagrees with me. The following, then, is from a letter written on the stationery ofWashington and Lee University, and applies to certain statementscontained in this chapter: In 1813, Thomas Jefferson wrote to a newspaper publisher: "Were I the publisher of a paper, instead of the usual division into Foreign, Domestic, etc. , I think I should distribute everything under the following heads: 1. True. 2. Probable. 3. Wanting confirmation. 4. Lies, and be careful in subsequent papers to correct all errors in preceding ones. " Allow me to suggest that your story might, under Mr. Jefferson's category, be placed under "2. " Perhaps you went to see "The Birth of a Nation" before you wrote it. It has been my experience that my acquaintances among the F. F. V. 's have been far more interested in whether Boston or Brooklyn would win the pennant than in discussing the Civil War. By the young men of the South the War was forgotten long ago. This letter has caused me to wonder whether the frequency with which mycompanion and I heard the Civil War discussed, may not, perhaps, havebeen due, at least in part, to our own inquiries, resulting from theconsuming interest that we had in hearing of the War from those wholived where it was fought. Yet, after all, it seems to me most natural that the South shouldremember, while the North forgets. Not all Northerners were in the war. But all Southerners were; if a boy was big enough to carry a gun, hewent. The North almost completely escaped invasion, and upon oneoccasion when a southern army did march through northern territory, theconduct of the invading troops toward the civilian population (the falseBarbara Frietchie legend to the contrary notwithstanding) was soexemplary as to set a record which is probably unequaled in history. [2]The South, upon the other hand, was constantly under invasion, and therecord of destruction wrought by northern armies in the valley of theShenandoah, on the March to the Sea, and in some other instances, iswrit in poverty and mourning unto this day. [2] See chapter on Colonel Taylor and General Lee. Thus, except politically, the North now feels not the least effect fromthe war. But the South knew the terrors of invasion and the pangs ofconquest, and is only growing strong again after having been ruined--asinstanced by the fact, which I came across the other day, that the taxreturns from one of the southern States have, for the first time sincethe Civil War, reached the point at which they stood when it began. So, very naturally, while the War has begun to take its place in thenorthern mind along with the Revolutionary War, as something to bestudied in school under the heading "United States History, " it has not, in southern eyes, become altogether "book history, " but is history thatlives--in swords hanging upon the walls of many homes, in old fadedletters, in sacks of worthless Confederate bills, in the ruins of greathouses, in lovingly preserved gray uniforms, in southern battle fields, and in southern burial grounds where rows upon rows of tombstones, drawnup in company front, stand like gray armies forever on parade. Small wonder if, amid its countless tragic memorials, the South does notforget. The strange thing is that bitterness has gone so soon; thatremembering the agonies of war and the abuses of reconstruction, theSouth does not to-day hate the North as violently as ever. If to err ishuman, the North has, in its treatment of the South, richly proved itshumanness; and if forgiveness is divine, the South has, by the sametoken, attained something like divinity. Had the numbskull North understood these things as it should haveunderstood them, there would not now be a solid Democratic South. Such rancor as remains is, I believe, strongest in the smaller towns inthose States which suffered the greatest hardships. I know, forinstance, of one lady, from a little city in Virginia, who refused toenter the Massachusetts Building at the Chicago World's Fair, and thereare still to be found, in Virginia, ladies who do not leave their houseson the Fourth of July because they prefer not to look upon the Stars andStripes. The Confederate flag is still, in a sense, the flag of theSouth. Southerners love it as one loves a pressed flower from a mother'sbridal wreath. When the Eleventh Cavalry rode from Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia, to Winchester, Virginia, a few years since, they saw manyConfederate flags, but only one Union flag, and that in the hands of anegro child. However, war had not then broken out in Europe. It would bedifferent now. A Virginia lady told me of having gone to a dentist in Winchester, Virginia, and having taken her little niece with her. The child watchedthe dentist put a rubber dam in her aunt's mouth, and then, childlike, began to ask questions. She was a northern child, and she had evidentlyheard some one in the town speak of Sheridan's ride. "Auntie, " she said, "was Sheridan a Northerner or a Southerner?" Owing to the rubber dam the aunt was unable to reply, but the dentistanswered for her. "He was a drunken Yankee!" he declared vehemently. When, later, the rubber dam was removed, the aunt protested. "Doctor, " she reproved, "you should not have said such a thing to myniece. She is from New York. " "Then, " returned the unrepentant dentist, "she has heard the truth foronce!" Doubtless this man was an inheritor of hate, like the descendants of oneuncompromisingly bitter old Southerner whose will, to be seen among therecords of the Hanover County courthouse, in Virginia, bequeaths to his"children and grandchildren and their descendants throughout all futuregenerations, the bitter hatred and everlasting malignity of my heart andsoul against the Yankees, including all people north of Mason andDixon's line. " CHAPTER XIX "YOU-ALL" AND OTHER SECTIONAL MISUNDERSTANDINGS Let us make an honorable retreat. --AS YOU LIKE IT. Those who write school histories and wish them adopted by southernschools have to handle the Civil War with gloves. Such words as "rebel"and "rebellion" are resented in the South, and the historian must gosoftly in discussing slavery, though he may put on the loud pedal inspeaking of State Rights, the fact being that the South not only knowsnow, but, as evidenced by the utterances of her leading men, fromJefferson to Lee, knew long before the war that slavery was a greatcurse; whereas, on the question of State Rights, including thetheoretical right to secede from the Union--this being the actualquestion over which the South took up arms--there is much to be said onthe southern side. Colonel Robert Bingham, superintendent of the BinghamSchool, Asheville, North Carolina, has made an exhaustive study of thequestion of secession, and has set forth his findings in severalscholarly and temperately written booklets. Colonel Bingham proves absolutely, by quotation of their own words, that the framers of the Constitution regarded that document as a_compact_ between the several States. He shows that three of the States(Virginia, New York, and Rhode Island) joined in this compact_conditionally_, with the clear purpose of resuming their independentsovereignty as States, should the general government use its power forthe oppression of the States; that up to the time of the Mexican War theNew England States contended for, not against, the right to secede; thatJohn Quincy Adams went so far as to negotiate with England with a viewto the secession of the New England States, because of Jefferson'sEmbargo Act, and moreover that up to 1840 the United States Governmentused as a textbook for cadets at West Point, Rawle's "View of theConstitution, " a book which teaches that the Union is dissoluble. RobertE. Lee and Jefferson Davis, were, therefore, in all probability, giventhis book as students at West Point, and consequently, if we would havehonest history, we must face the astonishing fact that there is evidenceto show _that they learned the doctrine of secession at the UnitedStates Military Academy_. Colonel Bingham, who, it may be remarked, served with distinction in theConfederate Army, has very kindly supplemented, in a letter to me, hispublished statements. He writes: Secession was legal _theoretically_, but practically the conditions on which the thirteen Independent Republics, covering a little strip on the Atlantic coast, came to an agreement, could not possibly be applied to the great inter-Oceanic Empire into which these thirteen Independent Republics had developed. "Theory is a good horse in the stable, but may make an arrant jade on the journey"--to paraphrase Goldsmith--and the only way in which these irreconcilable differences could be settled was by bullet and bayonet, which settled them right and finally. Once such matters as these are fully understood in the North, there willbe left but one grave issue between North and South, that issue beingover the question of whether or not Southerners, under anycircumstances, use the phrase "you-all" in the singular. "Whatever you write of the South, " said our hostess at a dinner party inVirginia, "don't make the mistake of representing any one from this pahtof the country, white oh black, educated oh ignorant, as saying'you-all' meaning one person only. " When I remarked mildly that it seemed to me I had often seen the phraseso used in books, and heard it in plays, eight or ten southern ladiesand gentlemen at the table pounced upon me, all at once. "Yes!" theyagreed, with a kind of polite violence, "books and plays by Yankees!" "If, " one of the gentlemen explained, "you write to a friend who has afamily, and say, according to the northern practice, 'I hope to see youwhen you come to my town, ' you write something which is reallyambiguous, since the word 'you' may refer only to your friend, or mayrefer also to his family. Our southern 'you-all' makes it explicit. " I told him that in the North we also used the word "all" in connectionwith "you, " though we accented the two evenly, and did not compoundthem, but he seemed to believe that "you" followed by "all" belongedexclusively to the South. The argument continued almost constantly throughout the meal. Not untilcoffee was served did the subject seem to be exhausted. But it was not, for after pouring a demi-tasse our hostess lifted a lump of sugar in thetongs, and looking me directly in the eye inquired: "Do you-all takesugah?" Undoubtedly it would have been wiser, and politer, to let this pass, butthe discussion had filled me with curiosity, not only because of myinterest in the localism, but also because of the amazing intensity withwhich it had been discussed. "But, " I exclaimed, "you just said 'you-all, ' apparently addressing me. Didn't you use it in the singular?" No sooner had I spoken than I was sorry. Every one looked disconcerted. There was silence for a moment. I was very much ashamed. "Oh, no, " she said at last. "When I said 'you-all' I meant you and Mr. Morgan. " (She pronounced it "Moh-gan, " with a lovely drawl. ) As she madethis statement, she blushed, poor lady! Being to blame for her discomfiture, I could not bear to see her blush, and looked away, but only to catch the eye of my companion, and to readin its evil gleam the thought: "Of course they use it in the singular. But aren't you ashamed of having tripped up such a pretty creature on apoint of dialect?" Though my interest in the southern idiom had caused me to forget aboutthe sugar, my hostess had not forgotten. "Well, " she said, still balancing the lump above the cup, and continuinggamely to put the question in the same form, and to me: "Do you-all takesugah, oh not?" I had no idea how my companion took his coffee, but it seemed to me thattardy politeness now demanded that I tacitly--or at leastdemi-tacitly--accede to the alleged plural intent of the question. Therefore, I replied: "Mr. Morgan takes two lumps. I don't take any, thanks. " Late that night as we were returning to our hotel, my companion said tome somewhat tartly: "In case such a thing comes up again, I wish youwould remember that sugar in my coffee makes me ill. " "Well, why didn't you say so?" "Because, " he returned, "I thought that you-all ought to do theanswering. It seemed best for me-all to keep quiet and try to lookplural under the singular conditions. " * * * * * No single thing I ever wrote has brought to me so many letters, norletters so uniform in sentiment (albeit widely different in expression), as the foregoing, seemingly unimportant tale, printed originally in"Collier's Weekly. " Some one has pointed out that various communities have "fighting words, "and as the letters poured in I began to realize that in discussing"you-all" I had inadvertently hit upon a term which aroused the ire ofthe South--or rather, that I had aroused ire by implying that theexpression is sometimes used in the singular--the Solid South to thecontrary notwithstanding. Never, upon any subject, have I known people to agree as my southerncorrespondents did on this. The unanimity of their dissent was animpressive thing. So was the violence some of them displayed. For a time, indeed, the heat with which they wrote, obscured the issue. That is to say, most of them instead of explaining merely denied, andadded comments, more or less unflattering, concerning me. Wrote a lady from Lexington, Kentucky: I have lived in Kentucky all of my life, and have never yet heard "you-all" used in the singular, not even among the negroes. My grandparents and friends say they have never heard it, either. It was needless for you to tell your Virginia hostess that "you-all" (meaning you and your friend) were Yankees. The fact that you criticized her language proved it. Southern people pride themselves on their tact, and no doubt, at the time, she was struggling to conceal a smile because of some of your own localisms. Many of the letters were more severe than this one, and most of themmade the point that I had been impolite to my hostess, and that, in allprobability, when she looked at me and asked, "Do you-all take sugah?"she was playing a joke upon me, apropos the discussion which hadpreceded the question. For example, this, from a gentleman of Pell City, Alabama: My wife is the residuary legatee of Virginia's language, inherited, acquired and affected varieties, including the vanishing _y_; annihilated _g_; long-distance _a_, and irresistible drawl. To quell the unfortunate tumult that has arisen in our household as a result of your last article in "Collier's" I am commanded to advise you that the use of "you-all" in the singular is absodamnlutely _non est factum_ in Virginia, save, perhaps, among the hill people of the Blue Ridge. Also, take notice that when your hostess, with apparent inadvertence, used the expression in connection with sugar in your demi-tasse, the subsequent blush was due to your failure to catch her witticism, ignorantly mistaking it for a lapse of hers. My wife was going to write to you herself, but I managed to divert this cruel determination by promising to uphold the honor of the Old Dominion. There is already too much blood being shed in the world without spilling that of non-combatants as would have been "you-all's" fate had she gone after you with a weapon more mighty than the sword when in the hands of Mr. Wilson or an outraged woman. In face of all this and much more, however, my conviction was unshaken. I talked it over with my companion. He remembered the episode of thedinner table exactly as I did. Moreover, I still had my notes, made inthe hotel that night. The lady looked at me. My companion was severalplaces removed from her at the other side of the table. How could shehave meant to include him? And how could she have expected me to say howhe took his after-dinner coffee? At last, to reassure myself, I wrote to the wisest, cleverest, mosttrustworthy lady in the South, and asked her what it all meant. "Well, " she wrote back from Atlanta, "I will tell you, but I am not surethat you will understand me. The answer is: _She did, but she didn't_. She looked at and spoke to you and, of course, by all rules of logic shecould not have been intending to make you Morg's keeper in the matter ofcoffee dressing. _But_ she never would have said 'you-all' if Morg hadnot been in her mind as joined with you. The response, according to herthought-connotation, would have been from you _and_ from him. " This was disconcerting. So was a letter, received in the same mail, froma gentleman in Charleston: It is as plain as the nose on your face that you are not yet convinced that we in the South _never_ use "you-all" with reference to one person. The case you mentioned proves nothing at all. The very fact that there were _two_ strangers present justified the use of the expression; we continually use the expression in that way, and in such cases we expect an answer from _both_ persons so addressed. To illustrate: just a few days ago I "carried" two girls into an "ice-cream parlor. " After we were seated, I looked at the one nearest me, and said: "Well, what will you-all have?" Physically we are so constructed that unless a person is cross-eyed it is impossible to look at two persons at once; the mere fact that I looked at the one nearest me did not mean that I was not addressing both. I expected an answer from both, and I got it, too (as is generally the case where ice-cream is concerned). The subject is one to which I have devoted the most careful attention for many years. I have been so interested in it that almost unconsciously, whenever I myself use the expression "you-all, " or hear any one else use it, I note whether it is intended to refer to one or to more than one person. I have heard thousands of persons, white, black and indifferent, use the expression, and the only ones I have ever heard use it incorrectly are what we might call "professional Southerners. " For instance, last week I went to a vaudeville show, and part of the performance was given by two "black-face" comedians, calling themselves "The Georgia Blossoms. " Their dialect was excellent, with the single exception that one of them _twice_ used the expression "you-all" where it could not _possibly_ have meant more than one person. And I no sooner heard it than I said to myself: "There is _one_ blossom that never bloomed in Georgia!" Another instance is the following: I was once approached by a beggar in Atlanta, who saluted me thus: "Say, mister, can't you-all give me a nickel?" Had I been accompanied it would have been all right, but I was alone, and there was no other person near me except the hobo. Did I give him the nickel? I should say not! I said to myself: "He is a damned Yankee trying to pass himself off for a Southerner. " Horrid glimmerings began to filter dimly through. And yet-- Next day came a letter calling my attention to an article, written yearsago by Joel Chandler Harris and Thomas Nelson Page, jointly, in whichthey plead with northern writers not to misuse the disputed expressionby applying it in the singular. That was another shock. I felt conviction tottering.... But she _did_look at me.... She _didn't_ expect an answer from my companion.... And then behold! a missive from Mr. H. E. Jones, a member--and a worthyone--of the Tallapoosa County Board of Education, and a resident ofDadeville, Alabama. Mr. Jones' educational activities reach far beyondTallapoosa County, and far beyond the confines of his State, for he haseducated me. He has made me see the light. "I want to straighten you out, " he wrote, kindly. "We never use'you-all' in the singular. Not even the most ignorant do so. But, as youknow, " (Ah, that was mercifully said!) "there are some peculiar, almostunexplainable, shades of meaning in local idioms of speech, which arenot easy for a stranger to understand. I have a friend who was reared inMilwaukee and is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin, who tells mehe would have argued the 'you-all' point with all comers for some yearsfollowing his taking up his residence here, but he is at this time asready as I to deny the allegation and 'chaw the alligator. ' "When your young lady, in Virginia, asked, 'Do you-all take sugar?' shementally included Mr. Morgan, and perhaps all other Yankees. I would askmy local grocer, 'Will you-all sell me some sugar this morning?' meaninghis establishment, collectively, although I addressed him personally;but I would _not_ ask my only servant, 'Have you-all milked the cow?'" And that is the exact truth. I was absolutely wrong. And though, having printed the ghastly falsehoodin my original article, I can hardly hope now for absolution from theoutraged South, I can at least retract, as I hereby do, and can, moreover, thank Mr. H. E. Jones, of Tallapoosa County, Alabama, forhaving saved me from a double sin; for had he not given me the simpleillustration of the grocery store, I might have repeated, now, myearlier misstatement. CHAPTER XX IDIOMS AND ARISTOCRACY Southerners have told me that they can tell from what part of the Southa person comes, by his speech, just as an Easterner can distinguish, bythe same means a New Englander, a New Yorker, a Middle-Westerner, and aBrooklynite. I cannot pretend to have become an authority upon southerndialect, but it is obvious to me that the speech of New Orleans isunlike that of Charleston, and that of Charleston unlike that ofVirginia. The chief characteristic of the Virginian dialect is the famous andfascinating localism which Professor C. Alphonso Smith has called the"vanishing _y_"--a _y_ sound which causes words like "car" and "garden"to be pronounced "cyar" and "gyarden"--or, as Professor Smith prefers toindicate it: "C^{y}ar" and "g^{y}arden. " I am told that in years gone bythe "vanishing _y_" was common to all Virginians, but though it is stillcommon enough among members of the old generation, and is used also bysome young people--particularly, I fancy, young ladies, who realize itsfetching quality--there can be no doubt that it is, in both senses, vanishing, and that not half the Virginians of the present daypronounce "cigar" as "segyar, " "carpet" as "cya´pet, " and "Carter, " as"Cyahtah. " In Virginia and many other parts of the South one hears such words as"aunt" correctly pronounced with the broad _a_, and such words as "tube"and "new" properly given the full _u_ sound (instead of "toobe, " and"noo, " as in some parts of the North); but, on the other hand, while theSouth gives the short _o_ sound in such words as "log" and "fog, " itinvariably calls a dog a "dawg. " "Your" is often pronounced "yore, ""sure" as "shore, " and, not infrequently, "to" as "toe. " The South also uses the word "carry" in a way that strikes Northernersas strange. If a Southerner offers to "carry" you to the station, orover his plantation, he does not signify that he intends to transportyou by means of physical strength, but that he will escort you. If he"carries you to the run" you will find that the "run" is whatNortherners call a creek; if to the "branch, " or "dreen, " that is whatwe call a brook. This use of the word "carry, " far from being a corruption, is pure oldEnglish, and is used in the Bible, and by Smollett, though it is amusingto note that the "Georgia Gazetteer" for 1837, mentions as a lamentableprovincialism such an application of the word as "to _carry_ (instead of_lead_) a horse to water. " If the "Gazetteer" were indeed correct inthis, then the Book of Genesis contains an American provincialism. The customary use of the word in the North, as "to _carry_ a cane, or abag, " is equally but no more correct than the southern usage. I aminformed by Mr. W. T. Hall, Editor of the Dothan (Alabama) "Eagle, " thatthe word used in his part of the country, as signifying "to bear on theback, or shoulder, " is "tote. " "Tote" is a word not altogether unknownin the North, and it has recently found its way into some dictionaries, though the old "Georgia Gazetteer" disapproved of it. Even this word hassome excuse for being, in that it is a deformed member of a good family, having come from the Latin, _tollit_, been transformed into the earlyEnglish "tolt, " and thus into what I believe to be a purely Americanword. Other expressions which struck me as being characteristic of the Southare "stop by, " as for instance, "I will stop by for you, " meaning, "Iwill call for you in passing"; "don't guess, " as "I don't guess I'llcome"; and "Yes indeedy!" which seems to be a kind of emphatic "Yesindeed. " "As I look back over the old South, " said one white-haired Virginian, "there were two things it was above. One was accounts and the other wasgrammar. Tradesmen in prosperous neighborhoods were always in distressbecause of the long credits, though gambling debts were, of course, always punctiliously paid. As to the English spoken in old Virginia--andindeed in the whole South--there is absolutely no doubt that itssoftness and its peculiarities in pronunciation are due to the influenceof the negro voice and speech on the white race. Some of the youngpeople seem to wish to dispute this, but we older ones used to take theview--half humorously, of course--that if a Southerner spoke perfectEnglish, it showed he wasn't a gentleman; "that he hadn't been raisedwith niggers around him. "" "Oh, you shouldn't tell him that!" broke in a lady who was present. "Why not?" demanded the old gentleman. "He'll print it!" she said. "Well, " he answered, "ain't it true? What's the harm in it?" "There!" she exclaimed. "You said '_ain't_. ' He'll print that Virginianssay 'ain't'!" "Well, " he answered, "I reckon we do, don't we?" She laughed and gave up. "I remember, " she told me, "the very spot onthe turnpike going out to Ripon, where I made up my mind to break myselfof saying 'ain't. ' But I want to tell you that we are talking muchbetter English than we used to. Even the negroes are. You don't hearmany white people saying 'gwine' for 'going' any more, for instance, andthe young people don't say 'set' for 'sit' and 'git' for 'get, ' as theirfathers did. " "I've heard folks say, though, " put in the old gentleman, "that they'druther speak like a Virginian than speak correctly. The old talk waspretty nice, after all. I don't hold to all these new improvements. They've been going too far in this Commonwealth. " "What have they been doing?" I asked. "Doing!" he returned, "Why, they're gradually taking the cuspidors outof the church pews!" Before the question of dialect is dropped, it should be said that thosewho do not believe the soft southern pronunciation is derived fromnegroes, can make out an interesting case. If, they ask, the negro hascorrupted the English of the South, why is it that he has not alsocorrupted the language of the West Indies--British and French? Frenchnegroes speak like French persons of white blood, and British WestIndian negroes often speak the cockney dialect, without a trace of"nigger. " Moreover, it is pointed out that in southern countries, theworld over, there is a tendency to soften the harsh sounds of language, to elide, and drop out consonants. The Andalusians speak a Spanishcomparable in many of its peculiarities with the English of our ownSouth, and the south-Italians exhibit similar dialectic traits. Nor dothe parallels between the north and south of Spain and Italy, and of theUnited States, end there. The north-Italians and north-Spaniards are the"Yankees" of their respective countries--the shrewd, cold businesspeople--whereas the south-Italians and south-Spaniards are more poetic, more dashing, more temperamental. The merchants are of the north ofSpain, but the dancers and bull-fighters are Andalusians. And just asour Americans of the North admire the lazy dialect of the South, so thenorth-Spaniards admire the dialect of Andalusia, and even imitate itbecause they think it has a fashionable sound--quite as Britishfashionables cultivate the habit of dropping final _g_'s, as in"huntin'" for "hunting. " Virginia, more than any other State I know of, feels its entity as aState. If you meet a Virginian traveling outside his State, and askwhere he is from, he will not mention the name of the city in which heresides, but will reply: "I'm from Va'ginia. " If, on the other hand, youare in Virginia, and ask him the same question, he will proudly reply:"I'm from Fauquier, " or "I'm from Westmoreland, " or whatever the name ofhis county may be. The chances are, also, that his trunks and travelingbags will be marked with his initials, followed not by the name of histown, but by the abbreviation, "Va. " I was told of one old unreconstructed Virginian who had to go to Bostonon business. The gentleman he went to see there was exceedingly politeto him, asking him to his house, putting him up at his club, and showinghim innumerable courtesies. The old Confederate, writing to his wife, indicated his amazement: "Although he is not a Virginian, " he declared, "I must confess that he lives like a gentleman. " The name of his Bostonian acquaintance was John Quincy Adams. I heard this story from a northern lady who has a country place near asmall town in Virginia. In the North this lady's family is far frombeing unknown, but in Virginia, she assured me, all persons originatingoutside the State are looked upon as vague beings without "family. " "They seem to think, " she said, "that Northerners have no parents--thatthey are made chemically. " This does not imply, however, that well-bred Northerners are excludedfrom society. Even if they are well off they may get into society; forthough money does not count in one's favor in such a town, it does notcount against one. The social requirement of the place is simple. Ifpeople are "nice people, " that is enough. Of course, however, it is one thing to be admitted to Virginia societyand another to belong to it by right. A case in point is that of a ladyvisiting in a Virginia city who, while calling at the house of some"F. F. V's, " was asked by a little girl, the daughter of the house, whereshe had been born. "Mawtha, " said the little girl's mother, after the caller had departed, "you must not ask people where they were bo'n. If they were bo'n inVa'ginia they will tell you so without asking, and if they weren't bo'nin Va'ginia it's very embarrassing. " Some of the old families of the inner circle are in a tragic state ofdecay, owing to inbreeding; others, in a more wholesome physical andmental condition, are perpetually wrestling with the heritage of povertyleft over from the War--"too proud to whitewash and too poor topaint"--clinging desperately to the old acres, and to the old houseswhich are like beautiful, tired ancestral ghosts. Until a few years ago the one resource of Virginian gentlewomen in needof funds was to take boarders, but more lately the daughters ofdistinguished but poverty-stricken families have found that they maywork in offices. Thus, in the town of which I speak, several ladies whoare very much "in society, " support themselves by entertaining "payingguests, " while others are stenographers. The former, I was told, by theway, make it a practice to avoid first-hand business contacts with theirguests by sending them their bills through the mail, and requiring thatresponse be made by means of the same impersonal channel. CHAPTER XXI THE CONFEDERATE CAPITAL The axis of the earth sticks out visibly through the centre of each and every town or city. --OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. Richmond is the Boston of Virginia; Norfolk its New York. The comparisondoes not, of course, hold in all particulars, Richmond being, forinstance, larger than Norfolk, and not a seaport. Yet, on the otherhand, Boston manages, more than any seaport that I know of, to concealfrom the visitor the signs of its maritime life; wherefore Richmondlooks about as much like a port as does the familiar part of Boston. The houses on the principal residence streets of Richmond are not builtin such close ranks as Boston houses; they have more elbow-room; numbersof them have yards and gardens; and there is not about Richmond housesthe Bostonian insistence upon red brick; nevertheless many houses ofboth cities give off the same suggestion of having long been lived in bythe descendants of their builders. So, too, though the Capitol atRichmond has little architectural resemblance to Boston's gold-domedState House--the former having been copied by Thomas Jefferson from theMaison Carrée at Nîmes, and being a better building than theMassachusetts State House, and better placed--the two do, nevertheless, suggest each other in their gray granite solidity. It is perhaps in the quality of solidity--architectural, commercial, social, even spiritual--that Richmond and Boston are most alike. Substantialness, conservatism, tradition, and prosperity rest like graymantles over both. Broad Street in Richmond is two or three times as wide as Granby Street, Norfolk's chief shopping street, and for this reason, doubtless, itstraffic seems less, though I believe it is in fact greater. A finestreet to look upon at night, with its long, even rows of clusteredboulevard lights, and its bright windows, Broad Street in the daytime isa disappointment, because, for all its fine spaciousness, it lacks goodbuildings. I must confess, too, that I was disappointed in theappearance of the women in the shopping crowds on Broad Street; for, asevery one knows, Richmond has been famous for its beauties. In vain Ilooked for young women fitted to inherit the débutante mantles of suchnationally celebrated beauties as Miss Irene Langhorne (Mrs. CharlesDana Gibson), Miss May Handy (Mrs. James Brown Potter), Miss LizzieBridges (Mrs. Hobson), and Miss Sally Bruce (Mrs. Arthur B. Kinsolving). In the ten years between 1900 and 1910 the population of Richmondincreased 50 per cent. Her population by the last census was about130, 000, of which a third is colored. Norfolk's population is about70, 000, with approximately the same percentage of negroes. In bothcities there is much new building--offices downtown, and pretty newbrick homes in outlying suburban tracts. Likewise, in both, the charmingsigns of other days are here and there to be seen. Richmond is again like its ancient enemy, Boston, in the wealth of itshistorical associations, and I know of no city which gives therespectful heed to its own history that Richmond does, and no Statewhich in this matter equals the State of Virginia. If Richmond was thecenter of the South during the Civil War, Capitol Square was, as it isto-day, the center of that center. In this square, in the shadow ofJefferson's beautiful classic capitol building, which has the glowinggray tone of one of those water colors done on tinted paper by JulesGuérin, Confederate soldiers were mustered into service under Lee andJackson. Within the old building the Confederate Congress met, AaronBurr was tried for treason, and George Washington saw, in its presentposition, his own statue by Houdon. Across the way from the square, where the post office now stands, was the Treasury Building of theConfederate States, and there Jefferson Davis appeared seven times, tobe tried for treason, only to have his case postponed by the FederalGovernment, and finally dismissed. East of the square is the StateLibrary, containing a remarkable collection of portraits and documents, including likenesses of all governors of Virginia from John Smith toTyler, a portrait of Pocahontas, and the bail bond of Jefferson Davis, signed by Horace Greeley, Cornelius Vanderbilt, Gerrit Smith, andseventeen other distinguished men of the day. To the west of the squareis old St. Paul's Church, with the pews of Lee and Davis. It was whileattending service in this church, on Sunday, April 2, 1865, that Davisreceived Lee's telegram from Petersburg, saying that Richmond must beevacuated. A block or two west of the church, in East Franklin Street, is a former residence of Lee. It was given by the late Mrs. Joseph Bryanand her sisters to the Virginia Historical Society, and is now, appropriately enough, the home of that organization. In the old drawing room, now the office of the Historical Society, Ifound Mr. William G. Stanard, the corresponding secretary, and from himheard something of Lee's life there immediately after the War. By the Northerners in Richmond at that time, including the Federaltroops stationed in the city, Lee was of course respected and admired, while by the whole South he was, and is to-day, adored. As for his ownex-soldiers, they could not see him without emotion, and because of thedemonstrations which invariably attended his appearance on the Richmondstreets, he went out but little, passing much time upon the back porchof the house. Here most of the familiar Brady photographs of him weretaken. Brady sent a young photographer to Richmond to get thephotographs. Lee was at first disposed to refuse to be taken, but hisfamily persuaded him to submit, on the ground that if there were anyimpertinence in the request it was not the fault of the young man, andthat the latter might lose his position if he failed to obtain thedesired pictures. Finding the continued attention of the crowds too much for him, thegeneral left Richmond after two months, removing to a small house inCumberland County, on the James, and it was there that he was residingwhen called to the presidency of Washington College--now Washington andLee University--at Lexington, Virginia. As is well known, he acceptedthis offer, built up the institution, remained its president until thetime of his death, and now lies buried in the university chapel. To Mr. Stanard I am also indebted for the following informationregarding John Smith and Pocahontas: About a mile below Richmond, in what is now the brickyard region, thereused to stand the residence of the Mayo family, a place known asPowhatan. This place has long been pointed out as the scene of thesaving of Smith by the Indian girl, but late research indicates that, though Smith did come up the James to the present site of Richmond, hiscapture by the Indians did not occur here, but in the vicinity ofJamestown. Then Indians took him first to one of their villages on YorkRiver, near the present site of West Point, Virginia, and thence to aplace, on the same stream, in the county of Gloucester, where the tribalchief resided. I was under the impression that this worthy's name wasPowhatan, but Mr. Stanard declared "powhatan" was not a proper name, but an Indian word meaning "chief. " The Virginia Historical Society is satisfied that Smith was rescued byPocahontas at a point about nine miles from Williamsburg on the westside of York River, but there are historians who contend that the wholestory of the rescue is a fiction. One of these is Dr. Albert BushnellHart, of Harvard, who lists Smith among "Historical Liars. " Virginians, who regard Smith as one of their proudest historical possessions, aresomewhat disposed to resent this view, but it appears to me that thereis at least some ground for it. Matthew Page Andrews, another historian, himself a Virginian, points out that many of our ideas of the Jamestowncolony have been obtained from Smith's history of the settlement, whichhe wrote in England, some years after leaving Virginia. "From these accounts, " says Mr. Andrews, "we get an unfavorableimpression of Smith's associates in the colony and of the management ofthe men composing the popular or people's party in the London Company. As we now know that this party in the London Company was composed ofvery able and patriotic Englishmen, we are inclined to think thatCaptain Smith not only overrated his achievement, but was very unjust tohis fellow-colonists and the Company. " The story of the rescue of Smith by Pocahontas, with the strongimplication that the Indian girl was in love with him, comes to us fromSmith himself. We know that when Pocahontas was nineteen years of age(seven years after the Smith rescue is said to have occurred), shemarried John Rolfe--the first Englishman to begin the cultivation of thetobacco plant. We know that she was taken to England, that she waswelcomed at court as a princess, that she had a son born in England, andthat she herself died there in 1617. We know also that her son, ThomasRolfe, settled in Virginia, and that through him a number of Virginianstrace descent from Pocahontas. (Mr. Andrews points out that in 1915 oneof these descendants became the wife of the President of the UnitedStates. ) But we know also that John Smith, brave and daring though he was, wasnot above twisting and embroidering a tale to his own glorification. While, therefore, it is too much to affirm that his rescue story isfalse, it is well to remember that Pocahontas was but twelve years oldwhen the rescue is said to have occurred, and that Smith waited untilafter she had become famous, and had died, to promulgate his romanticstory. * * * * * Immediately to the north of Capitol Square stands the City Hall, an uglybuilding, in the cellar of which is the Police Court presided over bythe celebrated and highly entertaining Judge Crutchfield, otherwiseknown as "One John" and "the Cadi"--of whom more presently. A few blocksbeyond the City Hall, in the old mansion at the corner of East Clay andTwelfth Streets, which was the "White House of the Confederacy, " theofficial residence of Jefferson Davis during the war, is theConfederate Museum--one of the most fascinating museums I ever visited. Not the least part of the charm of this museum is the fact that it isnot of great size, and that one may consequently visit it withoutfatigue; but the chief fascination of the place is the dramaticpersonalness of its exhibits. To me there is always something peculiarlyengaging about intimate relics of historic figures, and it is of suchrelics that the greater part of the collection of the Confederate Museumconsists. In one show case, for example, are the saddle and bridle ofGeneral Lee, and the uniform he wore when he surrendered. The effects ofGeneral Joseph E. Johnston are shown in another case, and in stillanother those of the picturesque J. E. B. Stuart, who, as here one maysee, loved the little touch of individuality and dash which came ofwearing a feather in a campaign hat. So also one learns something ofStonewall Jackson when one sees in the cabinet, along with his old bluehat and other possessions, the gold spurs which were given to him by theladies of Baltimore, beside the steel spurs that he _wore_. AllJackson's personal effects were very simple. One of the most striking relics in the museum is the Great Seal of theConfederacy, which was only returned to Richmond within the last fewyears, after having been lost track of for nearly half a century--astrange chapter in the annals of the Civil War. Records in the Library of Congress, including the Confederate statepapers purchased by the United States Government in 1872, of William J. Bromwell, formerly a clerk in the Confederate State Department, broughtto light, a few years ago, the fact that the seal was in the possessionof Rear Admiral Thomas O. Selfridge, U. S. N. , retired. At the time of the evacuation of Richmond, Bromwell carried off a numberof the Confederate state papers, and Mrs. Bromwell took charge of theseal, transporting it through the lines in her bustle. When later, through Colonel John T. Pickett, Bromwell sold the papers to theGovernment, Rear Admiral Selfridge--then a captain--was the officerassigned to go to Hamilton, Ontario, to inventory and receive them. Itis said that Pickett gave the seal to Selfridge at about this time, first, however, having a duplicate made. This duplicate, or a copy ofit, was later offered for sale as the original, but was found to bespurious. When examination of the Pickett papers by Gaillard Hunt, ofthe Library of Congress, finally traced the original seal to RearAdmiral Selfridge, an effort was made to buy it back. In 1912 threeRichmond gentlemen, Messrs. Eppa Hunton, Jr. , William H. White andThomas P. Bryan, purchased the Seal of the admiral for three thousanddollars, subject to proof of its authenticity. Mr. St. George Bryan andMr. William Gray, of Richmond, then took the seal to London, where themakers are still well-known engravers. Here, by means of hall marks, theidentification was made complete. No less appealing than the relics of the deceased government and greatgenerals who are gone, are some of the humbler items connected with thedeaths of privates in the ranks of North and South alike. One of themost pathetic was a small daguerreotype of a beautiful young girl. On acard, beside the picture, is the story of it, so far as that story isever likely to be known: Picture found on the dead body of an unidentified Federal soldier. Presented by C. C. Calvert, Upperville, Va. "We have always hoped, " said Miss Susan B. Harrison, house regent of themuseum, "that some day some one would come in and recognize this littlepicture, and that it would find its way back to those who ought to haveit, and who might by this means at last discover what became of thesoldier who was dear to them. " An even more tragic souvenir is a letter addressed to A. V. Montgomery, Camden, Madison County, Mississippi, in which a mortally wounded soldierof Confederacy bids a last good-by to his father. The letter wasoriginally inclosed with one from Lieutenant Ethelbert Fairfax, C. S. A. , informing the father that his son passed away soon after he had written. The text, pitiful and heroic as it is, can give but the faintest idea ofthe original, with its feeble, laborious writing, and the dark-brownspots dappling the three sheets of paper where blood from the boy'smangled shoulder dripped upon them while he wrote: Spotsylvania County, Va. May 10, 1864. Dear Father: This is my last letter to you. I went into battle this evening as courier for Gen'l Heth. I have been struck by a piece of shell and my right shoulder is horribly mangled & I know death is inevitable. I am very weak but I write to you because I know you would be delighted to read a word from your dying son. I know death is near, that I will die far from home and friends of my early youth, but I have friends here, too, who are kind to me. My Friend Fairfax will write you at my request and give you the particulars of my death. My grave will be marked so that you may visit it if you desire to do so, but it is optionary with you whether you let my remains rest here or in Mississippi. I would like to rest in the graveyard with my dear mother and brothers, but it is a matter of minor importance. Let us all try to reunite in heaven. I pray my God to forgive my sins & I feel that his promises are true, that he will forgive me and save me. Give my love to all my friends. My strength fails me. My horse & my equipments will be left for you. Again a long farewell to you. May we meet in heaven. Your Dying Son, J. R. Montgomery. CHAPTER XXII RANDOM RICHMOND NOTES Richmond may again be likened to Boston as a literary center. In anarticle published some years ago in "Book News" Alice M. Tyler refers toColonel William Byrd, who founded Richmond in 1733, as the sprightliestand most genial native American writer before Franklin. In the time ofChief Justice Marshall, Richmond had a considerable group of novelists, historians and essayists, but the great literary name connected with theplace is that of Edgar Allan Poe, who spent much of his boyhood in thecity and later edited the "Southern Literary Messenger. " MatthewFontaine Maury, the great scientist, mentioned in an earlier chapter, was, at another time, editor of the same periodical, as was also JohnReuben Thompson, "Poet of the Confederacy, " who wrote, among otherpoems, "Music in Camp, " and who translated Gustave Nadaud's familiarpoem, "Carcassonne. " Thomas Nelson Page made his home in Richmond for thirty years; AmélieRives was born there and still maintains her residence in AlbemarleCounty, Virginia, while among other writers of the present timeconnected with the city either by birth or long association are, HenrySydnor Harrison, Mary Johnston, Ellen Glasgow, Marion Harland, KateLangley Bosher, James Branch Cabell, Edward Peple, dramatist, J. H. Whitty, biographer of Poe, and Colonel W. Gordon McCabe, soldier, historian, essayist, and local character--a gentleman upon whoseshoulders such imported expressions as _littérateur_, _bon viveur_, and_raconteur_ alight as naturally as doves on friendly shoulders. Colonel McCabe is a link between present-day Richmond and the traditionsand associations of England. He was the friend of Lord Roberts, heintroduced Lord Tennyson to Bull Durham tobacco, and, as is fittingunder the circumstances, he speaks and writes of a hotel as "_an_hotel. " Henry Sydnor Harrison did his first writing as book reviewer on theRichmond "Times-Dispatch, " of which paper he later became paragrapherand daily poet, and still later editor in chief. It is commonly reportedin Richmond that the characters in his novel "Queed, " the scenes ofwhich are laid in Richmond, were "drawn from life. " I asked Mr. Harrisonabout this. "When the book appeared, " he said, "I was much embarrassed by thedisposition of Richmond people--human and natural, I suppose, when you'know the author'--to identify all the imaginary persons with variouslocal characters. Some characteristics of the political boss in my storywere in a degree suggested by a local celebrity; Stewart Bryan isindicated, in passing, as Stewart Byrd; and the bare bones of a historiccase, altered at will, were employed in another connection. But I thinkI am stating the literal truth when I say that no figure in the book isborrowed from life. " * * * * * The recent residential development in Richmond has been to the west ofthe city in the neighborhood of Monument Avenue, a fine double drive, with a parked center, lined with substantial new homes, and having atintervals monuments to southern heroes: Lee, Davis, and J. E. B. Stuart. The parks are on the outskirts of the city and, as in most other cities, it is in these outlying regions that new homes are springing up, thanksin no small degree to the automobile. The Country Club of Virginia isout to the west of the town, in what is known as Westhampton, and is oneof the most charming clubs of its kind in the South or, indeed, in thecountry. Richmond has one of the most beautiful and several of the most curiouscemeteries I have ever seen. Hollywood Cemetery stands upon rollingbluffs overlooking the James, and under its majestic trees are the tombsof many famous men, including James Monroe, John Tyler, Jefferson Davisand Fitzhugh Lee. An inscription on the Davis monument, which waserected by the widow and daughter of the President of the Confederacy, describes him as "an American soldier and defender of the Constitution. "At the back of the pedestal is another inscription: PRESIDENT OF THE CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA 1861-1865. FAITHFUL TO ALL TRUSTS, A MARTYR TO PRINCIPLE. HE LIVED AND DIED THE MOSTCONSISTENT OF AMERICAN SOLDIERS AND STATESMEN. It occasionally happens that, instead of having monuments because inlife they were famous, men are made famous after death, by theinscriptions placed upon their tombstones. Such is the case with JamesE. Valentine, a locomotive engineer killed in a collision many yearsago. The Valentine monument in Hollywood Cemetery is almost as wellknown as the monuments erected in memory of the great, the reason forthis being embodied in the following verse adorning the stone: Until the brakes are turned on Time, Life's throttle valve shut down, He wakes to pilot in the crew That wear the martyr's crown. On schedule time on upper grade Along the homeward section, He lands his train at God's roundhouse The morn of resurrection. His time all full, no wages docked; His name on God's pay roll. And transportation through to Heaven, A free pass for his soul. In the burial ground of old St. John's Church--the building in whichPatrick Henry delivered his "Give me Liberty or give me Death"oration--are a number of old gravestones bearing strange inscriptionswhich appeal to the imagination, and also, alas! elicit sad thoughtsconcerning those who wrote the old-time gravestone doggerel. The custodian of the church is glad to indicate the interesting stones, but is much more taken up with his own gift of oratory, as displayedwhen, on getting visitors inside the church, he takes his place on thespot where Patrick Henry stood, and delivers the famous oration. Havingdone this to us--or perhaps it would seem more generous to say _for_us--the caretaker told us that many persons who had heard him haddeclared that Patrick Henry himself would have had a hard time doing itbetter. But when he threatened, for contrast, to deliver the oration asa less gifted elocutionist might speak it, my companion, in whom I hadalready observed signs of restlessness, interrupted with the statementthat we were late for an engagement, and fled from the place, followedby me. * * * * * In certain parts of the city, often at a considerable distance from thewarehouse and factory sections, one may occasionally catch upon thebreeze the faint, spicy fragrance of tobacco; and should one trace thesepleasant scents to their sources, one would come to a region offactories in which rich brown leaves are transformed into pipe tobacco, plug tobacco, or cigarettes. In the simpler processes of this work, negro men and women are employed, and these with their naturalpicturesqueness of pose and costume, and their singing, in the settingof an old shadowy loft, make a tobacco factory a fascinating place. Inone loft you will see negro men and boys handling the tobacco leaveswith pitchforks, much as farm hands handle hay; in another, negro womensquatting upon boxes, stemming the leaves, or "pulling up ends, " theirblack faces blending mysteriously with the dark shadows of beams andrafters. Here the air is laden not only with the sweet tobacco smell, mixed with a faint scent of licorice and of fruit, but is freighted alsowith a fine brown dust which is revealed where bars of sunlight strikein through the windows, and which seems, as it shifts and sparkles, tobe a visible expression of the smell. In the busy season "street niggers" are generally used for stemming, which is, perhaps, the leading part of the tobacco industry in Richmond, and these "street niggers, " a wild yet childlike lot, who lead ahand-to-mouth existence all year round, bring to the tobacco trade awealth of semi-barbaric color. To give us an idea of the character of aRichmond "street nigger" the gentleman who took my companion and methrough the factory told us of having wanted a piece of light work done, and having asked one of these negroes: "Want to earn a quarter?" To which the latter replied without moving from his comfortable placebeside a sun-baked brick wall: "No, boss, Ah _got_ a quahtah. " The singing of the negroes is a great feature of the stemming departmentin a tobacco factory. Some of the singers become locally famous; also, Iwas told by the superintendent, they become independent, and for thatreason have frequently to be dismissed. The wonderful part of thissinging, aside from the fascinating harmonies made by the sweet, untrained negro voices, is the utter lack of prearrangement that thereis about it. Now there will be silence in the loft; then there will comea strange, half-savage cry from some dark corner, musical, yet seeminglymeaningless; soon a faint humming will begin, and will be taken up bymen and women all over the loft; the humming will swell into a chant towhich the workers rock as their black hands travel swiftly among thebrown leaves; then, presently, it will die away, and there will besilence until they are again moved to song. From shadowy room to shadowy room, past great dark bins filled with theleaves, past big black steaming vats, oozing sweet-smelling substances, past moist fragrant barrels, always among the almost spectral forms ofnegroes, treading out leaves with bare feet, working over great wickerbaskets stained to tobacco color, piling up wooden frames, or operatingthe powerful hydraulic presses which convert the soft tobacco into plugsof concrete hardness--so one goes on through the factory. The browns andblacks of these interiors are the browns and blacks of etchings; thecolor of the leaves, the old dark timbers, the black faces and hands, and the ragged clothing, combined with the humming of negro voices, thetobacco fragrance, and the golden dust upon the air, make anindescribably complete harmony of shade, sound, and scent. The department in which the pipe tobacco is packed in tins is a verydifferent sort of place; here white labor is employed: a great manygirls seated side by side at benches working with great digitaldexterity: measuring out the tobacco, folding wax paper cartons, fillingthem, and slipping them into the narrow tins, all at a rate of speed sogreat as to defy the sight, giving a sense of fingers flickering abovethe bench with a strange, almost supernatural sureness, like the fingersof a magician who makes things disappear before your eyes; or like thepictures in which post-impressionist and cubist painters attempt toexpress motion. "May I speak to one of them?" I asked the superintendent. "Sure, " said he. I went up to a young woman who was working, if anything, more rapidlythan the other girls at the same bench. "Can you think, while you are doing this?" I asked. "Yes, " she replied, without looking up, while her fingers flashed onceaselessly. "About other things?" "Certainly. " "How many cans do you fill in a day?" "About thirty-four to thirty-five hundred on the average. " "May I ask your name?" She gave it. I took up one of the small identification slips which she put into eachpackage, and wrote her name upon the back of it. The number on theslip--for the purpose of identifying the girl who packed the tin--was220. Let the reader, therefore, be informed that if he smokes EdgeworthReady Rubbed, and finds in a tin a slip bearing that number, he has beenserved by no less a person than Miss Katie Wise, of the astonishinglyspeedy fingers. CHAPTER XXIII JEDGE CRUTCHFIELD'S CO'T Dar's a pow'ful rassle 'twix de Good en de Bad, En de Bad's got de all-under holt; En w'en de wuss come, she come i'on-clad, En you hatter holt yo' bref fer de jolt. --UNCLE REMUS. My companion and I had not traveled far into the South before wediscovered that our comfort was likely to be considerably enhanced if, in hotels, we singled out an intelligent bell boy and, as far aspossible, let this one boy serve us. Our mainstay in the Jefferson Hotelwas Charles Jackson, No. 144, or, when Charles was "off, " his "sidepartner, " whom we knew as Bob. Having one day noticed a negro in convict's stripes, but without aguard, raking up leaves in Capitol Square, I asked Charles about thematter. "Do they let the convicts go around unguarded?" I inquired. "They 's some of 'em can, " said he. "Those is trustees. " This talk of "trustees" led to other things and finally to a strongrecommendation, by Charles, of the Richmond Police Court, as a place ofentertainment. "Is it interesting?" I asked. "Inter-_resting_? Yes, _suh_! Judge Crutchfield he suttinly _is_. Hedone chahge me twenty-six dollahs and fo'ty cents. My brothah, he got infight down street, heah. Some niggers set on him. I went to he'p him an'p'leeceman got me. He say I was resistin' p'leece. I ain't resisted nop'leece! No, _suh_! Not _me_! But Judge Crutchfield, you can't tell himnothin'. 'Tain't no use to have a lawyer, nuther. Judge Crutchfielddon't want no lawyers in his co't. Like 's not he cha'ge you _mo'_ fo'_havin'_ lawyer. Then you got pay lawyer, too. "Friend mine name Billy. One night Billy he wake up and heah some onecome pushin' in his house. He hollah: 'Who thar?' "Othah nigger he kep' pushin' on in. He say: 'This Gawge. ' "Billy, he say: 'Git on out heah, niggah! Ain't no Gawge live heah!' "Othah niggah, he say: 'Don't make no diff'unce Gawge live heah o' not. He sure comin' right in! Ain't nobody heah kin stop ol' Gawge! He eat'em alive, Gawge do! He de boss of Jackson Ward. Bettah say yo' prayehs, niggah, fo' yo' time--has--come!' "Billy he don't want hit nobody, but this-heah Gawge he drunk, an' Billy_have_ t' hit 'im. Well, suh, what you think this Gawge done? He go haveBilly 'rested. _Yes_, suh! But you can't tell Judge Crutchfield nothin'. Next mo'nin' in p'leece co't he say to Billy: 'I fine you twenty-fivedollahs, fo' hittin' this old gray-haihed man. ' Yes, _suh_! 'at 's a wayJudge Crutchfield is. Can't tell _him_ nothin'. He jes' set up theh onde bench, an' he chaw tobacco, an' he heah de cases, an' he spit, an'evvy time he spit he spit a fine. Yes, _suh_! He spit like dis: 'Pfst!Five dollahs!'--'Pfst! Ten dollahs!'--'Pfst! Fifteen dollahs!'--just howhe feel. He suttinly is some judge, 'at man. " Encouraged by this account of police court justice as meted out to theRichmond negro, my companion and I did visit Justice Crutchfield'scourt. The room in the basement of the City Hall was crowded. All the bencheswere occupied and many persons, white and black, were standing up. Amongthe members of the audience--for the performance is more like avaudeville show with the judge as headliner than like a serioustribunal--I noticed several actors and actresses from a company whichwas playing in Richmond at the time--these doubtless drawn to the placeby the fact that Walter C. Kelly, billed in vaudeville as "The VirginiaJudge, " is commonly reported to have taken Judge Crutchfield as a modelfor his exceedingly amusing monologue. Mr. Kelly himself has, however, told me that his inspiration came from hearing the late Judge J. D. G. Brown, of Newport News, hold court. At the back of the room, in what appeared to be a sort of steel cage, were assembled the prisoners, all of them, on this occasion, negroes;while at the head of the chamber behind the usual police-court bulwark, sat the judge--a white-haired, hook-nosed man of more than seventy, peering over the top of his eyeglasses with a look of shrewd, mercilessdivination. "William Taylor!" calls a court officer. A negro is brought from the cage to the bar of justice. He is a sadspectacle, his face adorned with a long strip of surgeon's plaster. Thejudge looks at him over his glasses. The hearing proceeds as follows: COURT OFFICER (to prisoner)--Get over there! (Prisoner obeys. ) JUDGE CRUTCHFIELD--Sunday drunk--Five dollars. It is over. The next prisoner is already on his way to the bar. He is a short, widenegro, very black and tattered. A large black negress, evidently hisconsort, arises as witness against him. The case goes as follows: JUDGE CRUTCHFIELD--Drunk? THE WIFE (looking contemptuously at her spouse)--Drunk? Yass, Jedge, drunk. _Always_ drunk. THE PRISONER (meekly)--I ain't been drunk, Jedge. THE JUDGE--Yes, you have. I can see you've got your sign up thismorning. (Looking toward cage at back of room): Make them niggers stoptalkin' back there! (To the wife): What did he do, Mandy? THE WIFE (angrily)--Jedge, he come bustin' in, and he come so fast heuntook the do' off'n de hinges; den 'e begins-- THE JUDGE (to the prisoner, sarcastically)--You wasn't drunk, eh? THE PRISONER (weakly)--I might of had a drink oh two. THE JUDGE (severely)--Was--you--_drunk_? THE PRISONER--No, suh, Jedge. Ah wasn't drunk. Ah don't think no man'sdrunk s' long 's he can navigate, Jedge. I don't-- THE JUDGE--Oh, yes, he can be! He can navigate and navigate mightymean!--Ten dollars. (At this point an officer speaks in a low tone to the judge, evidentlyinterceding for the prisoner. ) THE JUDGE (loudly)--No. That fine's very small. If it ain't worth tendollars to get drunk, it ain't worth nothing at all. Next case! (While the next prisoner is being brought up, the judge entertains hisaudience with one of the humorous monologues for which he is famous, andwhich, together with the summary "justice" he metes out, keeps ripplesof laughter running through the room): I'm going to get drunk myself, some day, and see what it does to me. [Laughter. ] Mebbe I'll take alittle cocaine, too. A NEGRO VOICE (from back of room, deep bass, and very fervent)--Oh, _no-o-o_! Don't do dat, Jedge! [More laughter. ] THE JUDGE--Where's that prisoner? If he was a Baptist, he wouldn't be soslow. (The prisoner, a yellow negro, is brought to the bar. His trousers aremended with a large safety pin and his other equipment is to match. ) THE JUDGE (inspecting the prisoner sharply)--You ain't a Richmondnigger. I can tell that to look at you. THE PRISONER--No, suh, Jedge. That's right. THE JUDGE--Where you from? You're from No'th Ca'lina, ain't you? THE PRISONER--Yas, suh, Jedge. THE JUDGE--Six months! (A great laugh rises from the courtroom at this. On inquiry we learnthat the "joke" depends upon the judge's well-known aversion for negroesfrom North Carolina. ) Only recently I have heard Walter C. Kelly as "The Virginia Judge. " Savefor a certain gentle side which Mr. Kelly indicates, and of which I sawno signs in Judge Crutchfield, I should say that, even though JudgeCrutchfield is not his model, the suggestion of him is strongly there. Two of Mr. Kelly's "cases" are particularly reminiscent of the RichmondPolice Court. One is as follows: THE JUDGE--First case--Sadie Anderson. THE PRISONER--Yassir! That's me! THE JUDGE--Thirty days in jail. That's me! Next case. The other: THE JUDGE--What's your name? THE PRISONER--Sam Williams. THE JUDGE--How old are you, Sam? THE PRISONER--Just twenty-four. THE JUDGE--You'll be just twenty-five when you get out. Next case! CHAPTER XXIV NORFOLK AND ITS NEIGHBORHOOD Just as New York looks newer than Boston, but is actually older, Norfolklooks newer than Richmond. Business and population grow in Richmond, butyou do not feel them growing as you do in Norfolk. You feel thatRichmond business men already have money, whereas in Norfolk there isless old wealth and a great deal more scrambling for new dollars. Alsoyou feel that law and order count for more in Richmond than in Norfolk, and that the strict prohibition law which not long ago became effectivein Virginia will be more easily enforced in the capital than in theseaport. Norfolk, in short, likes the things New York likes. It likestall office buildings, and it dotes on the signs of commercial activityby day and social activity by night. Furthermore, from the tops of someof the high buildings the place actually looks like a miniature NewYork: the Elizabeth River masquerading as the East River; Portsmouth, with its navy yard, pretending to be Brooklyn, while some old-time NewYork ferryboats, running between the two cities, assist in completingthe illusion. In the neighboring city of Newport News, Norfolk has itsequivalent for Jersey City and Hoboken, while Willoughby Spit protrudesinto Hampton Roads like Sandy Hook reduced to miniature. The principal shopping streets of Norfolk and Richmond are as unlike aspossible. Broad Street, Richmond, is very wide, and is neverovercrowded, whereas Granby Street, Norfolk (advertised by localenthusiasts as "the livest street in Virginia, " and appropriatelyspanned, at close intervals, by arches of incandescent lights), is nonetoo wide for the traffic it carries, with the result that, during theafternoon and evening, it is truly very much alive. To look upon it atthe crowded hours is to get a suggestion of a much larger city thanNorfolk actually is--a suggestion which is in part accounted for by thefact that Norfolk's spending population, drawn from surrounding townsand cities, is much greater than the number of its inhabitants. Norfolk's extraordinary growth in the last two or three decades may betraced to several causes: to the fertility of the soil of thesurrounding region, which, intensively cultivated, produces richmarket-garden crops, making Norfolk a great shipping point for "truck";to the development of the trade in peanuts, which are grown in largequantities in this corner of Virginia; to a great trade in oysters andother sea-food, and to the continually increasing importance of theNorfolk navy yard. In connection with the navy Norfolk has always figured prominently, Hampton Roads having been a favorite naval rendezvous since the earlydays of the American fleet. Now, however, it is announced that the cryof our navy for a real naval base--something we have never had, thoughall other important navies have them, Britain alone having three--hasbeen heard in Washington, and that Norfolk has been selected as the sitefor a base. This is an important event not only for the Virginiaseaport, but for the United States. Farmers who think they are in a poor business will do well toinvestigate Norfolk's recent history. The "trucking" industry of Norfolkis said to amount in the aggregate to twelve or fourteen million dollarsannually, and many fortunes have been made from it. The pioneer"trucker" of the region was Mr. Richard Cox. A good many years ago Mr. Cox employed a German boy, a blacksmith by trade, named Henry Kern. Kernfinally branched out for himself. When, in 1915, he died, his realestate holdings in Norfolk and Portsmouth were valued at two milliondollars, all of which had been made from garden truck. He was but one ofa considerable class of wealthy men whose fortunes have sprung from thesame source. Many of the truck farms have access to the water. The farmers bringtheir produce to the city in their own boats, giving the port apicturesque note. At Norfolk it is transferred to steamers which carryit to New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Providence, Baltimore andWashington. Lately a considerable amount of truck has been shipped westby rail, as well. Hundreds of acres of ground in the vicinity of the city are under glassand large crops of winter vegetables are raised. Kale and spinach arebeing grown and harvested throughout the cold months; strawberries, potatoes, beans, peas, cucumbers, cabbage, lettuce and other vegetablesfollow through the spring and summer, running on into the fall, when thecorn crop becomes important. Corn is raised chiefly by the peanutfarmer, whose peanuts grow between his corn-rows. While the banks are "carrying" the peanut farmers, pending their fallharvest, the activities of the "truckers" are at their height, so thatthe money loaned to one class of agriculturist is replaced by thedeposits of the other class; and by the same token, of course, thepeanut farmers are depositing money in the banks when the "truckers"want to borrow. This situation, one judges, is not found objectionableby Norfolk and Portsmouth bankers, and I have been told that, as acorollary, these banks have never been forced, even in times of direpanic, to issue clearing house certificates, but have always paid cash. Norfolk has grown so fast and has so rapidly replaced the old with thenew, that the visitor must keep his eyes open if he would not missentirely such lovely souvenirs of an earlier and easier life, as stillremain. Who would imagine, seeing it to-day, that busy Granby Street hadever been a street of fine residences? Yet a very few years have passedsince the old Newton, Tazwell, Dickson and Taylor residences surrenderedto advancing commerce and gave place to stores and officebuildings--the two last mentioned having been replaced by the DicksonBuilding and the Taylor Building, erected less than fifteen years ago. Freemason Street is the highway which, more than any other, tells ofolden times. For though the downtown end of this lovely old thoroughfarehas lapsed into decay, many beautiful mansions, dating from long ago, are to be seen a few blocks out from the busier portion of the city. Among these should be mentioned the Whittle house, the H. N. Castlehouse, and particularly the exquisite ivy-covered residence of Mr. Barton Myers, at the corner of Bank Street. The city of Norfolk ought, Ithink, to attempt to acquire this house and preserve it (using itperhaps as a memorial museum to contain historical relics) to show whathas been, in Norfolk, as against what is, and to preach a silent sermonon the high estate of beauty from which a fine old city may fall, in thename of progress and commercial growth. To the credit of Norfolk be it said that old St. Paul's Church, with itspicturesque churchyard and tombs, is excellently cared for and properlyvalued as a pre-Revolutionary relic. The church was built in 1730, andwas struck by a British cannon-ball when Lord Dunmore bombarded theplace in 1776. Baedeker tells me, however, that the cannon-ball nowresting in the indentation in the wall of the church is "not theoriginal. " When I say that St. Paul's is properly valued I mean that many citizenstold my companion and me to be sure to visit. I observe, however--and Itake it as a sign of the times in Norfolk--that an extensive, well-printed and much illustrated book on Norfolk, issued by the Chamberof Commerce, contains pictures of banks, docks, breweries, mills, officebuildings, truck farms, peanut farms, battleships, clubhouses, hotels, hospitals, factories, and innumerable new residences, but no picture ofthe church, or of the lovely old homes of Freemason Street. Nor do Ifind in the booklet any mention of the history of the city or thesurrounding region--although that region includes places of the greatestbeauty and interest: among them the glorious old manor houses of theJames River; the ancient and charming town of Williamsburg, secondcapital of the Virginia colony, and seat of William and Mary College, the oldest college in the United States excepting Harvard; Yorktown, "Waterloo of the Revolution"; many important battlefields of the CivilWar; Hampton Institute, the famous negro industrial school at Hampton, nearby; the lovely stretch of water on which the _Monitor_ met the_Merrimac_[3]; the site of the first English settlement in America atJamestown, and, for mystery and desolation, the Dismal Swamp with LakeDrummond at its heart. But then, I suppose it is natural that theChamber of Commerce mind should thrust aside such things in favor of themighty "goober, " which is a thing of to-day, a thing for which Norfolkis said to be the greatest of all markets. For is not history dead, andis not the man who made a fortune out of a device for shelling peanutswithout causing the nuts to drop in two, still living? [3] The _Merrimac_, originally a Federal vessel of wooden construction, was sunk by the Union forces when they abandoned Norfolk. A Confederatecaptain, John M. Brooke, raised her, equipped her with a ram, andcovered her with boiler plate and railroad rails. She is called thefirst ironclad. While she was being reconstructed John Ericsson wasbuilding his _Monitor_ in New York. The turret was first used on thisvessel. It is worth noting that at the time of the engagement betweenthese two ships the _Monitor_ was not the property of the FederalGovernment, but belonged to C. S. Bushnell, of New Haven, who built herat his own expense, in spite of the opposition of the Navy Department ofthat day. The Government paid for her long after the fight. It shouldalso be noted that the _Merrimac_ did not fight under that name, but asa Confederate ship had been rechristened _Virginia_. The patrioticaction of Mr. Bushnell is recalled by the fact that, only recently, Mr. Godfrey L. Cabot, of Boston, has agreed to furnish funds to build thetorpedoplane designed by Admiral Fiske as a weapon wherewith to attackthe German fleet within its defenses at Kiel. And yet the modernness on which Norfolk so evidently prides herself isnot something to be lightly valued. Fine schools, fine churches andmiles of pleasant, recently built homes are things for any American cityto rejoice in. Therefore Norfolk rejoices in Ghent, her chief modernresidence district, which is penetrated by arms of the Elizabeth River, so that many of the houses in this part of the city look out upon prettylagoons, dotted over with all manner of pleasure craft. Less than twentyyears ago, the whole of what is now Ghent was a farm, and there areother suburban settlements, such as Edgewater, Larchmont, Winona andLochhaven, out in the direction of Hampton Roads, which have grown up inthe last six or eight years. The Country Club of Norfolk, with a verypleasing club-house on the water, and an eighteen-hole golf course, isat Lochhaven, and the new naval base is, I believe, to be locatedsomewhat farther out, on the site of the Jamestown Exposition. Norfolk is well provided with nearby seaside recreation places, of whichprobably the most attractive is Virginia Beach, facing the ocean. OceanView, so called, is on Chesapeake Bay, and there are summer cottagecolonies at Willoughby Spit and Cape Henry. On the bay side of CapeHenry is Lynnhaven Inlet connecting Lynnhaven Bay and River withChesapeake Bay. From Lynnhaven Bay come the famous oysters of that name, now to be had in most of the large cities of the East, but which seemedto me to taste a little better at the Virginia Club, in Norfolk, thanoysters ever tasted anywhere. Perhaps that was because they were realLynnhavens, just as the Virginia Club's Smithfield ham is realSmithfield ham from the little town of Smithfield, Virginia, a few milesdistant. On the bank of the Lynnhaven River is situated the Old Donationfarm with a ruined church, and an ancient dwelling house which was usedas the first courthouse in Princess Anne County; and not far distantfrom this place is Witch Duck Point, where Grace Sherwood, after havingbeen three times tried, and finally convicted as a witch, was throwninto the river. The several waterside places I have mentioned are more or less local incharacter, but there is nothing local about Fortress Monroe, on OldPoint Comfort, just across Hampton Roads, which has for many years beenone of the most beautiful and highly individualized idling places on theAtlantic Coast. The old moated fortress, the interior of which is more like some lovelygarden of the last century than a military post, remains an importantcoast artillery station, and is a no less lovely spot now than when ourgrandparents went there on their wedding journeys, stopping at the oldHygiea Hotel, long since gone the way of old hotels. The huge Chamberlin Hotel, however, remains apparently unchanged, and isto-day as spacious, comfortable and homelike as when our fathers andmothers, or perhaps we ourselves, stopped there years ago. TheChamberlin, indeed, seems to have the gift of perennial youth. Iremember a ball which was given there in honor of Admiral Sampson andthe officers of his fleet, after the Spanish War. The ballroom was sofull of naval and military uniforms that I, in my somber civilianclothing, felt wan and lonely. Most of the evening I passed in modestretirement, looking out upon the brilliant scene from behind a pottedpalm. And yet, when my companion and I, now in our dotage, recentlyvisited the Chamberlin, there stood the same potted palm in the sameplace. Or if it was not the same, it was one exactly like it. The Chamberlin is of course a great headquarters for army and navypeople, and we observed, moreover, that honeymooning couples continue toinfest it--for Fortress Monroe has long ranked with Washington andNiagara Falls as a scene to be visited upon the wedding journey. There they all were, as of old: the young husband scowling behind hisnewspaper and pretending to read and not to be thinking of his prettylittle wife across the breakfast table; the fat blonde bride beingcontinually photographed by her adoring mate--now leaning against a pileon the pier, now seated on a wall, with her feet crossed, now standingunder a live-oak within the fortress; also there was the inevitableyoung pair who simply couldn't keep their hands off from each other; wecame upon them constantly--in the sun-parlor, where she would be seatedon the arm of his chair, running her hand through his hair; wandering inthe eventide along the shore, with arms about each other, or going in tomeals, she leading him down the long corridor by his "ickle finger". * * * * * I recall that it was as we were going back to Norfolk from Old PointComfort, having dinner on a most excellent large steamer, running toNorfolk and Cape Charles, that my companion remarked to me, out of aclear sky, that he had made up his mind, once for all, that, come whatmight, he would never, never, never get married. No, never! CHAPTER XXV COLONEL TAYLOR AND GENERAL LEE Forth from its scabbard all in vain Bright flashed the sword of Lee; 'Tis shrouded now in its sheath again, It sleeps the sleep of our noble slain, Defeated, yet without a stain, Proudly and peacefully. --ABRAM J. RYAN. Though I had often heard, before going into the South, of the devotionof that section to the memory of General Robert E. Lee, I never fullyrealized the extent of that devotion until I began to become a littlebit acquainted with Virginia. I remember being struck, while in Norfolk, with the fact that portraits of General Lee were to be seen in manyoffices and homes, much as one might expect, at the present time, tofind portraits of Joffre and Nivelle in the homes of France, or of Haigin the homes of Britain. It is not enough to say that the memory of Leeis to the South like that of Napoleon I to France, for it is more. Thefeeling of France for Napoleon is one of admiration, of delight in anational military genius, of hero-worship, but there is not intermingledwith it the quality of pure affection which fully justifies the use ofthe word _love_, in characterizing the feeling of the South for itsgreat military leader--the man of whom Lord Wolseley said: "He was abeing apart and superior to all others in every way; a man with whomnone I ever knew, and very few of whom I ever read are worthy to becompared; a man who was cast in a grander mould and made of finer metalthan all other men. " Nor is this love surprising, for whereas Napoleon was a self-seekingman, and one whose personal character was not altogether admirable inother respects, and whereas he could hardly be said to typify France'sideal of everything a gentleman should be, Lee sought nothing forhimself, was a man of great nobility of character, and was in perfectiona Virginia gentleman. At the end, moreover, where Napoleon's defeat wasthat of an aspirant to conquest, glory and empire, Lee's defeat was thatof a cause, and the cause was regarded in the entire South as almostholy, so that, in defeat, the South felt itself martyred, and came tolook upon its great general with a love and veneration unequaled inhistory, and much more resembling the feeling of France for thecanonized Joan of Arc, than for the ambitious Corsican. When, therefore, my companion and I heard, while in Norfolk, thatColonel Walter H. Taylor, president of the Marine Bank of that city, hadserved through the Civil War on General Lee's staff, we naturally becamevery anxious to meet him; and I am glad to say that Colonel Taylor, though at the time indisposed and confined to his home, was so kind asto receive us. He was seated in a large chair in his library, on the second floor ofhis residence, a pleasant old-fashioned brick house at the corner ofYork and Yarmouth Streets--a slender man, not very tall, I judged(though I did not see him standing), not very strong at the moment, butwith nothing of the decrepitude of old age about him, for all hisseventy-seven years. Upon the contrary he was, in appearance and manner, delightfully alert, with the sort of alertness which lends to some menand women, regardless of their years, a suggestion of perpetualyouthfulness. Such alertness, in those who have lived a long time, ismost often the result of persistent intellectual activity, and the signof it is usually to be read in the eyes. Colonel Taylor's keen, dark, observant, yet kindly eyes, were perhaps his finest feature, though, indeed, all his features were fine, and his head, with its well-trimmedwhite hair and mustache, was one of great distinction. Mrs. Taylor (of whom we had previously been warned to beware, becauseshe had not yet forgiven the "Yankees" for their sins) was also present:a beautiful old lady of unquenchable spirit, in whose manner, though shereceived us with politeness, we detected lurking danger. And why not? Do not women remember some things longer than men rememberthem? Do not the sweethearts who stayed at home remember the continualdull dread they suffered while the men they loved faced danger, whereasthe absent lovers were at least in part compensated for the risks theyran, by the continual sense of high adventure and achievement? Mrs. Taylor was Miss Elizabeth Selden Saunders, daughter of Captain JohnL. Saunders of Virginia, who died in 1860, in the service of hiscountry, a commander in the United States Navy. When the war broke outMiss Saunders, wishing to serve the Confederate Government, became aclerk in the Surgeon General's office, at Richmond, and there sheremained while Colonel Taylor, whose training at the Virginia MilitaryInstitute, coupled with his native ability, made him valuable as anofficer, followed the fortunes of General Lee, part of the time as thegeneral's aide-de-camp, and the rest of the time as adjutant-general andchief of staff of the Army of Northern Virginia, in which capacities hewas present at all general engagements of the army, under Lee. On April 2, 1865, when Lee's gallant but fast dwindling army, short ofsupplies, and so reduced in numbers as to be no longer able to standagainst the powerful forces of Grant, was evacuating its lines atPetersburg, when it was evident that the capital of the Confederacy wasabout to fall, and the orders for retreat had been despatched by ColonelTaylor, in his capacity as adjutant--then the colonel went to hiscommander and asked for leave of absence over night, for the purpose ofgoing to Richmond and being married. He tells the story in hisexceedingly interesting and valuable book, "General Lee--His Campaignsin Virginia": At the close of the day's work, when all was in readiness for the evacuation of our lines under cover of the darkness of night, I asked permission of General Lee to ride over to Richmond and to rejoin him early the next morning, telling him that my mother and sisters were in Richmond and that I would like to say good-by to them, and that my sweetheart was there, and we had arranged, if practicable, to be married that night. He expressed some surprise at my entertaining such a purpose at that time, but when I explained to him that the home of my bride-elect was in the enemy's lines, that she was alone in Richmond and employed in one of the departments of the government, and wished to follow the fortunes of the Confederacy should our lines be reëstablished farther South, he promptly gave his assent to my plans. I galloped to the railroad station, then at Dunlops, on the north side of the river, where I found a locomotive and several cars, constituting the "ambulance train, " designed to carry to Richmond the last of the wounded of our army requiring hospital treatment. I asked the agent if he had another engine, when, pointing to one rapidly receding in the direction of Richmond, he replied, "Yonder goes the only locomotive we have besides the one attached to this train. " Turning my horse over to the courier who accompanied me, with directions to join me in Richmond as soon as he could, I mounted the locomotive in waiting, directed the engineer to detach it from the cars and to proceed to overtake the engine ahead of us. It was what the sailors call a stern chase and a long one. We did not overtake the other locomotive until it had reached Falling Creek, about three-fourths of the distance, when I transferred to it and sent the other back to Petersburg. I reached Richmond without further incident, and soon after midnight I was married to Elizabeth Selden Saunders.... As will be readily understood, the occasion was not one of great hilarity, though I was very happy; my eyes were the only dry ones in the company.... The people of Richmond were greatly excited and in despair in the contemplation of the abandonment of their beautiful city by our troops. General Lee had for so long a time thwarted the designs of his powerful adversaries for the capture of the city, and seemed so unfailing and resourceful in his efforts to hold them at bay, that the good people found it difficult to realize that he was compelled at last to give way. There was universal gloom and despair at the thought that at the next rising of the sun the detested Federal soldiers would take possession of the city and occupy its streets. The transportation companies were busily engaged in arranging for the removal of the public stores and of the archives of the government. A fire in the lower part of the city was fiercely raging, and added greatly to the excitement. Somewhere near four o'clock on the morning of the 3d of April I bade farewell to all my dear ones, and in company with my brother-in-law, Colonel John S. Saunders, proceeded toward Mayo's Bridge, which we crossed to the south side of the James, in the lurid glare of the fire, and within the sound of several heavy explosions that we took to be the final scene in the career of the Confederate navy, then disappearing in smoke on the James River, near Rockets. Before we departed from the colonel's library, which we felt obliged todo much sooner than we wished to, owing to the condition of his health, he called our attention to an oil portrait of his old commander, whichoccupied the place of honor above the mantelpiece, and asked hisdaughters to let us see his scrap-book, containing personal letters fromGeneral Lee, Jefferson Davis, and other distinguished men, as well asvarious war documents of unusual interest. We felt it a great privilege to handle these old letters and to readthem, and the charm of them was the greater for the affection in whichthe general held Colonel Taylor, as evidenced by the tone in which hewrote. To us it was a wonderful evening.... And it still seems to mewonderful to think that I have met and talked with a man who issuedLee's orders, who rode forth with Lee when he went to meet Grant inconference at Appomattox, just before the surrender, who once sleptunder the same blanket with Lee, who knew Lee as well perhaps as one mancan know another, and under conditions calculated to try men to theutmost. As adjutant, Colonel Taylor took an active part in arranging details ofsurrender and parole. He says: Each officer and soldier was furnished for his protection from arrest or annoyance with a slip of paper containing his parole, signed by his commander and countersigned by an officer of the Federal army. I signed these paroles for all members of the staff, and when my own case was reached I requested General Lee to sign mine, which I have retained to the present time. This document, with Colonel Taylor's name and title in his ownhandwriting, and the signature of General Lee, I am able to reproducehere through the courtesy of the colonel's daughters, Mrs. William B. Baldwin and Miss Taylor, of Norfolk. It is the only parole which wassigned personally by General Lee. [Illustration] On the back of the little slip, which is of about the size of a bankcheck, is the countersignature of George H. Sharpe, Assistant ProvostMarshal general: [Illustration] Following his parole Colonel Taylor rode with General Lee to Richmond. The general seemed to be in a philosophical frame of mind, but thoughtmuch of the future. The subject of the surrender and its consequenceswas about exhausted. The Colonel tells of one incident: On the route General Lee stopped for the night near the residence of his brother, Mr. Carter Lee, in Powhatan County; and although importuned by his brother to pass the night under his roof, the general persisted in pitching his tent by the side of the road and going into camp as usual. This continued self-denial can only be explained upon the hypothesis that he desired to have his men know that he shared their privations to the very last. This was perfectly in character with Lee. Throughout the War, we learnfrom Colonel Taylor's book, the general used the army ration, and livedthe army life. He would not take up his quarters in a house, because hewished to share the lot of his men, and also because he feared that, inthe event of the house falling into the hands of the enemy, the veryfact of its having been occupied by him might possibly cause itsdestruction. It was only during the last year of the War, when hishealth was somewhat impaired, that he consented sometimes to vary thisrule. Lee's chivalrous nature is well shown forth in his famous GeneralOrders, No. 73, issued at Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, a few days beforeGettysburg. After congratulating the troops on their good conduct the generalcontinued as follows: There have, however, been instances of forgetfulness on the part of some that they have in keeping the yet unsullied reputation of the army, and that the duties exacted of us by civilization and Christianity are not less obligatory in the country of the enemy than in our own. The commanding general considers that no greater disgrace could befall the army, and through it our whole people, than the perpetration of the barbarous outrages upon the unarmed and defenseless, and the wanton destruction of private property, that have marked the course of the enemy in our own country. Such proceedings not only degrade the perpetrators and all connected with them, but are subversive to the discipline and efficiency of the army, and destructive of the ends of our present movement. It must be remembered that we make war only upon armed men, and that we cannot take vengeance for the wrongs our people have suffered without lowering ourselves in the eyes of all whose abhorrence has been excited by the atrocities of our enemies, and offending against Him to whom vengeance belongeth, without whose favor and support our efforts must all prove in vain. The commanding general, therefore, earnestly exhorts the troops to abstain with most scrupulous care from unnecessary or wanton injury to private property, and he enjoins upon all officers to arrest and bring to summary punishment all who shall in any way offend against the orders on this subject. R. E. Lee, General. Truly, a document to serve as a model for warriors of all futuregenerations, albeit one showing an utter lack of "Kultur"! Said Charles Francis Adams, of Massachusetts: "I doubt if a hostileforce ever advanced into an enemy's country, or fell back from it inretreat, leaving behind it less cause of hate and bitterness than didthe Army of Northern Virginia in that memorable campaign. " After the war, Colonel Taylor and his wife settled in Norfolk, where, within a very short time, a United States grand jury indicted JeffersonDavis and General Lee for treason--this, in the case of Lee, being indirect violation of the terms of surrender. When Grant learned of theshameful action of the grand jury he complained to Washington and causedthe proceedings against Lee to be dropped. In Colonel Taylor's scrap-book I found a letter written by Lee beforethe indictment had been quashed, referring to the subject: Richmond, Va. June 17, 1865. My dear Colonel: I am very much obliged to you for your letter of the 13th. I had heard of the indictment by the grand jury at Norfolk, and made up my mind to let the authorities take their course. I have no wish to avoid any trial the government may order, and cannot flee. I hope others may be unmolested, and that you at least may be undisturbed. I am sorry to hear that our returned soldiers cannot obtain employment. Tell them they must all set to work, and if they cannot do what they prefer, do what they can. Virginia wants all their aid, all their support, and the presence of all her sons to sustain and recuperate her. They must therefore put themselves in a position to take part in her government, and not be deterred by obstacles in their way. There is much to be done which they only can do. Very truly yours, R. E. Lee. As time went on, and the more gaping wounds began to heal, ColonelTaylor's letters from the general took in many cases a lighter andhappier tone. After some years, when four daughters had been born toColonel and Mrs. Taylor, while yet they had no son, the general chaffedthem gently on the subject: "Give my congratulations to Mrs. Taylor, " hewrote. "Tell her I hope that when her fancy for girls is satisfied (mineis exorbitant) she will begin upon the boys. We must have somebody towork for them. " One of the colonel's sons was present when I came upon this letter. "And you see, " he smiled, "my father obeyed his old commander to thelast, for the next baby was a boy, and the next, and the next, and thenext, until there were as many boys as girls in our family. " * * * * * Colonel Taylor died at his home in Norfolk, March 1, 1916, and on thesubsequent June 15, was followed by his wife. His death leaves but three members of Lee's staff surviving, namely, Rev. Giles B. Cooke, of Portsmouth, Virginia, Inspector General; MajorHenry E. Young, of Charleston, South Carolina, Judge Advocate General;and Colonel T. M. R. Talcott, of Richmond, Virginia, Aide-de-Camp. Ofthese officers only the first two surrendered with General Lee, ColonelTalcott having left the staff by promotion in 1863. Yes, two of them surrendered, but if we are to believe Charles FrancisAdams we cannot say that Lee and his forces were actually vanquished, for as the Massachusetts soldier-author put it: "Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia never sustained defeat. Finallysuccumbing to exhaustion, to the end they were not overthrown infight. " THE HEART OF THE SOUTH CHAPTER XXVI RALEIGH AND JOSEPHUS DANIELS Jedge Crutchfield give de No'th Ca'lina nigger frown; De mahkets says ouh tehapin am secon'-rate, An' Mistuh Daniels, he call Raleigh his hum town. --I wondah what kin be de mattuh wid ouh State? Just as it is the fashion in the Middle West to speak jestingly ofKansas, it is the fashion in the South to treat lightly the State ofNorth Carolina. And just as my companion and I, long ago, on anothervoyage of discovery, were eager to get into Kansas and find out whatthat fabulous Commonwealth was really like, so we became anxious, as weheard the gossip about the "Old North State, " to enter it and form ourown conclusions. The great drawback to an attempt to see North Carolina, however, lies in the fact that North Carolina is, so to speak, spreadvery thin. It has no great solid central city occupying a place in itsthoughts and its affairs corresponding to that occupied by Richmond, inits relation to Virginia. Like Mississippi, it is a State of small townsand small cities. Its metropolis, Charlotte, had, by the 1910 census, less than 35, 000 inhabitants; its seaport, Wilmington, a little morethan 25, 000; its capital, Raleigh, less than 20, 000; its beautifulmountain resort, Asheville, fourth city in the State, less than 19, 000. I hasten to add that the next census will undoubtedly show considerablegrowth in all these cities. In Raleigh I found every one insistent onthis point. The town is growing; it is a going place; a great deal ofnew building is in progress; and when you ask about the population, progressive citizens are prepared to do much better by their city thanthe census takers did, some years ago. They talk thirty thousand, instead of twenty, and they are ready with astonishing statistics aboutthe number of students in the schools and colleges as compared with thetotal population of the city--statistics showing that though Raleigh isnot large she is progressive. Which is quite true. I recollect that Judge Francis D. Winston, former Lieutenant Governor ofthe State, United States District Attorney, and the most engagingraconteur in the Carolinas, contributed a story to a discussion ofRaleigh's population, which occurred, one evening, at a dinner at theCountry Club. "A promoter, " he said, "was once trying to borrow money on a boom town. He went to a banker and showed him a map, not of what the town was, butof what he claimed it was going to be. 'Here, ' he said, 'is where thetown hall will stand. In this lot will be the opera house. Over here weare going to have a beautiful park. And on this corner we are going toerect a tall granite office building. ' "'But, ' said the banker, coldly, 'we lend money only on the basis ofpopulation. ' "'That's all right, ' returned the promoter. 'Measured by any knownstandard except an actual _count_, we have a population of two hundredthousand. '" I shall not attempt to point this tale more than to recommend it to theattention of the secretary of the Chamber of Commerce in every city inthe United States. * * * * * Raleigh is situated within seven miles of the exact center of NorthCarolina. The land on which the city stands was purchased by the State, in 1792, from a man named Joel Lane, whose former house still stands. The town was then laid out in a one mile square, with the site selectedfor the State Capitol directly at the center of it, and lots were soldoff by the State to individuals, the proceeds of these sales being usedto build the Capitol. As a result the parks, streets and sidewalks ofthe original old town still belong to the State of North Carolina, andthe city has jurisdiction over them only by courtesy of the Stategovernment. Raleigh has, of course, much outgrown its originaldimensions, and the government of the town, outside the original squaremile at the center, is as in other towns. While Raleigh has not the look of age which characterizes many oldsouthern cities, causing them to delight the eye and the imagination, its broad streets have here and there a building old enough to removefrom the town any air of raw newness, and to make it a homelike lookingplace. The sidewalks are wide; when we were in Raleigh those of theprincipal streets were paved largely with soft-colored old red bricks, which, however, were being taken up and replaced with cement. Not beinga resident of Raleigh, and consequently not having been obliged to treadthe rough brick pavements daily, I was sorry to witness this victory ofutility over beauty. One of the pleasant old buildings is the Yarborough Hotel, at which mycompanion and I stayed. The Yarborough is an exceedingly good hotel fora city of the size of Raleigh, especially, it may be added, when thatcity is in the South. The Capitol, standing among trees in a small park, also gathers a fine flavor from age. In one of the many simple dignifiedapartments of this building my companion and I were introduced to thegentleman who was governor of the State at the time of our visit. Itseemed to me that he had a look both worn and apprehensive, and that, while we talked, he was waiting for something. I don't know how Igathered this impression, but it came to me definitely. After we haddeparted from the executive chamber I asked the gentleman who had takenus there if the governor was ill. "No, " he replied. "All our governors look like that after they have beenin office for a while. " "From overwork?" "No, from an overworked jest--the jest about 'what the Governor of NorthCarolina said to the Governor of South Carolina. ' Every one who meetsthe governor thinks of that joke and believes confidently that no onehas ever before thought of this application of it. So they all pull iton him. For the first few months our governors stand it pretty well, butafter that they begin to break down. They feel they ought to smile, butthey can't. They begin to dread meeting strangers, and to show it intheir bearing. When in private life our governor had a very pleasantexpression, but like all the others, he has acquired, in office, theexpression of an iron dog. " Raleigh's most widely-known citizen is Josephus Daniels, Secretary ofthe Navy, and publisher of the Raleigh "News and Observer. " This paper, published in the morning, and the "Times, " a rival paper, published inthe afternoon, are, I believe, the only dailies in the city. Mr. Daniels has been so much discussed that I was greatly interested inhearing what Raleigh had to say of him. Every one knew him personally. The men on his paper seemed to be very fond of him; others held variousopinions. In 1894 Mr. Daniels came from Washington, D. C. , where he had been chiefclerk in the Department of the Interior, when Hoke Smith was Secretary, and acquired the newspaper of which he has since been proprietor. In itsfirst years under Mr. Daniels, the paper is said to have gone throughsevere financial struggles, and there is an amusing story current, aboutthe way the payroll was met upon one occasion. According to this tale, the business manager of the paper came to Mr. Daniels, one day, andinformed him that he needed sixty dollars more to make the payroll, anddidn't know where he was going to get it. The only ready asset in sight, it is related, was several cases of a patent medicine known as "Mrs. JoePersons' Remedy, " which had been taken by the "News and Observer" inpayment for advertising space. Mr. Daniels had a few dollars, and hisbusiness manager had a railroad pass. With these resources the latterwent out on the road and sold the patent medicine for enough to make upthe deficit. Until Mr. Daniels was appointed Secretary of the Navy he seems to havebeen regarded by many citizens of Raleigh, as a good, earnest, hard-working man, possessed of considerable personal magnetism and agood political nose--a man who could scent how the pack was running, take a short-cut, and presently appear to be leading. In other words anopportunist. Though he has not much education, and though as a writer heis far from polished, it is said that he has written powerfuleditorials. "When his editorials have been good, " said one gentleman, "it is because he has been stirred up over something, and because hemanages sometimes to get into his writing the intensity of his ownpersonality. " His office used to be, and still is, when he is inRaleigh, a sort of political headquarters, and he used to be able towrite editorials while half a dozen politicians were sitting around hisdesk, talking. With his paper he has done much good in the State, notably by fightingconsistently for prohibition and for greater public educationaladvantages. The strong educational movement in North Carolina began witha group of men chief among whom were the late Governor Charles B. Aycock, called "the educational governor"; Dr. E. A. Alderman, who, though president of the University of Virginia, is a North Carolinianand was formerly president of the University of that State; Dr. CharlesD. McKeever who committed the State to the principle of higher educationfor women, and other men of similar high purpose. A gentleman who wasfar from an unqualified admirer of Mr. Daniels, told me that without hisaid the great educational advance which the state has certainly made ofrecent years could hardly have been accomplished, and that the samething applies in the case of prohibition--which has been adopted inNorth Carolina. "What sort of man is he?" I asked this gentleman. "He is the old type of Methodist, " he said. "He is the kind of man whobelieves that the whale swallowed Jonah. He has the same concept ofreligion that he had as a child. I differ with his policies, hispolitics, his mental methods, but I don't think anybody here doubts thathe is trying, not only to do the moral thing himself, but to forceothers to adopt, as rules for public conduct, the exact code in which hepersonally believes, and which he certainly follows. His mentalprocesses are often crude, yet he has much native shrewdness and theability to grasp situations as they arise. "He does not come of the aristocratic class, which probably accounts forhis failure, when he first became secretary, to perceive the necessityfor discipline in the navy, and the benefits of naval tradition. "He was an ardent follower--I might say swallower--of Bryan, gobblingwhole all of the "Great Commoner's" vagaries. It has been said, more orless humorously, but doubtless with a foundation of fact, that he was"Secretary of War in all of Bryan's cabinets. " That shows where Bryanplaced him. Yet when Bryan broke with Wilson and made his exit from theCabinet, Daniels found it perfectly simple, apparently, to drop theBryanism which had, hitherto, been the very essence of his life, andbecome a no less ardent supporter of the President. "When he was first taken into the cabinet he evidently regarded thefiner social amenities as matters of no consequence, or even aseffeminacies. He had but little sense of the fitness of things, and was, in consequence, continually making _faux pas_; but he is observant; hehas learned a great deal in the course of his life as a cabinet member, both as to his work in the Department, and as to the niceties of formalsocial life. " At the time of our visit to Raleigh I had not met Mr. Daniels, nor heardhim speak. Since that time I have heard him several times and havetalked with him. Also I have talked of him with a number of men who havebeen thrown more or less closely in contact with him. As is well known, naval officers detested him with peculiar unanimity. This was true upto the time of our entering the War. Whether matters have changedgreatly since then I am unable to say. One officer, well known in thenavy, said to me quite seriously that he believed the navy would bebetter off without its two best dreadnoughts if in losing them it couldalso lose Mr. Daniels. Such sentiments were peculiarly unanimous amongofficers. On the other hand, however, a high officer, who has been quiteclose to the Secretary, informs me that it is indeed true that he hasimproved as experience has come to him. This officer stated that whenMr. Daniels first took office he seemed to be definitely antagonistic toofficers of the navy. "He appeared to suspect them of pulling politicalwires and working in their own interests. That was in the days when heseemed almost to encourage insubordination among the enlisted men, byhis attitude toward them, in contrast to his attitude towards theirsuperiors. Of course it was demoralizing to the service. But there hasbeen a marked change in the Secretary since Bryan left the Cabinet. "From several sources I have heard the same evidence. I never heard anyone say that Mr. Daniels was really an able Secretary of the Navy, but Ihave heard many say that he improved. Personally he is a very likable man. His face is kind and gentle; hisfeatures are interestingly irregular and there are heavy wrinkles abouthis mouth and eyes--the former adding something to the already humoroustwinkle of the eyes. His voice has a _timbre_ reminding me of George M. Cohan's voice. He is hardly an orator in the sense that Bryan is, yet heis not without simple oratorical tricks--as for example a tremolo, as ofemotion, which I have heard him use in uttering such a phrase as "thegrea-_a-a-at_ Daniel _Web_-ster!" Also, he wears a low turnover collarand a black string tie--a fact which would not be worth noting did thesenot form a part of what amounts almost to a uniform worn by politiciansof more or less the Bryan type. Almost invariably there seems to besomething of the minister and something of the actor in such men. Once I asked one of the famous Washington correspondents what manner ofman Mr. Daniels was. "He's a man, " he said, "that you'd like to go with on a hunting trip inhis native North Carolina. He would be a good companion and would have alot of funny stories. He is full of kind intentions. Had you known himbefore the War, and had he liked you, and had you wished to take a rideupon a battleship, he would be disposed to order up a battleship andsend you for a ride, even if, by doing so, he muddled up the fleet alittle. That would be in line with his fixing it for moving picturepeople to act scenes on a battleship's deck--which he permitted. He sawno reason why that was not proper, and the kind of people who admire himmost are those who, likewise, see no reason why it was not proper. Thegreat lack in his nature is that of personal dignity--or even thedignity which should be his because of his position. If you are sittingbeside him and he is amiably disposed toward you, he may throw his armover your shoulder, or massage your knee while talking with you. "But if some friend of his were to go to him and convince him that helacked dignity, he is the kind of man who, in my judgment, would becomeso much the worse. That is, if he attempted to attain dignity he wouldnot achieve it, but would merely grow arbitrary. That, to my mind, showshis great ineradicable weakness, for it not only reveals him as a mantoo little for his job, but prevents his comprehending the basic thingupon which naval discipline is founded. Nevertheless, as a man you likehim. It is as Secretary of the Navy, and particularly as a WarSecretary, that you very definitely don't. " Some time after our visit to Raleigh my companion and I heard SecretaryDaniels speak in Charleston. He told a funny story and talkedgeneralities about the navy. That was before the United States enteredthe War. I do not know what he meant the speech for, but what itactually was, was a speech against preparedness. So was the speech madeon the same occasion by Lemuel P. Padgett, chairman of the HouseCommittee on Naval Affairs. It was a disingenuous speech, a speech tolull the country into confidence, a speech which, alone, should havebeen sufficient to prove Mr. Padgett's unfitness to serve on thatcommittee. Mr. Daniels argued that "Germany's preparedness had not keptGermany out of war"; that seemed enough, but there was one thing hesaid which utterly dumbfounded me. It was this: "_The Southern statesman who serves his section best, serves the countrybest. _" Let the reader reflect for a moment upon such an utterance. Carried alittle farther what would it mean? Would it not be equally logical tosay that the man who serves himself best serves the country best? It isthe theory of narrow sectionalism, and by implication, at least, thetheory of individualism as well. And sectionalism and individualism aretwo of the great curses of the United States. Compare with Mr. Daniels' words those of John Hay who, veiling finepatriotism beneath a web of delicate humor, said: "_In my bewilderment of origin and experience I can only put on anaspect of deep humility in any gathering of favorite sons, and confessthat I am nothing but an American. _" Or again, compare with them the famous words of Patrick Henry: "_I am not a Virginian, but an American. _" Clearly, one point of view or the other is wrong. Perhaps Mr. Danielshas more light on sectional questions than had Patrick Henry or JohnHay. At all events, the Charleston audience applauded. CHAPTER XXVII ITEMS FROM "THE OLD NORTH STATE" Two of the most interesting things we saw in Raleigh were the model jailon the top floor of the new County Court House, where a lot of veryhonest looking rustics were confined to await trial for making"blockade" (otherwise moonshine) whisky, and the North Carolina Hall ofHistory, which occupies a floor in the fine new State AdministrationBuilding, opposite the Capitol. At the head of the first stair landingin the Administration Building is a memorial tablet to William SidneyPorter ("O Henry"), who was born in Greensboro, North Carolina, with abust of the author, in relief, by Lorado Taft. Porter, it may bementioned, was a connection of Worth Bagley, the young ensign who wasthe only American naval officer killed in the Spanish-American War. Bagley was a brother of Mrs. Josephus Daniels. A monument to him standsin the park before the Capitol. Aside from Porter, the only author wellknown in our time whom I heard mentioned in connection with NorthCarolina, was the Rev. Thomas Dixon, whose name is most familiar, perhaps, in connection with the moving-picture called "The Birth of aNation, " taken from one of his novels. Mr. Dixon was born in the town ofShelby, North Carolina, and was for some years pastor of the TabernacleBaptist Church, Raleigh. The Hall of History, containing a great variety of State relics, is oneof the most fascinating museums I ever visited. Too much praise cannotbe given Colonel Fred A. Olds and Mr. Marshall De Lancey Haywood, of theNorth Carolina Historical Society, for making it what it is. As with theConfederate Museum in Richmond, so, here, it is impossible to give morethan a faint idea of the interest of the museum's contents. Among theexhibits of which I made note, I shall, however, mention a few. Therewas a letter written from Paris in the handwriting of John Paul Jones, requesting a copy of the Constitution of North Carolina; there was theKu Klux warning issued to one Ben Turner of Northampton County; andthere was an old newspaper advertisement signed by James J. Selby, atailor, dated at Raleigh, June 24, 1824, offering a reward of tendollars for the capture and return of two runaways: "apprentice boys, legally bound, named William and Andrew Johnson. " The last named boy wasthe same Andrew Johnson who later became a distinctly second-ratePresident of the United States. Also there was a peculiarly tragic CivilWar memento, consisting of a note which was found clasped in the deadhand of Colonel Isaac Avery, of the 6th North Carolina Regiment, who waskilled while commanding a brigade on the second day at Gettysburg. _Tell my father I died with my face to the enemy. _ These words were written by the fallen officer with his left hand, hisright arm having been rendered useless by his mortal wound. For ink heused his own life blood. Also in the museum may be seen the chart-book of Blackbeard, the pirate, who, one of the curators of the museum informed me, was the same personas Edward Teach. Blackbeard, who is commemorated in the name ofBlackbeard's Island, off the coast of South Georgia, met his fate whenhe encountered a cruiser fitted out by Governor Spotswood of Virginiaand commanded by Lieutenant Maynard. Maynard found Blackbeard's ship atOkracoke Inlet, on the North Carolina coast. Before he and his men couldboard the pirate vessel the pirates came and boarded them. Severefighting ensued, but the pirates were defeated, Maynard himself killingBlackbeard in single combat with swords. The legend around Okracoke isthat Blackbeard's bad fortune on this occasion came to him because ofthe unlucky number of his matrimonial adventures, the story being thathe had thirteen wives. It is said also that his vanquishers cut off hishead and hung it at the yard-arm of their ship, throwing his body intothe sea, and that as soon as the body struck the water the head began tocall, "Come on, Edward!" whereupon the headless body swam three timesaround the ship. Personally I think there may be some slight doubt aboutthe authenticity of this part of the story. For, while from one point ofview we might say that to swim about in such aimless fashion would bethe very thing a man without a head might do, yet from another point ofview the question arises: Would a man whose head had just been severedfrom his body feel like taking such a long swim? And what a rich lot of other historic treasures! Did you know, for instance, that Flora Macdonald, the Scottish heroine, who helped Prince Charles Edward to escape, dressed as a maidservant, after the Battle of Culloden, in 1746, came to America with her husbandand many relatives just before the Revolutionary War and settled atCross Creek (now Fayetteville), North Carolina? When General DonaldMacdonald raised the Royal standard at the time of the Revolution, herhusband and many of her kinsmen joined him, and these were latercaptured at the Battle of Moore's Creek Bridge, in 1776, and taken asprisoners to Philadelphia. Yes; and Flora Macdonald's garter-buckles arenow in the museum at Raleigh. A portrait of Captain James J. Waddell, C. S. N. , who was a member of afamous North Carolina family, recalls the story of his post-bellumcruise, in command of the _Shenandoah_, when, not knowing that the Warwas over, he preyed for months on Federal commerce in the South Seas. The museum of course contains many uniforms worn by distinguishedsoldiers of the Confederacy and many old flags, among them one said tobe the original flag of the Confederacy. This flag was designed by OrrenR. Smith of Louisburg, North Carolina, and was made in that town. Thejournals of the Confederate Congress show that countless designs for aflag were submitted, that the Committee on a Flag reported that alldesigns had been rejected and returned, the committee having adopted oneof its own; nevertheless Mr. Smith's claim to have designed the flagfinally adopted is so well supported that the Confederate Veterans, attheir General Reunion held in Richmond in 1915, passed a resolutionendorsing it. Also in the museum is the shot-riddled smokestack of the Confederate ram_Albemarle_, which was built on the farm of Peter E. Smith, on RoanokeRiver, and is said to have been the first vessel ever launched sidewise. The _Albemarle_, after a glorious career, was sunk by LieutenantCushing, U. S. N. , in his famous exploit with a torpedo carried on a poleat the bow of a launch. It will be remembered that the launch was sunkby the shock and that only Cushing and one member of his crew survived, swimming away under fire. North Carolina also claims--and not without some justice--that the firstEnglish settlement on this continent was not that at Jamestown, but theone made by Sir Walter Raleigh's expedition, under Amadas and Barlowe, which landed at Roanoke Island, August 4, 1584, and remained there forsome weeks. The Jamestown Colony, say the North Carolinians, was merelythe first to _stick_. Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, across the sound from Roanoke Island, is thesite of the first flight of a man in an aeroplane, the Wright brothershaving tried out their first crude plane there, among the Kill-Devilsand dunes. A part of the original plane is preserved in the museum. Normust I leave the museum without mentioning the bullet-riddled hat ofGeneral W. R. Cox, and his gray military coat, with a blood-stained gashin front, where a solid shell ripped across. General Cox's son, Mr. Albert Cox, was with us in the museum when we stopped to look at thisgrim souvenir. "It tore father open in front, " he said, "spoiled a coatwhich had cost him $550, Confederate, and damaged his watchchain. Nevertheless he lived to take part in the last charge at Appomattox, andthe watchchain wasn't so badly spoiled but what, with the addition ofsome new links, it could be worn. " And he showed us where the chain, which he himself was wearing at the time, had been repaired. I must say something, also, of the North Carolina College of Agricultureand Mechanic Arts, an institution doing splendid work, and doing itefficiently, both in its own buildings and through extension courses. Fifty-two per cent. Of the students at this college earn their waythrough, either wholly or in part. And better yet, eighty-three percent. Of the graduates stick to the practical work afterwards--anunusually high record. The president of the college, Dr. D. H. Hill, is a son of the Confederategeneral of the same name, who has been called "the Ironsides of theSouth. " There are a number of other important educational institutions in andabout Raleigh, and there is one which, if not important, is at allevents, a curio. This is "Latta University, " consisting of a few flimsyshacks in the negro village of Oberlin, on the outskirts of Raleigh. "Professor" Latta is one of the rare negroes who combines the habit withwhite folks of the old fashioned southern darky, and the astuteness ofthe "new issue" in high finance. Years ago he conceived the idea ofestablishing a negro school near Raleigh, to which he gave the abovementioned name. He had no funds, no credit and little or no education. Nevertheless he had ideas, the central one of which was that New Englandwas the land of plenty. With the "university" in his head, and with amiscellaneous collection of photographs, he managed to make a tour ofnorthern cities, and came back with his pockets lined. As a result heprocured a little land, put up frame buildings, gathered a few youthsabout him, and was fully launched on his career as a universitypresident. So long as the money held out, Latta was content to drift along with hisschool. When he came to the bottom of the bag he invested the last ofhis savings in another ticket north and, armed with his title of"president, " made addresses to northern audiences and replenished hisfinances with their contributions. Finally, as the great act of his career, Latta managed to get passage toEurope and was gone for several months. When he came back he had added amanuscript to his possessions: "The History of My Life and Work, " whichhe published, and which is one of the most curious volumes I have everseen. It is illustrated--largely with photographs of the author. One of thepictures is entitled, "Rev. M. L. Latta when he first commenced to buildLatta University. " This shows Latta with the tips of his fingers restingon a small table. Another picture shows him posed with one hand raisedand the other resting on what is unmistakably the same little table. Thelatter picture, however, has the caption, "Rev. M. L. Latta making aspeech in Pawtucket, R. I. , at Y. M. C. A. " Both pictures were all tooclearly taken in a photographer's studio. Another page shows us, "Rev. M. L. Latta and three of his Admirable Presidents. " In this case Lattamerely takes for himself the upper right-hand corner, the other eminentpersons pictured being ex-Presidents Roosevelt, McKinley and Cleveland. The star illustration, however, is a "made up" picture, in which aphotograph of Latta, looking spick-and-span, has been pasted onto whatis very obviously a painted picture of a hall full of people in eveningdress, all of them gazing at Latta, who stands upon the stage, dignified, suave, impressive, and all dressed-up by the brush of the"re-toucher. " This picture is called: "In the Auditorium at London, in1894. " Similar artfulness is shown in pictures of the "university"buildings, where the same frame structure, photographed from oppositeends, appears in one case as, "Young Ladies' Dormitory, " and in theother as, "Chapel and Young Men's Dormitory. " In his autobiography, Latta tells how, in the course of getting his ownschooling, he raised money by teaching a district school duringvacation. He says: After paying my expenses, I had nearly a hundred dollars to return to school with. When I returned I was able to dress very neatly indeed, and the young ladies received me very cordially on the green during social hour. Before I taught school it was a common saying among the young ladies and young men "Latta"; but after I returned with a hundred dollars it was "Mr. Latta" all over the campus. I would hear the young ladies saying among themselves, "I bet Mr. Latta will not go with you--he will correspond with me this afternoon. " I paid no attention to it. I said to myself, "Don't you see what a hundred dollars will do?" In another place the Professor reveals how he came to write his book:"Professor King, one of the teachers at Latta University said to me, 'IfI had done what you have done I would have wrote a history of my lifeseveral years ago. '" The best part of the book, however, gives us Latta's account of hisdoings in London: Just before I left the city of London I was invited by a distinguished friend, a close relation to Queen Victoria, to make a speech. He told me there would be a meeting in one of the large halls in that city. I can't just think of the name of the hall. He invited me to be present. The distinguished friend that I have just mentioned presided over the meeting. There was an immense audience present. If memory serves me right, I was the only Negro in the hall. The gentleman came to me and asked if I would make a speech. I told him I had already delivered one address, besides several sermons I had preached, and I thought that I would not speak again during my stay. I accepted the invitation, however, and spoke. The Professor then tells how he was introduced as one whose addresseswere "among the ablest ever delivered in London. " Also he gives hisspeech in full. Great events followed. His distinguished unnamed friend, the "close relation of the Queen, " came to him soon after, he says, andasked him if he had "ever been to the palace. " Continues Latta: He said to me, "If you will come over before you leave the city, and call to see me, I will take you to the palace with me and introduce you to the Queen. " I told him I would do so, that I had heard a good deal about the royal throne, and I would be very much interested to see the palace. He said he thought I would, because the government was very different from ours. I called at his residence as I had promised, and he went with me to the palace. The Queen knew him, of course. He was received very cordially. Everything shined so much like gold in the palace that I had to stop and think where I was. He introduced me to the Queen, and told her I was from North America. He told her that I spoke at a meeting he presided over, and he enjoyed my speech very much. He told her we had an immense audience, and all the people were well pleased with the speech. The Queen said she was more than glad to meet me, and she would have liked very much to have been present, and heard the speech that her cousin said I made.... She told me she hoped that would not be the last visit I would make to their city. I shook hands with her and bade her good-bye. The distinguished friend carried me and showed me the different departments of the palace, and I bade him good-bye. In Raleigh, I think, they rather like Latta. It amuses them to see himgo north and get money, and it is said that he appreciates the situationhimself. He ought to. Not many southern negroes have such comfortablehomes as "Latta University's" best kept-up building--the residence ofthe President. CHAPTER XXVIII UNDER ST. MICHAEL'S CHIMES And where St. Michael's chimes The fragrant hours exquisitely tell, Making the world one loveliness, like a true poet's rhymes. --RICHARD WATSON GILDER. It has been said--by Mrs. T. P. O'Connor, I think--that whereastwenty-five letters of introduction for New York may produce oneinvitation to dinner, one letter of introduction for Charleston willproduce twenty-five dinner invitations. If this be an exaggeration itis, at least, exaggeration in the right direction; that is, along thelines of truth. For though Charleston's famed "exclusiveness" is veryreal, making letters of introduction very necessary to strangersdesiring to see something of the city's social life, such lettersproduce, in Charleston, as Mrs. O'Connor suggests, results definite anddelightful. Immediately upon our arrival, my companion and I sent out severalletters we had brought with us, and presently calling cards began toarrive for us at the hotel. Also there came courteous little notes, delivered in most cases by hand, according to the old Charlestoncustom--a custom surviving pleasantly from times when there were nopostal arrangements, but plenty of slaves to run errands. Even to thisday, I am told, invitations to Charleston's famous St. Cecilia balls aredelivered by hand. One of the notes we received revealed to us a characteristic custom ofthe city. It contained an invitation to occupy places in the pew of adistinguished family, at St. Michael's Church, on the approaching Sundaymorning. In order to realize the significance of such an invitation onemust understand that St. Michael's is to Charleston, socially, what St. George's, Hanover Square, is to London. A beautiful old building, surrounded by a historic burial ground and surmounted by a delicatewhite spire containing fine chimes, it strongly suggests thearchitectural touch of Sir Christopher Wren; but it is not by Wren, forhe died a number of years before 1752, when the cornerstone of St. Michael's was laid. When the British left Charleston--or Charles Town, as the name of the place stands in the early records--after occupying itduring the Revolutionary War, they took with them, to the horror of thecity, the bells of St. Michael's, and the church books. The silver, however, was saved, having been concealed on a plantation some milesfrom Charleston. Later the bells were returned. Pre-Revolutionary Charleston was divided into two parishes: St. Michael's below Broad Street, and St. Philip's above. Under governmentalregulation citizens were not allowed to hold pews in both churchesunless they owned houses in both parishes. St. Michael's, being nearerthe battery, in which region are the finest old houses, had, perhaps, the wealthier congregation, but St. Philip's is, to my mind, the morebeautiful church of the two, largely because of the open space beforeit, and the graceful outward bend of Church Street in deference to theprojecting portico. When the Civil War broke out St. Philip's bells were melted and madeinto cannon, but those of St. Michael's were left in place untilcannonballs from the blockading fleet struck the church, when they weretaken down and sent, together with the silver plate, to Columbia, SouthCarolina, for safe-keeping. But Columbia was, as matters turned out, theworst place to which they could have been sent. The silver was looted bytroops under Sherman, and the bells were destroyed when the city wasburned. The fragments were, however, collected and sent to England, whence the bells originally came, and there they were recast. Theirmusic--perhaps the most characteristic of all the city's characteristicsounds--has been called "the voice of Charleston. " Of the silver only afew fragments have been returned. One piece was found in a pawn shop inNew York, and another in a small town in Ohio. _Mais que voulez-vous?C'est la guerre!_ In mentioning Charleston churches one becomes involved in a largematter. In 1801, when St. Mary's, the first Roman Catholic church in thecity, was erected, there were already eighteen churches in existence, among them the present Huguenot Church, at the corner of Church andQueen Streets, which, though a very old building, is nevertheless thesecond Huguenot Church to occupy the same site, the first, built in1687, having been destroyed in the great conflagration of 1796, whichvery nearly destroyed St. Philip's, as well. A number of the oldHuguenot families long ago became Episcopalians, and the descendants ofmany of the early French settlers of Charleston, buried in the Huguenotchurchyard, are now parishioners of St. Michael's and St. Philip's. TheHuguenot Church in Charleston is the only church of this denomination inAmerica; its liturgy is translated from the French, and services areheld in French on the third Sunday of November, January and March. AUnitarian Church was established in 1817, as an offshoot of the ScotchPresbyterian Church, the old White Meeting House of which (built 1685, used by the British as a granary, during the Revolution, and torn down1806) gave Meeting Street its name. Early in the history of theUnitarian Church, the home of which was a former Presbyterian Churchbuilding, in Archdale Street, Dr. Samuel Gilman, a young minister fromGloucester, Massachusetts, became its pastor. This was the same Dr. Gilman who wrote "Fair Harvard. " * * * * * In only one instance did the letters of introduction we sent out producea response of the kind one would not be surprised at receiving in somerushing city of the North: a telephone call. A lady, not a nativeCharlestonian, but one who has lived actively about the world, rang usup, bade us welcome, and invited us to dinner. But she was a very modern sort of lady, as witness not only her use ofthe telephone--an instrument which seems in Charleston almost ananachronism; as, for that matter, the automobile does, too--but herdinner hour, which was eight o'clock. Very few Charleston families dineat night. Dinner invitations are usually for three, or perhaps half-pastthree or four, in the afternoon, and there is a light supper in theevening. I judge that this custom holds also in some other cities of theregion, for I remember calling at the office of a large investmentcompany in Wilmington, North Carolina, to find it wearing, at three inthe afternoon, the deserted look of a New York office between twelve andone o'clock. Every one had gone home to dinner. Mr. W. D. Howells, in hischarming essay on Charleston, makes mention of this matter: "The place, " he says, "has its own laws and usages, and does not troubleitself to conform to those of other aristocracies. In London the bestsociety dines at eight o'clock, and in Madrid at nine, but in Charlestonit dines at four.... It makes morning calls as well as afternoon calls, but as the summer approaches the midday heat must invite rather to theairy leisure of the verandas, and the cool quiescence of interiorsdarkened against the fly in the morning and the mosquito atnight-fall. " The household fly is a year-round resident of Charleston, by grace of aclimate which permits--barely permits, at its coldest--the use of theopen surrey as a public vehicle in all seasons. Sometimes, during awinter cold-snap, when a ride in a surrey is not a pleasant thing tocontemplate, when residents of old mansions have shut themselves into aroom or two heated by grate fires, then the fly seems to havedisappeared, but let the cold abate a little and out he comes again likesome rogue who, after brief and spurious penance, resumes the evil ofhis ways. The stranger going to a humble Charleston house will find on the gate acoiled spring at the end of which hangs a bell. By touching the springand causing the bell to jingle he makes his presence known. The largerhouses have upon their gates bell-pulls or buttons which cause bells toring within. This is true of all houses which have front gardens. Thegarden gate constitutes, by custom, a barrier comparable in a degreewith the front door of a Northern house; a usage arising, doubtless, outof the fact that almost all important Charleston houses have not onlygardens, but first and second story galleries, and that in hot weatherthese galleries become, as it were, exterior rooms, in which no smallpart of the family life goes on. Many Charleston houses have theirgardens to the rear, and themselves abut upon the sidewalk. Calling atsuch houses, you ring at what seems to be an ordinary front door, butwhen the door is opened you find yourself entering not upon a hall, butupon an exterior gallery running to the full depth of the house, downwhich you walk to the actual house door. In still other houses--and thisis true of some of the most notable mansions of the city, including thePringle, Huger, and Rhett houses--admittance is by a street door of thenormal sort, opening upon a hall, and the galleries and gardens are atthe side or back, the position of the galleries in relation to the housedepending upon what point of the compass the house faces, the desirablething being to get the breezes which are prevalently from the southwestand the westward. * * * * * Charleston is very definitely two things: It is old, and it is a city. There is the story of a young lady who asked a stranger if he did notconsider it a unique town. He agreed that it was, and inquired whether she knew the derivation ofthe word "unique. " When she replied negatively he informed her that the word came from theLatin _unus_, meaning "one, " and _equus_, meaning "a horse"; otherwise"a one-horse town. " This tale, however, is a libel, for despite the general superstition ofchambers of commerce to the contrary, the estate of cityhood is notnecessarily a matter of population nor yet of commerce. That is one ofthe things which, if we were unaware of it before, we may learn fromCharleston. Charleston is not great in population; it is not very great, as seaports go, in trade. Were cities able to talk with one another asmen can, and as foolishly as men often do, I have no doubt that many ahustling middle-western city would patronize Charleston, precisely as aparvenue might patronize a professor of astronomy; nevertheless, Charleston has a stronger, deeper-rooted city entity than all the citiesof the Middle West rolled into one. This is no exaggeration. Wheremodern American cities strive to be like one another, Charleston strivesto be like nothing whatsoever. She does not have to strive to _be_something. She _is_ something. She understands what most other Americancities do not understand, and what, in view of our almost unrestrictedimmigration laws, it seems the National Government cannot be made tounderstand: namely, that mere numbers do not count for everything; thatthere is the matter of quality of population to be considered. Therefore, though Charleston's white population is no greater than thatof many a place which would own itself frankly a small town, Charlestonknows that by reason of the character of its population it is a greatcity. And that is precisely the case. Charleston people are city people_par excellence_. They have the virtues of city people, the vices ofcity people, and the civilization and sophistication of those who residein the most aristocratic capitals. For that is another thing thatCharleston is; it is unqualifiedly the aristocratic capital of theUnited States; the last stronghold of a unified American upper class;the last remaining American city in which Madeira and Port and_noblesse oblige_ are fully and widely understood, and are employedaccording to the best traditions. I have been told of a lady who remarked that Charleston was "the biggestlittle place" she ever saw. I say the same. The littleness of the place, it is sometimes pointed out, is expressed by the "vast cousinship" whichconstitutes Charleston society, but it is to my mind expressed muchbetter in the way bicyclists leave their machines leaning against thecurb at the busiest parts of main shopping streets. Its bigness, uponthe other hand, is expressed by the homes from which some of thosebicyclists come, by the cultivation which exists in those homes, and hasexisted there for generations, by the amenities of life as they arecomprehended and observed, by the wealth of the city's tradition and therichness of its background. Nor is that background a mere arras ofrecollection. It exists everywhere in the wood and brick and stone ofancient and beautiful buildings, in iron grilles and balconiesabsolutely unrivaled in any other American city, and equaled only inEuropean cities most famous for their artistry in wrought iron. Itexists also in venerable institutions--the first orphanage establishedin the United States; the William Enston Home; the Public Library, oneof the first and now one of the best libraries in the country; the artmuseum, the St. Cecilia Society, and various old clubs. More intimatelyit exists within innumerable old homes, which are treasure-houses offine old English and early American furniture and ofportraits--portraits by Sir Joshua, by Stuart, Copley, Trumbull, andmost of the other portrait painters who painted from the time theColonies began to become civilized to the time of the Civil War--amongthem S. F. B. Morse, who, I believe it is not generally known, made aconsiderable reputation as a portrait painter, in Charleston, before hemade himself a world figure by inventing the telegraph. Even without seeing these private treasures the visitor to Charlestonwill see enough to convince him that Charleston is indeed"unique"--though not in the sense implied in the story--that it is themost intimately beautiful city upon the American continent. To call Charleston "unique, " and immediately thereafter to liken it toother places may seem paradoxical. These likenesses are, however, evanescent. It is not that Charleston is actually like other places, butthat here in a church building, there in an old tile roof, wrought irongate, or narrow cobbled street, the visitor will find himself delicatelyreminded of Old World towns and cities. Mr. Howells, for example, foundon the East Battery a faint suggestion of Venetian palaces, and in thedoorway and gates of the Smyth house, in Legaré Street, I was struck, also, with a Venetian suggestion so strange and subtle that I could notquite account for it. At night some of the old narrow streets, betweenMeeting Street and Bay, made me think of streets in the old part ofParis, on the left bank of the Seine; or again I would stop before anancient brick house which was Flemish, or which--in the case of housesdiagonally opposite St. Philip's Church--exampled the rude architectureof an old French village, stucco walls colored and chipped, red tileroof and all. The busy part of King Street, on a Saturday night when thefleet was in, made me think of Havana, and the bluejackets seemed to me, for the moment, to be American sailors in a foreign port; and once, onthe same evening's walk, when I chanced to look to the westward acrossMarion Square, I found myself transported to the central _place_ of aBelgian city, with a slope-shouldered church across the way masqueradingas a _hôtel de ville_, and the sidewalk lights at either side figuringin my imagination as those of pleasant terrace cafés. So it was always. The very hotel in which we stayed--the Charleston--is like no otherhotel in the United States, though it has about it something whichcaused me to think of the old Southern, in St. Louis. Still, it is notlike the Southern. It is more like some old hotel in a provincial cityof France--large and white, with a pleasing unevenness of floor, and, best of all, a great inner court which, in provincial France, might be a_remise_, but is here a garden. If I mistake not, carriages and coachesdid in earlier times drive through the arched entrance, now the maindoorway, and into this courtyard, where passengers alighted and baggagewas taken down. The Planter's Hotel, now a ruin, opposite the HuguenotChurch, antedates all others in the city, and used to be the fashionablegathering place for wealthy Carolinians and their families who came toCharleston annually for the racing season. The fact that Charleston has a rather important art museum and that itslibrary is one of the four oldest town libraries in the country, no lessthan the fact that the city was, in its day, a great racing center, contribute to an understanding of the spirit of the place. The presentCharleston Library is not the first public library started in the city. Not by any means! For it was founded as late as 1748, and the originalpublic library of Charleston was the first one of the kind in thecountry, having been started about the beginning of the 18th century. Old records of this library still exist, showing that citizens voted somany skins to its support. Probably the most valuable possession of thepresent library are its files of Charleston newspapers, dating from 1732to the present time, including three files covering the War of 1812, andtwo covering the Civil War. These files are consulted by persons fromall over the United States, for historical material. The library hasrecently moved into a good modern building. In the old building therewas a separate entrance at the back for ladies, and it is only latelythat ladies have been allowed full membership in the Library Society, and have entered by the front door. The former custom, I suppose, represented certain old-school sentiments as to "woman's place" such asI find expressed in "Reminiscences of Charleston, " by Charles Fraser, published in 1854. Declares Mr. Fraser: The ambition for literary distinction is now very prevalent with the sex. But without any disposition to undervalue their claims, whenever I hear of a female traveler clambering the Alps, or describing the classic grounds of Greece and Italy, publishing her musings in the holy land, or revealing the mysteries of the harem, I cannot but think that for every success obtained some appropriate duty has been neglected. I except the poetess, for hers are the effusions of the heart and the imagination, prompted by nature and uttered because they are irrepressible. Many females travel for the purpose of writing and publishing books--whilst Mrs. Heman's, Mrs. Osgood's, and Mrs. Sigourney's volumes may be regarded as grateful offerings to the muse in return for her inspiration. It is hard not to be irritated, even now, with the man who wrote that, especially in view of the fact that the two most interesting books tocome out of the Carolinas of recent years are both by women: one of thembeing "Charleston--the Place and the People, " by Mrs. St. JulienRavenel, a volume any chapter of which is worth the whole of Mr. Fraser's "Reminiscences, " and the other "A Woman Rice-Planter, " by"Patience Pennington, " otherwise Mrs. John Julius Pringle (née Alston), who lives on her plantation near Georgetown, South Carolina. The Carolina Jockey Club subscribed regularly to the support of thelibrary, and now that that club is no more, its chief memorial may besaid to rest there. This club was probably the first racing club in thecountry, and it is interesting to note that the old cement pillars fromthe Washington Race Course at Charleston were taken, when that coursewas abandoned, and set up at the Belmont Park course, near New York. The turf history of Carolina began (according to the "South CarolinaGazette, " dated February 1, 1734) in that same year, on the firstTuesday in February. One of the prizes was a saddle and bridle valued at£20. The riders were white men and the course was a green at CharlestonNeck, near where the lower depot of the South Carolina Railroad nowstands. In a "History of the Turf in South Carolina, " which I found inthe library, I learned that Mr. Daniel Ravenel bred fine horses on hisplantation, Wantoot, in St. John's Parish, as early as 1761, that Mr. Frank Huger had imported an Arabian horse, and that many other gentlemenwere importing British running horses, and were engaged in breeding. Thebook refers to the old York Course, later called the New Market Course. A long search did not, however, enable me to establish the date on whichthe Jockey Club was founded. It was clearly a going institution in 1792, for under date of Wednesday, February 15, in that year, I found therecord of a race for the Jockey Club Purse--"four mile-heats--weight forage--won by Mr. Lynch's _Foxhunter_, after a well contested race of fourheats, beating Mr. Sumter's _Ugly_, who won the first heat; Col. Washington's _Rosetta_, who won the second heat; Capt. Alston's _BetsyBaker_, " etc. , etc. The Civil War practically ended the Jockey Club, though a feeble effortwas, for a time, made to carry it on. In 1900 the club properties andthe funds remaining in the club treasury were transferred as anendowment to the Charleston Library Society. The proceeds from thisendowment add to the library's income by about two thousand dollarsannually. Other items of interest in connection with the Carolina JockeyClub are that Episcopal Church conventions used to be held in Charlestonduring the racing season, so that the attending parsons might take inthe races; that the Jockey Club Ball used to be the great ball of theCharleston season, as the second St. Cecilia Ball became later and nowis; that the Charleston Club, a most delightful club, founded in 1852, was an outgrowth of the Jockey Club; and that the Jockey Club's oldSherries, Ports and Madeiras went to New York where they were purchasedby Delmonico--among them a Calderon de la Barca Madeira of 1848, and aPeter Domecq Sherry of 1818. Mr. S. A. Nies, one of the old employees of Delmonico's, tells me thatthe Calderon de la Barca of the above mentioned year is all gone, butthat Delmonico's still has a few bottles of the same wine of the vintageof 1851. "This wine, " Mr. Nies said, "is listed on our wine card at $6. 00 perbottle. It is not the best Madeira that we have, although it is a veryfine one. Recently we served a bottle of Thompson's Auction Madeira, ofwhich the year is not recognizable on the label, but which to myknowledge was an old wine forty years ago. This wine brought $25. 00 abottle and was worth it. "The Peter Domecq Sherry of 1818 does not figure on our wine list as wehave but a few bottles left. It is $20. 00 a bottle. "The prices brought to-day by old Madeiras and Sherries do not representtheir real values. One has but to look at the compound interest ofsavings banks to realize that these wines should be selling at fourtimes the price they are; but unfortunately, since the advent of Scotchwhisky in the American market, the American palate seems to havedeteriorated, and if the wines were listed at the price they ought tobring, we could not sell them. As it is, the demand for the very rareold wines is irregular and infrequent. We keep them principally topreserve our reputation; not for the money there is in it. " CHAPTER XXIX HISTORY AND ARISTOCRACY The cool shade of aristocracy.... --SIR W. F. P. NAPIER. Just now, when we are being unpleasantly awakened to the fact that ourvaunted American melting-pot has not been doing its work; when some ofus are perhaps wondering whether the quality of metal produced by thecrucible will ever be of the best; it is comforting to reflect that acity whose history, traditions and great names are so completelyinvolved with Americanism in its highest forms, a city we think of asultra-American, is peculiarly a melting-pot product. The original Charleston colonists were English and Irish, sent out underColonel Sayle, in 1669, by the Lords Proprietors, to whom Charles II hadgranted a tract of land in the New World, embracing the present Statesof Georgia and North and South Carolina. These colonists touched at PortRoyal--where the Marine Barracks now are (and ought not to be)--butsettled on the west side of the Ashley River, across from whereCharleston stands. It was not until 1680 that they transferred theirsettlement to the present site of the city, naming the place CharlesTown in honor of the King. In 1671 the colony contained 263 men able tobear arms, 69 women and 59 children. In 1674, when New York was taken bythe English from the Dutch, a number of the latter moved down to theCarolina colony. French Protestants had, at that time, already begun toarrive, and more came after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, in1685. In 1680 Germans came. By 1684 there were four Huguenot settlementsin Carolina. In 1696 a Quaker was governor for a short time, and in thesame year a body of New Englanders arrived from Dorchester, Massachusetts, establishing a town which they called Dorchester, nearthe present town of Summerville, a few miles from Charleston. At thattime a number of Scottish immigrants had already arrived, though morecame in 1715 and 1745, after the defeat of the Highlanders. From 1730 to1750 new colonists came from Switzerland, Holland and Germany. As earlyas 1740 there were several Jewish families in Charleston, and some ofthe oldest and most respected Jewish families in the United States stillreside there. Also, when the English drove the Acadians from Canada in1755, twelve hundred of them immigrated to Carolina. By 1790, then, thecity had a population of a little more than 15, 000, which was about halfthe number of inhabitants then contained in the city of New York. In thecase of Charleston, however, more than one half her people, at thattime, were negroes, slavery having been introduced by Sir John Yeamans, an early British governor. By 1850 the city had about 20, 000 whitecitizens and 23, 000 blacks, and by 1880 some 7, 500 more, of whichadditional number two thirds were negroes. The present population isestimated at 65, 000, which makes Charleston a place of about the size ofRockford, Illinois, Sioux City, Iowa, or Covington, Kentucky; but as, inthe case of Charleston, more than half this number is colored, Charleston is, if the white population only is considered, a place ofapproximately 30, 000 inhabitants, or, roughly speaking, about the sizeof Poughkeepsie, N. Y. , or Colorado Springs, Colorado. In area, also, Charleston is small, covering less than four squaremiles. This is due to the position of the city on a peninsula formed bythe convergence and confluence of the Ashley and Cooper Rivers, whichmeet at Charleston's beautiful Battery precisely as the Hudson River andthe East River meet at the Battery in New York. The shape of Charleston, indeed, greatly resembles that of Manhattan Island, and though herharbor and her rivers are neither so large nor so deep as those of theport of New York, they are altogether adequate to a considerablemaritime activity. The Charleston Chamber of Commerce (which, like everything else inCharleston dates from long ago, having been founded in 1748) quotesPresident Taft as calling this port the most convenient one to Panama--astatement which the New Orleans Chamber of Commerce is in position todispute. The fact remains, however, that Charleston's position on themap justifies the Chamber of Commerce's alliterative designation of theplace as "The Plumb-line Port to Panama. " This is so true that ifCharleston should one day be shaken loose from its moorings by anearthquake--something not unknown there--and should fall due south uponthe map, it would choke up the mouth of the Canal, were not Cubainterposed, to catch the debris. Before the Civil War, Charleston was the greatest cotton shipping portof the country, and it still handles large amounts of cotton and rice. Until a few years ago South Carolina was the chief rice producing Statein the Union, and history records that the first rice planted in theCarolinas, if not in the country, was secured and sown by an earlygovernor of Carolina, Thomas Smith, who died in 1694. It may be noted inpassing that this Thomas Smith bore the title "Landgrave, " the LordsProprietors, in their plan of government for the colony--which, by theway, was drawn up by the philosopher Locke--having provided for acolonial nobility with titles. The titles "Baron" and "Landgrave" werehereditary in several Charleston families, and constitute, so far as Iknow, the only purely American titles of nobility that ever existed. Descendants of the old Landgraves still reside in Charleston, and in atleast one instance continue to use the word "Landgrave" in connectionwith the family name. The prosperity of Charleston since the Civil War has depended more, perhaps, than on any other single product, upon the trade in phosphate, large deposits of which underlie this region. The real wonder of Charleston, the importance of the place amongAmerican cities, cannot, however, be said to have resulted primarilyfrom commerce (though her commerce is growing), or from greatness ofpopulation (though Charleston is the metropolis of the Carolinas), butis involved with matters of history, tradition and beauty. The mantle ofgreatness was assumed by this city in colonial times, and has never beenlaid aside. Among the most distinguished early Americans were manyCharlestonians, and in not a few instances the old blood still enduresthere, and even the old names: such names as Washington, Pinckney, Bull, Pringle, Rutledge, Middleton, Drayton, Alston, Huger, Agassiz, Ravenel, Izard, Gadsden, Rhett, Calhoun, Read, De Saussure, Lamar and Brawley, tomention but a few. * * * * * Charleston's early history is rich in pirate stories of the mostthrilling moving-picture variety. Blackbeard, Stede Bonnet and otherdisciples of the Jolly Roger preyed upon Charleston shipping. Bonnetonce held a Mr. Samuel Wragg of Charleston prisoner aboard his shipthreatening to send his head to the city unless the unfortunate manshould be ransomed--the demand being for medicines of various kinds. Colonel Rhett, of Charleston, captured Bonnet and his ship after asavage fight, but Bonnet soon after escaped from the city in woman'sclothing. Still later he was retaken, hanged, as he deserved to be, andburied along with forty of his band at a point now covered by theBattery Garden, that exquisite little park at the tip of the city, whichis the favorite promenade of Charlestonians. In another fight whichoccurred just off Charleston bar, a crew of citizens under GovernorRobert Johnson defeated the pirate Richard Worley, who was killed in theaction, and captured his ship, which, when the hatches were openedproved to be full of prisoners, thirty-six of them women. Even as lateas the period of the War of 1812--a war which did not affect Charlestonsave in the way of destroying her shipping and causing poverty anddistress--a case of brutal piracy is recorded. The daughter of AaronBurr, Theodosia by name, was married to Governor Joseph Alston. Afterher father's trial for high treason, when he was disgraced and broken, she tried to comfort him, for the two were peculiarly devoted. Intendingto visit him she set sail from Charleston for New York in a ship whichwas never heard from again. Somewhere I have read a description of thedistraught father's long vigils at New York, where he would stand gazingout to sea long after all hope had been abandoned by others. Mrs. St. Julien Ravenel tells us in her charming book, that thirty years later anold sailor, dying in a village of the North Carolina coast, confessedthat he had been one of a pirate crew which had captured the ship andcompelled the passengers to walk the plank. This story is also given byCharles Gayarré, who says the pirate chief was none other than DominickYou, who fought under Jackson at the Battle of New Orleans, and isburied in that city. The husband and father of Mrs. Alston were sparedthe ghastly tale, Mrs. Ravenel says, since both were already in theirgraves when the sailor's deathbed confession solved the mystery. In the Revolution, Charleston played an important part. Men ofCharleston were, of course, among the signers of the Declaration ofIndependence. Charles Cotesworth Pinckney, who gave us the immortalmaxim: "Millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute!" who was onWashington's staff, was later Ambassador to France and president-generalof the Sons of the Cincinnati, was a Charlestonian of theCharlestonians, and lies buried in St. Michael's. Such Revolutionarynames as Marion, Laurens, William Washington, Greene, Hampton, Moultrieand Sumter are associated with the place, and two of these are reëchoedin the names of those famous forts in Charleston harbor on whichattention was fixed at the outbreak of the Civil War: Moultrie andSumter--the latter, target for the first shot fired in the conflict. Nearly thirty years before the Civil War, Charleston had distinguishedherself in the arts of peace by producing the first locomotive tried inthe United States, and by constructing the first consecutive hundredmiles of railroad ever built in the world, and now, with the War, shedistinguished herself by initiating other mechanical devices of verydifferent character--a semi-submersible torpedo boat and the firstsubmarine to torpedo a hostile war vessel. True, David Bushnell ofConnecticut did construct a crude sort of submarine during theRevolutionary War, and succeeded in getting under a British ship withthe machine, but he was unable to fasten his charge of powder and hiseffort consequently failed. Robert Fulton also experimented withsubmarines, or "plunging boats" as he called them, and was encouragedfor a time by Napoleon I. The little _David_ of the Confederate navy issometimes referred to as the first submarine but the _David_ was notactually an underwater boat, but a torpedo boat which could run awash, with her funnels and upper works slightly out of water. She was acigar-shaped vessel thirty-three feet long, built of wood, propelled bysteam, and carrying her torpedo on a pole, forward. Dr. St. JulienRavenel of Charleston and Captain Theodore Stoney devised the craft, andshe was built by funds subscribed by Charleston merchants. In command ofLieutenant W. T. Glassell, C. S. N. , and with three other men aboard, shetorpedoed the United States ship _New Ironsides_, flagship of the fleetblockading Charleston. The _New Ironsides_ was crippled, but not lost. After this United States vessels blockading Charleston protectedthemselves with booms. This resulted in the construction of an actualundersea torpedo boat, the _Hunley_. This extraordinary vessel has beenspoken of as having had the appearance of a huge iron coffin, as well asthe attributes of one, for she proved a death-trap for successive crewson three trial trips. As there were no electric motors or gasolineengines in those days, she was run by hand, eight men crowded togetherturning a crank-shaft which operated her propeller. After repeatedsinkings, she was raised, manned by new men, and sent forth again. Finally, in Charleston harbor she succeeded in destroying the UnitedStates man-o'-war _Housatonic_, but at the same time went down, herself, drowning or suffocating all on board. A memorial drinking fountain onthe Battery, at the foot of Meeting Street, commemorates "the men of theConfederate Army and Navy, first in marine warfare to employ torpedoboats--1863-1865. " On this memorial are given the names of sixteen menwho perished in torpedo attacks on the blockading fleet, among themHorace L. Hunley, set down as inventor of the submarine boat. The namesof fourteen others who were lost are unknown. * * * * * Lord William Campbell, younger son of the Duke of Argyll, was Britishgovernor at Charleston when the Revolution broke out. He had married aMiss Izard, of Charleston, who brought him a dowry of fifty thousandpounds, a large sum in those times. Their home was in a famous old housewhich stands on Meeting Street, and it was from the back yard of thishouse that Lord William fled in a rowboat to a British man-o'-war, whenit became evident that Charleston was no longer hospitable torepresentatives of the Crown. Later his wife followed him to GreatBritain, where they remained. The Pringle House, as it is now called, formerly the Brewton house, perhaps the most superb old residence in the city, was the headquartersof General Sir Henry Clinton, after he had captured Charleston, and wasthe residence of Lord Rawdon, the unpleasant British commander whosucceeded Clinton. Cornwallis lived outside the town at Drayton Hall, which still stands, on the Ashley River. After his capture Cornwalliswas exchanged for Henry Laurens, a distinguished Charlestonian, who, though he wept over the Declaration of Independence, was before longpresident of the Continental Congress, and later went to France, wherehe was associated with Benjamin Franklin, John Jay and John Adams innegotiating the treaty of peace and independence for America. Mrs. Ravenel says in her book that Sherman destroyed all but one of thesuperb old houses on the Ashley River, and when we consider thatSherman's troops invested Charleston just before the end of the War, andreflect upon the general's notorious "carelessness with fire, " we havecause for national rejoicing that Charleston, with its unmatchedbuildings and their splendid contents, was not laid in ashes, as wereAtlanta and Columbia. Had Sherman burned Charleston it would be hard foreven a Yankee to forgive him. Even without the aid of the Northern general, the city has been able tofurnish disastrous conflagrations of her own, over a period of twocenturies and more, and I find in the quaint reminiscences of CharlesFraser, already alluded to, a lamentation that, because of fires, manyof the old landmarks have disappeared, and the city is "losing its lookof picturesque antiquity. " To make matters worse, there came, in 1886, an earthquake, rendering seven eighths of the houses uninhabitable untilrepairs aggregating some millions of dollars had been made. Up to thetime of the earthquake the old mansion from which Lord William Campbellfled at the beginning of the Revolution, was adorned by a battlementedroof. It is recorded that when the shock came, an Englishman was in thehouse, and that in his eagerness to get outdoors he pushed others aside. As he reached the front steps, however, the battlements came crashingdown. He was the one person from that house who perished, and his onlymonument is the patch of comparatively new stone where the broken stepshave been repaired. * * * * * My companion and I achieved entrance to one of the famous old Charlestonhouses which we had been particularly anxious to see, through thekindness of a lady to whom we had a letter of introduction, who happenedto be a relative of the owner of the house. It seems necessary to explain, at this juncture, that in Charleston, many proper names of foreign origin have been corrupted inpronunciation. A few examples will suffice: The Dutch name Vanderhorst, conspicuous in the early annals of the city, has come to be pronounced"Van-Dross"; Legaré, the name of another distinguished old family, commemorated in the name of Legaré Street, is pronounced "Legree"; DeSaussure has become "Dess-a-sore, " with the accent on the firstsyllable, and Prioleau is called "Pray-low. " I was unaware of these matters when my companion and I visited theancient house I speak of. Though I had heard the name of the proprietorof the mansion spoken many times, and recognized it as a distinguishedCharleston name, I had never seen it written; however, without havinggiven the matter much thought, I had, unfortunately, reached my ownconclusions as to how it was spelled. Still more unfortunately, while Iwas delighting in the drawing-room of that wonderful old house, with theportraits of ladies in powdered hair and men in cocked hats and periwigslooking down upon me from the walls, I was impelled to reassure myselfas to the spelling of the name. Let us assume that the name sounded like"Bowfee. " That was not it but it will suffice for illustration. "I suppose, " I said to our charming cicerone, "that the family name isspelled 'B-o-w-f-e-e'?" I had no sooner spoken than I realized, with a sudden access of horrorwhat I had done. In guessing I had sinned, but in guessing wrong I hadruined myself. All this came to me instantly and positively, as by apsychic message of unparalleled definiteness from the dead ancestorswhose portraits hung upon the paneling. It was as though they had joinedin a great ghostly shout of execration, which was the more awful becauseit was a silent shout that jarred upon the senses rather than the eardrums. Then, before the lady replied, while the sound of my own voicesaying "B-o-w-f-e-e" seemed to reverberate through the apartment, Isuddenly comprehended the spirit of Charleston: understood that, compared with Charleston, Boston is as a rough mining camp, while NewYork hardly exists at all, being a mere miasma of vulgarity. There was a long silence, in which the lady to whom I had spoken gazedfrom the window at the rainy twilight. Her silence, I am persuaded, wasnot intended to rebuke me; she was not desirous of crushing me; she wasmerely stunned. Indeed, when at last she spoke, there was in her tonesomething of gentleness. "The name, " she said, "is Beaufoy--B-e-a-u-f-o-y. It is of Huguenotorigin. " Passionately I wished for an earthquake--one that might cause the floorto open beneath me, or the roof to fall through and blot me from hersight. How to get away?--that was my one thought. To cover myembarrassment, I tried to make small-talk about a medallion of anEmperor of France, which hung upon the paneling. The lady said it hadbeen given to an ancestor of the Beaufoys by the Emperor himself. That, for some reason, seemed to make things rather worse. I wished I had notdragged the Emperor into the conversation. "It is getting dark, " I said. "It is time we were going. " This the lady did not dispute. Of our actual farewells and exit from that house, I remember not adetail, save that, as we departed, I knew that we should never see thislady again; that for her I no longer existed, and that in my downfall Ihad dragged my companion with me. The next thing I definitely recollectis walking swiftly up Meeting Street beside him, in the rain anddarkness of late afternoon. All the way back to the hotel we strode sideby side in pregnant silence; neither did we speak as we ascended to ourrooms. Some time later, while I was dressing for dinner, he entered mybedchamber. At the moment, as it happened, I was putting cuff-links intoa dress shirt. With this task I busied myself, dreading to look up. Inthe meantime I felt his eyes fixed upon me. When the links were in, Idelayed meeting his gaze by buttoning the little button in onesleeve-vent, above the cuff. "Do you mean to say you button those idiotic little buttons?" hedemanded. "I didn't know that anybody ever did that!" "I don't always, " I answered apologetically. "I should hope not!" he returned. Then he continued: "Do you rememberwhere we are to be taken to-morrow?" "Yes, " I said. "To the Pringle house. " "Well, " said he, "I just came in to ask you, as a favor, not to get offany fanciful ideas that you may have thought up, about the way to spellPringle. " CHAPTER XXX POLITICS, A NEWSPAPER AND ST. CECILIA Charleston is very definitely a part of South Carolina. That is notalways the case with a State and its chief city. It is not the case withthe State and the City of New York. New York City has about the samerelation to New York State as a goldpiece has to a large table-top onone corner of which it lies. Charleston, on the other hand, harmonizesinto its state setting, as a beautiful ancient vase harmonizes into thesetting afforded by some rare old cabinet. Moreover, Charleston'sindividuality amongst cities is more or less duplicated in SouthCarolina's individuality amongst States. South Carolina is a State asdefinitely marked--though in altogether different ways--as Kansas orCalifornia. It is a State that does nothing by halves. It hasrattlesnakes larger and more venomous than other rattlesnakes, and ithas twice had the disgraceful Cole Blease, otherwise"To-hell-with-the-Constitution" Blease, as governor. For senator it hasthe old war-horse Tillman, a man so admired for his power that, in oureasy-going way, we almost forgive his dives into the pork-barrel. Tillman has been to South Carolina more or less what the late SenatorHale was to his section of New England. Hale grabbed a navy yard forKittery, Maine (the Portsmouth yard), where there never should have beena navy yard; Tillman performed a like service, under like circumstances, for Charleston. Both are purely political yards. Naval officers opposedthem, but were overridden by politicians, as so often happens. For intime of peace the army and the navy are political footballs, and it isonly when war comes that the politicians cease kicking them about andcry: "Now, football, turn into a cannon-ball, and save your country andyour country's flag!" For obviously, if the flag cannot be saved, thepoliticians will be without a "starry banner" to gesture at and roarabout. Now, of course, with war upon us, any navy yard is a blessing, and theCharleston yard is being used, as it should be, to the utmost. But intime of peace the yard comes in for much criticism from the navy, thecontention being that it is not favorably located from a strategic pointof view, and that, owing to bars in the Cooper River, up which it issituated, it cannot be entered by large ships. The point is also madethat while labor is cheaper at this yard than at any other, skilledmetal-workers are hard to get. Friends of the yard contend, upon theother hand, that it is desirable because of its convenience to theCaribbean Sea, where, according to naval theory, this country will someday have to fight a battle in defense of the Panama Canal. The Pensacolayard, it is pointed out, is exposed and can be bombarded, whereas theCharleston yard is far enough inland to be safe from sea attack. As tothe channel, it is navigable for destroyers and other smallcraft--though whether it would be so to a large destroyer which had beeninjured and was drawing more water than usual, I do not know. Thepractical situation of the navy, with regard to this and some of theother political yards, is like that of some man who has been left a lotof heterogeneous houses, scattered about town, none of them suited tohis purposes, and who is obliged to scatter his family amongst them asbest he can, or else abandon them and build a new house. We have beenfollowing the former course, and are only now preparing to adopt thelatter, by establishing a naval base at Norfolk, as mentioned in anearlier chapter. Charleston politics have been peculiar. Until a few years ago thegovernment of the city had long rested in the hands of a few oldfamilies, among them the Gadsdens and the Rhetts. The overthrow of thisancient and aristocratic rule by the election to the mayoralty of JohnP. Grace, an alleged "friend of the people, " was spoken of by the NewYork "Sun, " as being not a mere change in municipal government, but thefall of a dynasty which had controlled the city politically, financiallyand socially for a century and a half. Mr. Grace may be dismissed withthe remark that he supported Blease and that he is editor of therecently founded Charleston "American, " which I have heard called aHearst newspaper, and which certainly wears the Hearst look about it. On January 19, 1917, this newspaper printed a full account of the ballof the St. Cecilia Society, Charleston's most sacred socialorganization. Never before in the history of the St. Cecilia Society, covering a period of a century and a half, had an account of one of itsballs, and the names of those attending, been printed. The publicationcaused a great stir in the city and resulted in an editorial, said tohave been written by Grace, which appeared next day, and which revealssomething of Charleston tradition and something of Grace, as well. Itwas headed "The Saint Cecilia Ball, " and ran as follows: We carried on yesterday a full account of the famous Saint Cecilia Ball. From the foundation of Charleston until the present moment it has been regarded as an unwritten law that the annual events of this ancient society shall not be touched upon. Of course it was permissible for the thirty-five thousand poor white people of Charleston to talk about the Saint Cecilia, and to indulge in the thrilling sensation that comes to the proverbial cat when she looks at a queen. Some of them, moved by curiosity, even ventured within half a block of the Hibernian Hall to observe from afar the gay festivities. The press being forbidden to cover Saint Cecilia events, there grew up in the vulgar mind weird stories of what went on behind the scenes. While the Saint Cecilia has enjoyed the happy privilege of journalistic silence, it has, therefore, correspondingly suffered on the tongue of gossip. The truth is that we always knew that the Saint Cecilia was just about the same as every other social collection of human beings--a little gaiety flavored with a little frivolity; nothing more, nothing less. There was a time when this society was the extreme limit of social exclusiveness. It was an anachronism on American soil, a matter of pure heredity, the right to membership in which was as fixed as Median law, but transcendently above the median line. Now, however, since the society, in keeping with the spirit of the age, has relaxed its rules to admit from year to year (if, indeed, only a few now and then) members whose blood is far from indigo, we think it perfectly legitimate for the newspaper, which represents ALL classes of people, to invade the quondam sanctity of its functions which are now being OPENED to all classes. Following this, the editorial quoted from Don Seitz's book, telling howthe elder James Gordon Bennett was in the habit of mocking "events towhich he was not invited, " and how, in 1840, he managed to get one ofhis reporters into "Henry I Brevoort's fancy dress ball, the socialevent of the period. " The quotation from Mr. Seitz's book ends with thefollowing: "A far cry from this to 1894, when Ward McAlister, arbiter ofthe '400' at Mrs. Astor's famous ball, became a leader on social topicsfor the New York 'World. ' It took many years for this umbrage at thereporting of social events to wear off and make the reporter welcome. Indeed, there is one place yet on the map where it is not even nowpermitted to record a social event, though the editors and owners ofpapers may be among those present. That is Charleston, SouthCarolina.... " The Charleston editor then resumes his own reflections in this wise: We regret to say, and it is the regret of our life, that we were not one of the editors present at the Saint Cecilia. This, therefore, relieves us of the implied condition to adhere any longer to this silly and absurd custom which, in the language of this great newspaper man, has made its last stand "on the map" at Charleston. We are glad that we have forever nailed, in the opinion of one hundred million ordinary people who make the American nation, the absurdity that there is any social event so sacred, any people so DIFFERENT from the rest of us poor human beings, that we dare not speak of them. Just why private social events should be, as Mr. Grace seems to assume, particularly the property of the press, it is somewhat difficult toexplain, unless we do so by accepting as fundamental the theory that thepress is justified in invading personal privacy purely in order topander, on the one hand to the new breed of vulgar rich which thrives on"publicity, " and on the other, to the breed of vulgar poor which enjoysreading that supremest of American inanities, the "society page. " What Mr. Seitz said in his book as to the reticence of Charlestonnewspapers, where society is concerned, is, however, generallytrue--amazingly so to one who has become hardened to the attitude of themetropolitan press elsewhere. The society columns of Charleston papershardly ever print the names of the city's real aristocrats, and in thepast they have gone much farther than this, for they have been known tosuppress important news stories in which prominent citizens wereunpleasantly involved. It may be added that earthquakes are evidentlyclassed as members of the aristocracy, since occasional tremors felt inthe city are pointedly ignored by the press. Whether or not the paperedited by the fearless Mr. Grace ignores these manifestations I amunable to say. One can easily fancy his taking a courageous stand onsuch a subject as well as upon social matters. Indeed, with a few slightchanges, his editorial upon the St. Cecilia ball, might be made to serveequally well after an earthquake shock. He might say: The press being forbidden to cover earthquakes, there grew up in the vulgar mind weird stories of what went on behind the scenes. While the earthquakes have enjoyed the happy privilege of journalistic silence, they have, therefore, correspondingly suffered on the tongue of gossip. He could also make the point that since, "in keeping with the spirit ofthe age, " the earthquake shakes people "(if indeed only a few of themnow and then), whose blood is far from indigo, we think it perfectlylegitimate for the newspaper, which represents ALL classes of people, toinvade the quondam sanctity of its functions which are now being OPENEDto all classes. " But of course, where the editor of such a paper is concerned, there isalways the element of natural delicacy and nicety of feeling to beconsidered. Mr. Grace felt that because he was not present at the St. Cecilia ball, he was free to print things about it. An earthquake wouldnot be like the St. Cecilia Society--it would not draw the line at Mr. Grace. At a Charleston earthquake he would undoubtedly be present. Thequestion therefore arises: Having been PRESENT, might his AMOUR PROPREmake him feel that to REPORT the event would not be altogether in GOODTASTE? The St. Cecilia Society began in 1737 with a concert given on St. Cecilia's day, and continued for many years to give concerts at whichthe musicians were both amateurs and professionals. Josiah Quincy, inhis "Journal, " tells of having attended one of these concerts in 1773, and speaks of the richness of the men's apparel, noting that there were"many with swords on. " When, in 1819, difficulty was experienced in obtaining performers, itwas proposed that a ball be held in place of a concert, and by 1822 thesociety was definitely transformed from a musical to a dancingorganization, which it has remained ever since. The statement in the "American" editorial that St. Cecilia balls havebeen the subject of scandalous gossip is, I believe, quite false, as isalso the statement that the balls are now "being opened to all classes. " Mrs. Ravenel in her book tells how the organization is run. Members areelected, and all are men, though the names of the ladies of a member'shousehold are placed on the club list. "Only death or removal from thecity erases them--change of fortune affects them not at all. " A manwhose progenitors have belonged to the society is almost certain ofelection, though there have been cases in which undesirables of goodfamily have been blackballed. Two blackballs are sufficient to cause therejection of a candidate. Men who are not of old Charleston stock arecarefully investigated before they can be elected, but of late years nota few such, having been considered desirable, have become members. Themembers elect officers and a board of managers, and these have entirecontrol of the society. Three balls are given each year, one in Januaryand two in February. Until a few years ago the hall in which the ballsare given was lighted by innumerable candelabra; only lately haselectricity been used. The society owns its own plate, damask, china andglassware, and used to own a good stock of wines. Of late years, Ibelieve, wines have not been served, the beverage of the eveningconsisting of coffee, hot and iced. The greatest decorum is observed atthe balls. Young ladies go invariably with chaperones; following eachdance there is a brief promenade, whereafter the young ladies arereturned to their duennas--who, if they be Charleston dowagers inperfection, usually carry turkey-feather fans. Cards are filled monthsin advance. As lately as the year 1912 every other dance was a squaredance; since then, however, I believe that square dances have gone theway of candle-light. The society has an endowment and membership isinexpensive, costing but fifteen dollars a year, including the threeballs. This enables young men starting in life to be members withoutgoing into extravagance, and is in accord with the best social traditionof Charleston, where the difference between an aristocracy and aplutocracy is well understood. Most of the rules of the organization areunwritten. One is that men shall not smoke on the premises during aball; another is that divorced persons shall not be members or guests ofthe society. In this respect the St. Cecilia Society may be said, ineffect, to be applying, socially, the South Carolina law; for SouthCarolina is the only State in the Union in which divorces are notgranted for any cause whatsoever. This reminds me that the State has an anti-tipping law. The Pullmanporter is required to hang up copies of the law in his car when itenters South Carolina, and copies of it are displayed on the doors ofhotel bedrooms. The penalty for giving or receiving a tip is a fine offrom ten to one hundred dollars, or thirty days in jail. Perhaps the lawis observed. I know, at least, that no one offered me a tip while I wasin that State. * * * * * The old grandees of Charleston were usually sent to Oxford or Cambridgefor an education and English tradition still remains, I fancy, thefoundation for what Charleston social life is to-day. I thought at firstthat Charlestonians spoke like the English, but later came to theconclusion that there is in the pronunciation of some of them a qualityresembling a very faint brogue--a brogue such as might be possessed by acultivated Irishman who had moved to England in his boyhood, and hadbeen educated there. The "vanishing _y_" of tidewater Virginia is alsoused by some Charlestonians, I am told, though I do not remember hearingit. Generalizations on the subject of dialectic peculiarities are dangerous, as I have good reason to know. Naturally, not all Charlestonians speakalike. I should say, however, that the first _a_ in the words "Papa"and "Mama" is frequently given a short sound, as _a_ in "hat"; alsothat many one-syllable words are strung out into two. For instance, "eight" is heard as "ay-et" ("ay" as in "gray"); "where" as "whey-uh, "or "way-uh, " and "hair" as "hay-uh. " "Why?" sometimes sounds like "Woi?"Such words as "calm" and "palm" are sometimes given the short _a_: "cam"and "pam"--which, of course, occurs elsewhere, too. The name "Ralph" ispronounced as "Rafe" (_a_ as in "rate")--which I believe is Old English;and the names "Saunders" and "Sanders" are pronounced exactly alike, both being called "Sanders. " Tomatoes are sometimes called "tomatters. "Two dishes I never heard of before are "Hopping John, " which is ricecooked with peas, and "Limping Kate, " which is some other ricecombination. What we, in the North, call an "ice-cream freezer" becomesin Charleston an "ice-cream _churn_. " "Good morning" is the salutationup to three P. M. , whereas in other parts of the South "Good evening" issaid for the Northern "Good afternoon. " Charlestonians speak of being"parrot-toed"--not "pigeon-toed. " Where, in the North, we would ask afriend, "How are things out your way?" a Charlestonian may inquire, "Howare things out your _side_?" The expression "going out" means to go toSt. Cecilia Balls, and I have been told that it is never used in anyother way. That is, if a lady is asked: "Are you going out this winter?"it means definitely, "Are you going to the St. Cecilia balls?" If youheard it said that some one was "_on_ Mount Pleasant, " you mightsuppose that Mount Pleasant was an island; but it is not; it is avillage on the mainland across the Cooper River. And what is to me oneof the most curious expressions I ever heard is "do don't, " as when alady called to her daughter, "Martha, _do_ don't slam that door again!" How generally these peculiarities crop out in the speech of Charleston Icannot say. It occurs to me, however, that, assembled and catalogued inthis way, they may create the idea that slovenly English is generallyspoken in the city. If so they give an impression which I should notwish to convey, since Charleston has no more peculiarities of languagethan New York or Boston, and not nearly so many as a number of othercities. Cultivated Charlestonians have, moreover, the finest voices Ihave heard in any American city. CHAPTER XXXI "GULLA" AND THE BACK COUNTRY The most extraordinary negro dialect I know of is the "gulla" (sometimesspelled "gullah") of the rice plantation negroes of South Carolina andof the islands off the South Carolina and Georgia coast. I believe thatthe region of Charleston is headquarters for "gulla niggers, " though Ihave heard the argot spoken as far south as Sepeloe Island, off the townof Darien, Georgia, near the Florida line. Gulla is such an extremedialect as to be almost a language by itself. Whence it came I do notknow, but I judge that it is a combination of English with the primitivetongues of African tribes, just as the dialect of old Creole negroes, inLouisiana, is a combination of African tribal tongues with French. A Charleston lady tells me that negroes on different riceplantations--even on adjoining plantations--speak dialects which differsomewhat, and I know of my own knowledge that thick gulla is almostincomprehensible to white persons who have not learned, by longpractice, to understand it. A lady sent a gulla negro with a message to a friend. This is themessage as it was delivered: "Missis seh all dem turrah folk done come shum. Enty you duh gwine comeshum?" (To get the gulla effect the sounds should be uttered veryrapidly. ) Translated, this means: "Mistress says all them other folks have come tosee her. Aren't you coming to see her?" "Shum" is a good gulla word. It means all kinds of things having to dowith seeing--_to see her_, _to see him_, _to see it_. Thus, "You shum, enty?" may mean, _You see him_--_her_--or _it_? or _You see whathe_--_she_--or _it_--_is doing_, or _has done_? For gulla has no gendersand no tenses. "Enty" is a general question: _Aren't you? Didn't you?Isn't it?_ etc. Another common gulla word is "Buckra" which means _awhite man of the upper class_, in contradistinction to a poor white. Ihave known a negro to refer to "de frame o' de bud, " meaning thecarcass, or frame, of a fowl. "Ay ain' day" means "They aren't (ain't)there. " A friend of mine who resided at Bluffton, South Carolina, has told me ofan old gulla fisherman who spoke in parables. A lady would ask him: "Have you any fish to-day?" To which, if replyingaffirmatively, he would answer: "Missis, de gate open"; meaning, "Thedoor (of the 'car, ' or fish-box) is open to you. " If he had no fish hewould reply: "Missis, ebb-tide done tack (take) crick"; signifying: "Thetide has turned and it is too late to go to catch fish. " This old mancalled whisky "muhgundy smash, " the term evidently derived from someidea of the word "burgundy" combined with the word "mash. " Here is a gulla dialect story, with a line-for-line translation. A trainhas killed a cow, and a negro witness is being examined by a justice ofthe peace: JUSTICE--Uncle John, did you seewhat killed Sam's cow? NEGRO--Co'ose Uh shum. (Of) course I saw him. JUSTICE--What was it, UncleJohn? NEGRO--Dat black debble you-all (It was) that black devil you-allrunnin' tru we lan'. Nigga duh (are) running through our land. (A) nigger (fireman) hestan' deh, duh po' coal stands there (and) he pours coalin eh stomach. Into its stomach. Buckra duh sit up on eh seat, (A) white man (engineer) he sits up on his seat. Duh smoke eh cigah, an' ebry (and) he smokes his cigar, and everytahme eh twis' eh tail eh run fasteh. Time he twists its (engine's) tail itAn' runs faster. Andeh screams dis lak uh pantuh. Eben it screams just like a panther. Evenw'en eh git tuh de station, eh stan' when it gets to the station, it standstuh de station an' seh: "_Kyan_-stop! at the station and says: "_Can't_-stop!_Kyan_-stop! _Kyan_-stop!" _Can't_-stop! _Can't_-stop!" Sam cow binna browse down deh Sam's cow was browsing down theretuh Bull Head Crick. Eh ram eh to (at) Bull Head Creek. It (engine) rammed itsnose innum, an' eh bussum wahde nose into it (the cow), and it busted him wideloose. Eh t'row eh intrus on de loose (open). It threw its entrails on thereyel on de cross-tie, an' clean-up rails, on the cross-ties, and clean upon de tele_gram_ pole. On the telegraph pole. Mrs. Leiding (Harriette Kershaw Leiding), of Charleston, has done a fineservice to lovers of Old Charleston, and its ways, in collecting andpublishing in pamphlet form a number of the cries of the negro streetvendors. Of these I shall rob Mrs. Leiding's booklet of but oneexample--the cry of a little negro boy, a peddler of shrimp ("swimp"), who stood under a window in the early morning and sang: [Music: An' a Daw-try Daw! an' a swimp-y raw! an' a Daw-try Daw-try Daw-try Raw Swimp. ] While on the subject of the Charleston negro I must not neglect two ofhis superstitions. One is his belief that a two-dollar bill is unlucky. The curse may be removed only by tearing off a corner of the bill. Theother is that it is unlucky to hand any one a pin. A Charleston ladytold me that when she was motoring and wished to pin her hat or herveil, she could never get her negro chauffeur to hand her pins. Insteadhe would stick them in the laprobe, or in the sleeve of his coat, whenceshe could pick them out herself. Another lady told me of the case of anold black slave who lived years ago on a plantation on the Santee River, owned by her family. This slave, who was a very powerful, taciturn andhigh-tempered man, had a curious habit of disappearing for about half anhour each day. He would go into the swamp, and for many years no oneever followed him, the other negroes being afraid to do so because ofhis temper and his strength. At last, however, they did spy upon him anddiscovered that in the swamp there stood a cypress tree on which werestrange rude carvings, before which he prostrated himself. No one everlearned the exact significance of this, but it was assumed that the manpractised some barbaric form of worship, brought from Africa. * * * * * The country back of Charleston is very lovely and is rich in interest, even though most of the houses on the old estates have been destroyed. Drayton Hall, however, stands, and the old Drayton estate, Magnolia, notfar distant from the Hall (which was on another estate), has one of themost famous gardens in the world. Seven persons touching fingertips canbarely encircle the trunks of some of the live-oaks at Magnolia; thereare camellias more than twenty feet high, and a rose tree nearly aslarge, but the great glory of the garden is its huge azaleas--ninety-twovarieties, it is said--which, when they blossom in the spring, are sowonderful that people make long journeys for no other purpose than tosee them. In "Harper's Magazine" for December, 1875, I find an account of thegardens which were, at that time, far from new. The azaleas were thentwelve and thirteen feet tall; now, I am told, they reach to a height ofmore than twenty feet, with a corresponding spread. "It is almost impossible, " says the anonymous writer of the article, "togive a Northerner any idea of the affluence of color in this garden whenits flowers are in bloom. Imagine a long walk with the moss-drapedlive-oaks overhead, a fairy lake and a bridge in the distance, and oneach side the great fluffy masses of rose and pink and crimson, reaching far above your head, thousands upon tens of thousands ofblossoms packed close together, with no green to mar the intensity oftheir color, rounding out in swelling curves of bloom down to the turfbelow, not pausing a few inches above it and showing bare stems ortrunk, but spreading over the velvet, and trailing out like the richrobes of an empress. Stand on one side and look across the lawn; it islike a mad artist's dream of hues; it is like the Arabian nights; eyesthat have never had color enough find here a full feast, and go awaysatisfied at last. And with all their gorgeousness, the hues aredelicately mingled; the magic effect is produced not by unbroken banksof crude reds, but by blended shades, like the rich Oriental patterns ofIndia shawls, which the European designers, with all their efforts, cannever imitate. " Another remarkable garden, though not the equal of Magnolia, is atMiddleton Place, not many miles away, and still another is at thepleasant winter resort town of Summerville, something more than twentymiles above Charleston. The latter, called the Pinehurst Tea Garden, issaid to be the only tea garden in the United States. It is asserted thatthe teas produced here are better than those of China and Japan, and areequal to those of India. The Government is coöperating with the ownersof this garden with a view to introducing tea planting in the country ina large way. The finest grade of tea raised here is known as "Shelter Tea, " and issold only at the gardens, the price being five dollars per pound. It isa tea of the Assam species grown under shelters of wire mesh and pinestraw. This type of tea is known in Japan, where it originated, as"sugar tea, " because, owing to the fact that it is grown in the shade, the sap of the bush, which is of starchy quality, is turned chemicallyinto sugar, giving the leaf an exceedingly delicate flavor. From the superintendent in charge of the gardens I learned something ofthe bare facts of the tea growing industry. I had always been under theimpression that the name "pekoe" referred to a certain type of tea, buthe told me that the word is Chinese for "eyelash, " and came to be usedbecause the tip leaves of tea bushes, when rolled and dried, resembleeyelashes. These leaves--"pekoe tips"--make the most choice tea. Thesecond leaves make the tea called "orange pekoe, " while the third leavesproduce a grade of tea called simply "pekoe. " In China it is customaryto send three groups of children, successively, to pick the leaves, thefirst group picking only the tips, the second group the second leaves, and the third group the plain pekoe leaves. At the Pinehurst Tea Gardensthe picking is done by colored children, ranging from eight to fifteenyears of age. All the leaves are picked together and are later separatedby machinery. Summerville itself seems a lovely lazy town. It is the kind of place towhich I should like to retire in the winter if I had a book to write. One could be very comfortable, and there would be no radicaldistractions--unless one chanced to see the Most Beautiful Girl in theWorld, who has been known to spend winters at that place. On the way from Charleston to Summerville, if you go by motor, you passThe Oaks, an estate with a new colonial house standing where an ancientmansion used to stand. A long avenue bordered by enormous live-oaks, leading to this house, gives the place its name, and affords a trulynoble approach. Here, in Revolutionary times, Marion, "the Swamp Fox, "used to camp. Not far distant from the old gate at The Oaks is Goose Creek Church--themost interesting church I have ever seen. The Parish of St. James, GooseCreek, was established by act of the Assembly, November 30, 1706, andthe present church, a brick building of crudely simple architecture, wasbuilt about 1713. The interior of the church, though in good condition, is the oldest looking thing, I think, in the United States. The memorialtablets in the walls, with their foreign names and antique lettering, the curious old box pews, the odd little gallery at the back, the tallpulpit, with its winding stair, above all the Royal Arms of GreatBritain done in relief on the chancel wall and brilliantly colored--allthese make Goose Creek Church more like some little Norman church inEngland, than like anything one might reasonably expect to find on thisside of the world. Countless items of curious interest hang about the church and parish. Michaux, the French botanist who came to this country in 1786, lived fora time at Goose Creek. He brought with him the first four camelliasseen in the United States, planting them at Middleton Place aboveDrayton Hall, where, I believe, they still stand, having reached a greatheight. A British officer known as Mad Archy Campbell was married atGoose Creek Church during the Revolution, under romantic circumstances. Miss Paulina Phelps, a young lady of the parish, was a great beauty anda great coquette, who amused herself alike with American and Britishofficers. Campbell met and fell desperately in love with her, and it issaid that she encouraged him, though without serious intent. One day heinduced her to go horseback-riding with him and on the ride made love toher so vehemently that she was "intimidated into accepting him. " Theyrode to the rectory, and Campbell, meeting the rector, demanded that heshould marry them at once. The dominie replied that he would do so "withthe consent of the young lady and her mother, " but Campbell proposed toawait no such formalities. Drawing his pistol he gave the minister thechoice of performing the ceremony then and there, or perishing. Thisargument proved conclusive and the two were promptly wed. When Goose Creek was within the British lines it is said that theminister proceeded, upon one occasion, to utter the prayer for the Kingof England, in the Litany. At the end of the prayer there were no"Amens, " the congregation having been composed almost entirely, as thestory goes, of believers in American independence. Into the awkwardpause after the prayer one voice from the congregation was at lastinjected. It was the voice of old Ralph Izard, saying heartily, not"Amen, " but "Good Lord, deliver us!" There is a tablet in the church tothe memory of this worthy. The story is told, also, of an old gentleman, a member of thecongregation in Revolutionary times, who informed the minister that ifhe again read the prayer for the King he would throw his prayer-book athis head. The minister took this for a jest, but when he began to readthe prayer on the following Sunday, he found that it was not, for sureenough the prayer-book came hurtling through the air. Prayer-books wereheavier then than they are now, and it is said that as a result of thisepisode, the minister refused to hold service thereafter. The church is not now used regularly, an occasional memorial serviceonly being held there. * * * * * Charleston is a hard place to leave. Wherever one may be going fromthere, the change is likely to be for the worse. Nevertheless, it isimpossible to stay forever; so at last you muster up your resignationand your resources, buy tickets, and reluctantly prepare to leave. Ifyou depart as we did, you go by rail, driving to the station in thevenerable bus of the Charleston Transfer Company--a conveyance which, one judges, may be coeval with the city's oldest mansions. Little as wewished to leave Charleston we did not wish to defer our departurethrough any such banality as the unnecessary missing of a train. Therefore as we waited for the bus, on the night of leaving, and astrain time drew nearer and nearer, with no sign of the lumbering oldvehicle, we became somewhat concerned. When the bus did come at last there was little time to spare;nevertheless the conductor, an easygoing man of great volubility, consumed some precious minutes in gossiping with the hotel porter, andthen with arranging and rearranging the baggage on the roof of the bus. His manner was that of an amateur bus conductor, trying a newexperiment. After watching his performances for a time, lookingoccasionally at my watch, by way of giving him a hint, I broke out intoexpostulation at the unnecessary delay. "What's the matter?" asked the man in a gentle, almost grieved tone. "There's very little time!" I returned. "We don't wish to miss thetrain. " "Oh, all right, " said the bus conductor, making more haste, as thoughthe information I had given him put a different face on mattersgenerally. Presently we started. After a time he collected our fares. I haveforgotten whether the amount was twenty-five or fifty cents. At allevents, as he took the money from my hand he said to me reassuringly: "Don't you worry, sir! If I don't get you to the train I'll give youthis money back. That's fair, ain't it?" CHAPTER XXXII OUT OF THE PAST By no means all the leading citizens of Atlanta were in a frame of mindto welcome General Sherman when, ten or a dozen years after the CivilWar, he revisited the city. Captain Evan P. Howell, a former Confederateofficer, then publisher of the Atlanta "Constitution, " was, however, notone of the Atlantans who ignored the general's visit. Taking his youngson, Clark, he called upon the general at the old Kimball House (laterdestroyed by fire), and had an interesting talk with him. Clark Howell, who has since succeeded his father as publisher of the "Constitution, "was born while the latter was fighting at Chickamauga, and wasconsequently old enough, at the time of the call on Sherman, to remembermuch of what was said. He heard the general tell Captain Howell why hehad made such a point of taking Atlanta, and as Sherman's militaryreasons for desiring possession of the Georgia city explain, to a largeextent, Atlanta's subsequent development, I shall quote them as ClarkHowell gave them to me. First however, it is perhaps worth while to remind the reader of thebare circumstances preceding the fall of Atlanta. After the defeat ofthe Confederate forces at Chattanooga, General Joseph E. Johnston's armyfell back slowly on Atlanta, much as the French fell back on Paris atthe beginning of the European War, shortening their own lines ofcommunication while those of the advancing Germans were beingcontinually attenuated. As the Germans kept after the French, Shermankept after Johnston; and as Joffre was beginning to be criticized forfailing to make a stand against the enemy, so was Johnston criticized ashe continued to retire without giving battle. One of the chiefdifferences between Joffre's retirement and Johnston's lies, however, inthe length of time consumed; for whereas the French retreat on Pariscovered a few days only, the Confederate retreat on Atlanta coveredweeks and months, giving the Confederate Government time to becomeimpatient with Johnston and finally to remove him from command beforethe time arrived when, in his judgment, the stand against Sherman shouldbe made. Nor is it inconceivable that, had the French retreat lasted aslong as Johnston's, Joffre would have been removed and would have lostthe opportunity to justify his Fabian policy, as he did so gloriously atthe Battle of the Marne. Though Atlanta was, at the time of the war, a city of less than 10, 000inhabitants, it was the chief base of supply for men and munitions inthe Far South. "When my father asked him why all his effort and power had beencentered, after Chickamauga, on the capture of Atlanta, " said ClarkHowell, "I remember that General Sherman extended one hand with thefingers spread apart, explaining the strategic situation by imaginingAtlanta as occupying a position where the wrist joins the hand, whilethe thumb and fingers represented, successively, New Orleans, Mobile, Savannah, Charleston, and Norfolk. 'If I held Atlanta, ' he said, 'I wasonly one day's journey from these chief cities of the South. '" In spite, therefore, of the assertion, which I have heard made, that theprosperity of Atlanta is "founded on insurance premiums, coca-cola, andhot air, " it seems to me that it is founded on something very much moresolid. Nor do I refer to the layer of granite which underlies the city. The prosperity of Atlanta is based upon the very feature which made itscapture seem to Sherman so desirable: its strategic position as acentral point in the Far South. Neither in Atlanta nor in any other part of Georgia is General Shermanremembered with a feeling that can properly be described asaffectionate, though it may be added that Atlanta has good reason forremembering him warmly. The burning of Atlanta by Sherman did not, however, prove an unalloyed disaster, for the war came to an end soonafter, and the rebuilding of the city supplied work for thousands offormer Confederate soldiers, and also drew to Atlanta many of the strongmen who played leading parts in the subsequent commercial upbuilding ofthe place: such men as the late General Alfred Austell, Captain James W. English, and the three Inman brothers, Samuel, John, and Hugh--tomention but a few names. The First National Bank, established by GeneralAustell, is, I believe, Atlanta's largest bank to-day, and was literallythe first national bank established in Georgia, if not in the wholeSouth, after the war. Woodrow Wilson was admitted to the bar in Atlanta, and, if I mistakenot, practised law in an office not far from that meeting place ofhighways called Five Points. Here, at Five Points, two important trailscrossed, long before there was any Atlanta: the north-and-south trailbetween Savannah and Ross's Landing, and the east-and-west trail, whichfollowed the old Indian trails between Charleston and New Orleans. Whenpeople from this part of the country wished to go to Ohio, Indiana, orthe Mississippi Valley, they would take the old north-and-south trail toRoss's Landing, follow the Tennessee River to where it empties into theOhio, near Paducah, Kentucky, and proceed thence to Mississippi. In the thirties, Atlanta--or rather the site of Atlanta, for the citywas not founded until 1840--was on the border of white civilization innorthern Georgia, all the country to the north of the ChattahoocheeRiver, which flows a few miles distant from the city, having belonged tothe Cherokee Indians, who had been moved there from Florida. Even inthose times the Cherokees were civilized, as Indians go, for they livedin huts and practised agriculture. Of course, however, theircivilization was not comparable with that of the white man. If they hadbeen as civilized as he, they might have driven him out of Florida, instead of having been themselves driven out, and they might have drivenhim out of Georgia, too, instead of having been pushed on, as they were, to the Indian Territory--eighteen thousand of them, under militarysupervision, on boats from Ross's Landing--leaving the beautiful whiteCherokee rose, which grows wild and in great profusion, in the spring, as almost their sole memorial on Georgia soil. As Georgia became settled the trails developed into wagon and stageroutes, and later they were followed, approximately, by the railroads. After three railroads had reached Atlanta, the State of Georgia engagedin what may have been the first adventure, in this country, along thelines of government-owned railroads: namely, the building of the Western& Atlantic, from Atlanta to Chattanooga, to form a link between thelower South and the rapidly developing West. This road was built in theforties, and it was along its line that Johnston retreated beforeSherman, from Chattanooga to Atlanta. Though it is now leased andoperated by the Nashville, Chattanooga & St. Louis Railroad Company, itis still owned by the State of Georgia. The lease, however, expiressoon, and (an interesting fact in view of the continued agitation inother parts of the country for government ownership of corporations)there is a strong sentiment in Georgia in favor of selling the railroad;for it is estimated that, at a fair price, it would yield a sumsufficient not only to wipe out the entire bonded indebtedness of theState ($7, 000, 000), but to leave ten or twelve millions clear in theState treasury. * * * * * At Roswell, Georgia, a sleepy little hamlet in the hills, not many milesfrom Atlanta, stands Bulloch Hall, where Martha ("Mittie") Bulloch, later Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt, mother of the President, was born. Roswell was originally settled, long ago, by people from Savannah, Darien, and other towns of the flat, hot country near the coast, whodrove there in their carriages and remained during the summer. After atime, however, three prosperous families--the Bullochs, Dunwoodys, andBarrington Kings--made their permanent homes at Roswell. Bulloch Hall is one of those old white southern colonial houses thewhole front of which consists of a great pillared portico, in the Greekstyle, giving a look of dignity and hospitality. Almost all such housesare, as they should be, surrounded by fine old trees; those at BullochHall are especially fine: tall cedars, ancient white oaks, giant osageoranges, and a pair of holly trees, one at either side of the walk nearthe front door. Theodore Roosevelt, Sr. , and Mittie Bulloch met here when they wererespectively seventeen and fifteen years of age. A half sister of MissMittie had married a relative of the Roosevelts and gone from Roswell tolive in Philadelphia, and it was while visiting at her home that youngRoosevelt, hearing a great deal of the South, conceived a desire to gothere. This resulted in his first visit to Bulloch Hall, and hismeeting with Mittie Bulloch. On his return to the North he was sentabroad, but two or three years later when he went again to visit hisrelatives in Philadelphia, Miss Mittie was also a guest at their house, and this time the two became engaged. Save that the Bulloch furniture is no longer there, the interior of theold Georgia residence stands practically as it was when TheodoreRoosevelt and Mittie Bulloch were married in the dining room. Throughthe center, from front to back, runs a wide hall, on either side ofwhich is a pair of spacious square rooms, each with a fireplace, eachwith large windows looking out over the beautiful hilly country whichspreads all about. It is a lovely house in a lovely setting, and, thoughthe Bullochs reside there no longer, Miss Mittie Bulloch is notforgotten in Roswell, for one of her bridesmaids, Miss Evelyn King, nowMrs. Baker, still resides in Barrington Hall, not far distant from theold Bulloch homestead. CHAPTER XXXIII ALIVE ATLANTA An army officer, a man of broad sympathies, familiar with the wholeUnited States, warned me before I went south that I must not judge theSouth by northern standards. "On the side of picturesqueness and charm, " he said, "the South can morethan hold its own against the rest of the country; likewise on the sideof office-holding and flowery oratory; but you must not expect southerncities to have the energy you are accustomed to in the North. " As to the picturesqueness, charm, officeholding, and oratory, I foundhis judgments substantially correct, but though I did perceive a certainlack of energy in some small cities, I should not call that trait aleading one in the larger southern cities to-day. On the contrary, I wasimpressed, in almost every large center that I visited, with the factthat, in the South more, perhaps, than in any other part of the country, a great awakening is in progress. The dormant period of the South ispast, and all manner of developments are everywhere in progress. Nor doI know of any city which better exemplifies southern growth and progressthan Atlanta. My Baedeker, dated 1909, opens its description of Atlanta with thestatement that the German consul there is Dr. E. Zoepffel. I doubtit--but let us pass over that. It describes Atlanta as "a prosperouscommercial and industrial city and an important railroad center, wellsituated, 1030-1175 feet above the sea, enjoying a healthy and bracingclimate. " That is true. Atlanta is, if I mistake not, the highestimportant city east of Denver, and I believe her climate is in partresponsible for her energy, as it is also for the fact that hervegetation is more like that of a northern than a southern city, elmsand maples rather than magnolias, being the trees of the Atlantastreets. Baedeker gave Atlanta about 90, 000 inhabitants in 1909, but the censusof 1910 jumped her up to more than 150, 000, while the estimate of 1917in the "World Almanac" credits her with about 180, 000. Moreover, in thealmanac's list of the largest cities of the earth, Atlanta comestwentieth from the top. It is my duty, perhaps, to add that the list isarranged alphabetically--which reminds me that some cynic has suggestedthat there may have been an alphabetical arrangement of names, also, inthe celebrated list in which Abou Ben Adhem's "name led all the rest. "Nevertheless, it may be stated that, according to the almanac'spopulation figures, Atlanta is larger than the much more ancient city ofAthens (I refer to Athens, Greece; not Athens, Georgia), as well as suchconsiderable cities as Bari, Bochum, Graz, Kokand, and Omsk. Atlanta is, in short, a city of about the size of Goteborg, and if she has not yetachieved the dimensions of Baku, Belem, Changsha, Tashkent, or West Ham, she is growing rapidly, and may some day surpass them all; yes, and eventhat thriving metropolis, Yekaterinoslav. As to the "healthy and bracing climate, " I know that Atlanta is cool andlovely in the spring, and I am told that her prosperous families do notmake it a practice to absent themselves from home during the summer, according to the custom of the corresponding class in many other cities, northern as well as southern. Atlanta is one of the few large inland cities located neither upon ariver nor a lake. When the city was founded, the customs of life inGeorgia were such that no one ever dreamed that the State might some daygo dry. Having plenty of other things to drink, the early settlers gaveno thought to water. But, as time went on, and prohibition became a moreand more important issue, the citizens of Atlanta began to perceivethat, in emergency, the Chattahoochee River might, after all, have itsuses. Water was, consequently, piped from the river to the city, and isnow generally--albeit in some quarters mournfully--used. Though I aminformed by an expert in Indian languages that the Cherokee word"chattahoochee" is short for "muddy, " the water is filtered before itreaches the city pipes, and is thoroughly palatable, whether taken plainor mixed. Well-off though Atlanta is, she would esteem herself better off, in amaterial sense at least, had she a navigable stream; for her chiefindustrial drawback consists in railroad freight rates unmodified bywater competition. She has, to be sure, a number of factories, includinga Ford automobile plant, but she has not so many factories as herstrategic position, stated by General Sherman, would seem to justify, oras her own industrial ambitions cause her to desire. For does not everyprogressive American city yearn to bristle with factory chimneys, evenas a summer resort folder bristles with exclamation points? And is notsoot a measure of success? Atlanta's line of business is largely office business; many greatcorporations have their headquarters or their general southern branchesin the city; one of the twelve Federal Reserve Banks is there, and thereare many strong banks. Indeed, I suppose Atlanta has more bankers, inproportion to her population, than any other city in the United States. Some of these bankers are active citizens and permanent residents of thecity; others have given up banking for the time being and are intemporary residence at the Federal Penitentiary. The character of commerce carried on, naturally brings to Atlanta largenumbers of prosperous and able men--corporation officials, branchmanagers, manufacturers' agents, and the like--who, with their families, give Atlanta a somewhat individual social flavor. This class ofpopulation also accounts for the fact that the enterprisingness socharacteristic of Atlanta is not the mere rough, ebullient spirit of "goto it!" to be found in so many hustling cities of the Middle West andWest, but is, oftentimes, an informed and cultivated kind ofenterprisingness, which causes Atlanta not only to "do things, " but todo things showing vision, and, furthermore, to do them with an "air. " This is illustrated in various ways. It is shown, for example, inAtlanta's principal hotels, which are not small-town hotels, orgood-enough hotels, but would do credit to any city, however great. Theoffice buildings are city office buildings, and in the downtown sectionthey are sufficiently numerous to look very much at home, instead ofappearing a little bit exotic, self-conscious, and lonesome, as newskyscrapers do in so many cities of Atlanta's size. Even the smoke withwhich the skyscrapers are streaked is city smoke. Chicago herself couldhardly produce smoke of more metropolitan texture--certainly not on theLake Front, where the Illinois Central trains send up their blackclouds; for Atlanta's downtown smoke, like Chicago's, comes in largepart from railroads piercing the heart of the city. Where downtownbusiness streets cross the railroad tracks, the latter are depressed, the highways passing above on steel bridges resembling the bridges overthe Chicago River. The railroad's right of way is, furthermore, justabout as wide as the Chicago River, and rows of smoke-stained brickbuildings turn their backs upon it, precisely as similar buildings turntheirs upon Chicago's busy, narrow stream. I wonder if all travelers, familiar with Chicago, are so persistently reminded of that portion ofthe city which is near the river, as I was by that portion of Atlantaabutting on the tracks by which the Seaboard Air Line enters the city. Generally speaking, railroads in the South have not been so prosperousas leading roads in the North, and with the exception of the mostimportant through trains, their passenger equipment is, therefore, notso good. The Seaboard Air Line, however, runs an all-steel train betweenAtlanta and Birmingham which, in point of equipment, may be comparedwith the best limited trains anywhere. The last car in this train, instead of being part sleeping car and part observation car, is acombination dining and observation car--a very pleasant arrangement, formen are allowed to smoke in the observation end after dinner. This is, to my mind, an improvement over the practice of most railroads, whichobliges men who wish to smoke to leave the ladies with whom they may betraveling. All Seaboard dining cars offer, aside from regular à la carteservice, a sixty-cent dinner known as the "Blue Plate Special. " Thisdinner has many advantages over the usual dining-car repast. In thefirst place, though it does not comprise bread and butter, coffee ortea, or dessert, it provides an ample supply of meat and vegetables at amoderate price. In the second place, though served at a fixed price, itbears no resemblance to the old-style dining car table d'hôte, but, uponthe contrary, looks and tastes like food. The food, furthermore, insteadof representing a great variety of viands served in microscopic helpingson innumerable platters and "side dishes, " comes on one great plate, with recesses for vegetables. The "Blue Plate Special" furnishes, inshort, the chief items in a "good home meal. " This is, perhaps, as convenient a place as any in which to speak ofcertain points concerning various railroads in the South. The Central ofGeorgia Railway, running between Atlanta and Savannah, instead ofoperating Pullmans, has its own sleeping cars. This is the only railroadI know of in the country on which the tenant of a lower berth, below anunoccupied upper, may have the upper closed without paying for it. Onelikes the Central of Georgia for this humane dispensation. Thelocomotives of the Western & Atlantic carry as a distinguishing mark ared band at the top of the smokestack. The Southern Railway assignsengineers to individual engines, instead of "pooling power, " as is thepractice, I believe, on many railroads. Because of this, engineers onthe Southern regard the locomotives to which they are regularlyassigned, as their personal property, and exercise their individualtaste in embellishing them. Brass bands, brass flagstaffs, brass eaglesover the headlight, and similar adornments are therefore often seen onthe engines of this road, giving the most elaborate of them a carnivalappearance, by contrast with the somber black to which most of us areaccustomed, and hinting that not all the individuality has beenunionized out of locomotive engineers--an impression heightened by theSouthern Railway's further pleasant custom of painting the names of itsolder and more expert engineers upon the cabs of their locomotives. * * * * * Some cities are like lumbering old farm horses, plugging along a dustycountry road. When another horse overtakes them, if they be notaltogether wanting in spirit, they may be encouraged to jog a littlefaster for a moment, stimulated by example. If, besides being stupid, they are mean, then they want to kick or bite at the speedier animalgoing by. Some cities are like that, too. If an energetic city overtakesthem, they are not spurred on to emulation, but lay back their ears, soto speak. Again, there are tough, sturdy little cities like buckskinponies. There are skittish cities which seem to have been badly broken. There are old cities with a worn-out kind of elegance, like that ofsuperannuated horses of good breed, hitched to an old-fashionedbarouche. There are bad, bucking cities, like Butte, Montana. And hereand there are cities, like Atlanta, reminding one of thoroughbredhunters. There is a brave, sporting something in the spirit of Atlantawhich makes it rush courageously at big jumps, and clear them, and landclean on the other side, and be off again. Like a thoroughbred, sheloves the chase. She goes in to win. She doesn't stop to worry aboutwhether she can win or not. She knows she will. And as the thoroughbred, loving large and astonishing achievement, lacks the humbler virtues ofthe reliable family carriage horse, Atlanta, it cannot be denied, has"_les défauts de ses qualités_. " For whereas, on the side of dashingperformance, Atlanta held a stock fair which, in one year, surpassed anyother held in the South, and secured the grand circuit of races, on theother side she is careless about hospitals and charities; and whereas, on the one side, she has raised millions for the building of two newuniversities (which, by the way, would be much better as one greatuniversity, but cannot be, because of sectarian domination), on theother, she is deficient as to schools; and again, whereas she is theonly secondary city to have an annual season of Metropolitan grand opera(and to make it pay!) she is behind many other cities, including herneighbors, New Orleans and Savannah, in caring for the public health. I am by no means sure that the regular spring visit of the MetropolitanGrand Opera Company may be taken as a sign that Atlanta is peculiarly amusic-loving community. Indeed, I was told by one Atlanta lady, herselfa musician, that the city did not contain more than a thousand personsof real musical appreciation, that a number of these could not afford toattend the operatic performances, and that opera week was, consequently, in reality more an occasion of great social festivity than of devouthomage to art. "Our opera week, " she told me, "bears the same relation to the life ofAtlanta as Mardi Gras does to that of New Orleans. It is anadvertisement for the city, and an excuse for every one to have a goodtime. Every night after the performance there are suppers and dances, which the opera stars attend. They always seem to enjoy coming here. They act as though they were off on a picnic, skylarking about thehotel, snap-shotting one another, and playing all manner of pranks. And, of course, while they are here they own the town. Caruso draws hislittle caricatures for the Atlanta girls, and Atlanta men have beendazzled, in successive seasons, by such gorgeous beings as GeraldineFarrar, Alma Gluck, and Maria Barrientos--not only across the footlightsof the auditorium, mind you, but at close range; as, for instance, atdances at the Driving Club, with Chinese lanterns strung on the terrace, a full moon above, and--one year--with the whole Metropolitan Orchestraplaying dance music all night long!" Another lady, endeavoring to picture to me the strain involved in theweek's gaieties, informed me that when it was all over she went for arest to New York, where she attended "a house party at the Waldorf"! * * * * * Of all Atlanta's undertakings, planned or accomplished, that which mostinterested my companion and me was the one for turning a mountain into asculptured monument to the Confederacy. Sixteen miles to the east of the city the layer of granite whichunderlies the region stuck its back up, so to speak, forming a greatsmooth granite hump, known as Stone Mountain. This mountain is one ofAmerica's natural wonders. In form it may be compared with around-backed fish, such as a whale or porpoise, lying on its belly, partly imbedded in a beach, and some conception of its dimensions may begathered from the fact that from nose to tail it measures about twomiles, while the center of its back is as high as the Woolworth Buildingin New York. Moreover, there is not a fissure in it; monoliths athousand feet long have been quarried from it; it is as solid as theSolid South. The perpendicular streaks of light and dark gray and gray-green, made bythe elements upon the face of the rock, coupled with the waterfall-likecurve of that face, make one think of a sort of sublimated petrifiedNiagara--a fancy enhanced, on windy days, by the roar of the gale-lashedforest at the mountain's foot. The idea of turning the mountain into a Confederate memorial originatedwith Mr. William H. Terrell of Atlanta. It was taken up with inspiredenergy by Mrs. C. Helen Plane, an Atlanta lady, now eighty-seven yearsof age, who is honorary president of the United Daughters of theConfederacy and president of the Stone Mountain Memorial Association. Mrs. Plane presented the memorial plan to Mr. Samuel H. Venable ofVenable Brothers, owners of the mountain, and Mr. Venable promptlyturned over the whole face of the mountain to the Memorial Association. The exact form the memorial was to take had not at that time beendeveloped. Gutzon Borglum was, however, called in, and worked out astupendous idea, which he has since been commissioned to execute. On theside of the mountain, about four hundred feet above the ground, aroadway is to be gouged out of the granite. On this roadway will becarved, in gigantic outlines, a Confederate army, headed by Lee andJackson on horseback. Other generals will follow, and will, in turn, befollowed by infantry, cavalry and artillery. The leading groups will bein full relief and the equestrian figures will be fifty or more feettall. This means that the faces of the chief figures will measure almostthe height of a man. The figures to the rear of the long column will, according to present plans, be in bas-relief, and the whole processionwill cover a strip perhaps a mile long, all of it carved out of thesolid mountainside. A considerable tract of forest land at the foot of the great rock hasalready been dedicated as a park. Here, concealed by the trees, at apoint below the main group of figures, a temple, with thirteen columnsrepresenting the thirteen Confederate States, is to be hewn out of themountain, to be used as a place for the safe-keeping of Confederaterelics and archives. Two million dollars is the sum spoken of to cover the total cost, andone of the finest things about the plans for raising this money is thatcontributions from the entire country are being accepted, so that notonly the South, but the whole nation, may have a share in the creationof a memorial to that dead government which the South so poeticallyadores, yet which it would not willingly resurrect, and in therealization of a work resembling nothing so much as Kipling's conceptionof the artist in heaven, who paints on "a ten-league canvas, withbrushes of comet's hair. " Until the Stone Mountain Memorial is completed, Atlanta's mostcelebrated monument will continue to be that of Jack Smith. The JackSmith monument stands in Oakland Cemetery, not over the grave of JackSmith, but over the grave that local character intends some day tooccupy. Mr. Smith is reputed to be rich. He built the downtown officebuilding known as "The House that Jack Built. " As befits the owner of anoffice building, he wears a silk hat, but a certain democraticsimplicity may be observed in the rest of his attire, especially aboutthe region of the neck, for though he apparently believes in theconvention concerning the wearing of collars, he has a prejudice againstthe concealing of a portion of the collar by that useless and snobbishadornment, the necktie. Each spring, I am informed, it is his custom tovisit his cemetery lot and inspect the statue of himself which acommendable foresight has caused him to erect over his proposed finalresting place. It is said that upon the occasion of last season's vernalvisit he was annoyed at finding his effigy cravated by a vine which hadgrown up and encircled the neck. This he caused to be removed; and it isto be hoped that when, at last, his monument achieves its ultimatepurpose, those who care for the cemetery will see to it that leafytendrils be not permitted to mount to the marble collar of the figure, to form a necktie, or to obscure the nobly sculptured collar button. CHAPTER XXXIV GEORGIA JOURNALISM In journalism Atlanta is far in advance of many cities of her size, North or South. The Atlanta "Constitution, " founded nearly half acentury ago, is one of the country's most distinguished newspapers. The"Constitution" came into its greatest fame in the early eighties, whenCaptain Evan P. Howell--the same Captain Howell who commanded a batteryat the battle of Peachtree Creek, in the defense of Atlanta, and wholater called, with his son, on General Sherman, as alreadyrecorded--became its editor, and Henry W. Grady its managing editor. Like William Allen White and Walt Mason of the Emporia (Kansas)"Gazette, " who work side by side, admire each other, but disagree onevery subject save that of the infallibility of the ground hog as aweather prophet, Howell and Grady worked side by side and were devotedfriends, while disagreeing personally, and in print, on prohibition andmany other subjects. Grady would speak at prohibition rallies and, sometimes on the same night, Howell would speak at anti-prohibitionrallies. In their speeches they would attack each other. The accounts ofthese speeches, as well as conflicting articles written by the two, would always appear in the "Constitution. " Of the pair of public monuments to individuals which I remember havingseen in Atlanta, one was the pleasing memorial, in Piedmont Park, toSidney Lanier (who was peculiarly a Georgia poet, having been born inMacon, in that State, and having written some of his most beautifullines under the spell of Georgia scenes), and the other the statue ofHenry W. Grady, which stands downtown in Marietta Street. The Grady monument--one regrets to say it--is less fortunate as a workof art than as a deserved symbol of remembrance. Grady not only ought tohave a monument, but as one whose writings prove him to have been a manof taste, he ought to have a better one than this poor mid-Victorianthing, placed in the middle of a wide, busy street, with Fords parkedall day long about its base. Says the inscription: HE NEVER SOUGHT A PUBLIC OFFICE. WHEN HE DIED HE WAS LITERALLY LOVING A NATION INTO PEACE. On another side of the base is chiseled a characteristic extract fromone of Grady's speeches. This speech was made in 1899, in Boston, andone hopes that it may have been heard by the late Charles Francis Adams, who labored in Massachusetts for the cause of intersectional harmony, just as Grady worked for it in Georgia. This hour [said Grady] little needs the loyalty that is loyal to one section and yet holds the other in enduring suspicion and estrangement. Give us the broad and perfect loyalty that loves and trusts Georgia alike with Massachusetts--that knows no South, no North, no East, no West; but endears with equal and patriotic love every foot of our soil, every State in our Union. Grady could not only write and say stirring things; he could be witty. He once spoke at a dinner of the New England Society, in New York, atwhich General Sherman was also present. "Down in Georgia, " he said, "we think of General Sherman as a greatgeneral; but it seems to us he was a little careless with fire. " Nor was Grady less brilliant as managing editor than upon the platform. He had the kind of enterprise which made James Gordon Bennett such adashing figure in newspaper life, and the New York "Herald" such acomplete _news_paper--the kind of enterprise that charters specialtrains, and at all hazards gets the story it is after. Back in the earlyeighties Grady was running the Atlanta "Constitution" in just that way. If a big story "broke" in any of the territory around Atlanta, Gradywould not wait upon train schedules, but would hire an engine and sendhis men to the scene. Once, following a sensational murder, he learnedthat the Birmingham "Age-Herald" had a big story dealing withdevelopments in the case. He wired the "Age-Herald" offering a largeprice for the story. When his offer was refused Grady knew that if hecould not devise a way to get the story, Atlanta would be flooded nextday with "Age-Heralds" containing the "beat" on the "Constitution. " Heat once chartered a locomotive and rushed two reporters and fourtelegraph operators down the line toward Birmingham. At Aniston, Alabama, the locomotive met the train which was bringing "Age-Heralds"to Atlanta. A copy of the paper was secured. The "Constitution" men thenbroke into a telegraph office and wired the whole story in to theirpaper, with the result that the "Constitution" was out with it beforethe Birmingham papers reached Atlanta. Atlanta was at that time a town of only about 40, 000 inhabitants, butthe "Constitution, " in the days of Howell and Grady, had a circulationfour times greater than the total population of the city--a situationalmost unheard of in journalism. Something of the breadth of itsinfluence may be gathered from the fact that in several counties inTexas, where the law provided that whatever newspaper had the largestcirculation in the county should be the county organ, the county organwas the Atlanta "Constitution. " An Atlanta lady tells of having called upon Grady to complain about anarticle which she did not think the "Constitution" should have printed. "Why did you put that objectionable article in your paper?" she askedhim. "Did you read it?" he inquired. "Yes, I did. " "Then, " said Grady, "that's why I put it there. " Grady and Howell always ran a lively sporting department. Away back inthe days of bare-knuckle prize fights--such as those between Sullivanand Ryan, and Sullivan and Kilrain--a "Constitution" reporter was alwaysat the ringside, no matter where the fight might take place. For anewspaper in a town of forty or fifty thousand inhabitants, a largepercentage of them colored illiterates, this was real enterprise. A favorite claim of Grady's was that his reporters were the greatest"leg artists" in the world. He used to organize walking matches forreporters, offering large prizes and charging admission. This developed, in the middle eighties, a general craze for such matches, and resultedin the holding of many inter-city contests, in which teams, four men toa side, took part. One of the "Constitution's" champion "leg artists"was Sam W. Small, now an evangelist and member of the "flying squadron"of the Anti-Saloon League of America. The most widely celebrated individual ever connected with the"Constitution" was Joel Chandler Harris, many of whose "Uncle Remus"stories--those negro folk tales still supreme in their field--appearedoriginally in that paper. In view of Mr. Harris's achievement it ispleasant to recall that there was paid to him during his life one of thefinest tributes that an author can receive. As with "Mr. Dooley" of ourday, he came, himself, to be affectionately referred to by the name ofthe chief character in his works. "Uncle Remus" he was, and "UncleRemus" he will always be. Mr. Harris's eldest son, Julian, widely knownas a journalist, is said to have been the little boy to whom "UncleRemus" told his tales. Though there is, as yet, no public monument in Atlanta to Joel ChandlerHarris, the "Wren's Nest, " his former home, at 214 Gordon Street, isfittingly preserved as a memorial. Visitors may see the old letter boxfastened to a tree by the gate--that box in which a wren built her nest, giving the house its name. It is a simple old house with the air of ahome about it, and the intimate possessions of the author lie about ashe left them. His bed is made up, his umbrella hangs upon themantelshelf, his old felt hat rests upon the rack, the photograph of hisfriend James Whitcomb Riley looks down from the bedroom wall, and on thetable, by the window, stands his typewriter--the confidant first to knowhis new productions. The presence of these personal belongings keeps alive the illusion that"Uncle Remus" has merely stepped out for a little while--is hiding inthe garden, waiting for us to go away. It would be like him, for he wasamong the most modest and retiring of men, as there are many amusinganecdotes to indicate. Once when some one had persuaded him to attend alarge dinner in New York, they say, he got as far as New York, but asthe dinner hour approached could not bear to face the adulation awaitinghim, and incontinently fled back to Atlanta. Frank L. Stanton, poet laureate of Georgia, and of the "Constitution, "joined the "Constitution" staff through the efforts of Mr. Harris, oneof whose closest intimates he was. Speaking of Mr. Harris's gift fornegro dialect, Mr. Stanton told me that there was one negro exclamationwhich "Uncle Remus" always wished to reproduce, but which he never quitefelt could be expressed, in writing, to those unfamiliar with the negroat first hand: that is the exclamation of amazement, which has thesound, "mmm--_mh!_"--the first syllable being long and the last sharpand exclamatory. Mr. Stanton has for years conducted a column of verse and humorousparagraphic comment, under the heading "Just from Georgia, " on theeditorial page of the "Constitution. " Some idea of the high estimationin which he is held in his State is to be gathered from the fact that"Frank L. Stanton Day" is annually celebrated in the Georgia schools. Mr. Stanton began his newspaper career as a country editor in the townof Smithville, Georgia. Mr. Harris, then a member of the"Constitution's" editorial staff, began reprinting in that journalverses and paragraphs written by Stanton, with the result that theSmithville paper became known all over the country. Later Stanton movedto Rome, Georgia, becoming an editorial writer on a paper there--the"Tribune, " edited at that time by John Temple Graves, if I am notmistaken. Still later he removed to Atlanta, joined the staff of the"Constitution, " and started the department which has now continued formore than twenty-five years. Joel Chandler Harris used to tell a story about Stanton's first days inthe "Constitution" office. According to this story, the paper on whichStanton had worked in Rome had not been prosperous, and salaries wereuncertain. When the business manager went out to try to raise money inthe town, he never returned without first reading the signals placed byhis assistant in the office window. If a red flag was shown, itsignified that a collector was waiting in the office. In that event thebusiness manager would not come in, but would circle about until thecollector became tired of waiting and departed--a circumstance indicatedby the withdrawal of the red flag and the substitution of a white one. According to the story, as it was told to me, reporters on the paperwere seldom paid; if one of them made bold to ask for his salary, he waslikely to be discharged. It was from this uncertain existence thatStanton was lured to the "Constitution" by an offer of $22. 50 per week. When he had been on the "Constitution" for three weeks Mr. Harrisdiscovered that he had drawn no salary. This surprised him--as indeed itwould any man who had had newspaper experience. "Stanton, " he said, "you are the only newspaper man I have ever seen whois so rich he doesn't need to draw his pay. " But, as it turned out, Stanton was not so prosperous as Harris perhapssupposed. He was down to his last dime, and had been wondering how hecould manage to get along; for his training on the Rome paper hadtaught him never to ask for money lest he lose his job. "Well, " he said to Harris, "I could use _some_ of my salary--if you'resure it won't be any inconvenience?" Those familiar with the works of Mr. Stanton, Mr. Harris, and JamesWhitcomb Riley, Indiana's great poet, will perceive that certain similartastes and feelings inform their writings, and will not be surprised tolearn, if not already aware of it, that the three were friends. Mr. Stanton's only absence from Atlanta since he joined the "Constitution, "was on the occasion of a visit he paid Mr. Riley at the latter's home inIndianapolis. The best of Stanton's work must have appealed to Riley, for it contains not a little of the kindly, homely, humoroustruthfulness, and warmth of sentiment, of which Riley was himself such amaster. Among the most widely familiar verses of the Georgia poet arethose of his "Mighty Like a Rose, " set to music by Ethelbert Nevin, and"Just a-Wearying for You, " with music by Carrie Jacobs Bond. "Money" isa verse in hilarious key, which many will remember for the comical vigorof the last three lines in its first stanza: When a fellow has spent His last red cent The world looks blue, you bet! But give him a dollar And you'll hear him holler: "There's life in the old land yet!" Richly humorous though Stanton is, he can also reach the heart. Theformer Governor of a Western State picked up Stanton's book, "Songs ofthe Soil, " and after reading "Hanging Bill Jones, " and "A Tragedy, "therein, commuted the sentence of a man who was to have been executednext day. One hopes the man deserved to escape. In another case anindividual who was about to commit suicide chanced to see in an oldnewspaper Stanton's encouraging verses called "Keep a-Goin', " and wasstimulated by them to have a fresh try at life on earth instead ofelsewhere. Joel Chandler Harris wrote the introduction to "Songs of the Soil. "Other collections of Stanton's works are "Songs of Dixie Land, " and"Comes One With a Song. " The danger in starting to quote from thesebooks--which, by the way, are chiefly made up of measures that appearedoriginally in the "Constitution"--is that one does not like to stop. Ihave, however, limited myself to but one more theft, and instead ofmaking my own choice, have left the selection to a friend of Mr. Stanton's, who has suggested the lines entitled "A Poor Unfortunate": His hoss went dead, an' his mule went lame, He lost six cows in a poker game; A harricane come on a summer's day An' carried the house whar he lived away, Then a earthquake come when _that_ wuz gone An' swallered the land that the house stood on! An' the tax collector, he come roun' An' charged him up fer the hole in the groun'! An' the city marshal he come in view An' said he wanted his street tax, too! Did he moan an' sigh? Did he set an' cry An' cuss the harricane sweepin' by? Did he grieve that his old friends failed to call When the earthquake come and swallered all? Never a word o' blame he said, With all them troubles on top his head! Not him! He climbed on top o' the hill Whar stan'in' room wuz left him still, An', barrin' his head, here's what he said: "I reckon it's time to git up an' git, But, Lord, I hain't had the measles yit!" Among those who have been on the staff of the "Constitution" and havebecome widely known, may be mentioned the gifted Corra Harris, many ofwhose stories have Georgia backgrounds, and who still keeps as a countryhome in the State where she was born, a log cabin, known as "In theValley, " at Pine Log, Georgia; also the perhaps equally (thoughdifferently) talented Robert Adamson, whose administration as firecommissioner of the City of New York was so able as to result in areduction of insurance rates. Atlanta reporters, it would seem, run to the New York Fire Department, for Joseph Johnson, who preceded Mr. Adamson as commissioner, was once areporter on the Atlanta "Journal. " The latter paper used to belong toHoke Smith. It was at one time edited by John Temple Graves, who lateredited the Atlanta "Georgian, " and is now a member of the forces ofWilliam Randolph Hearst, in New York. The late Jacques Futrelle, theauthor, who went down with the _Titanic_, was a Georgian, and worked foryears on the "Journal. " Don Marquis, one of the most brilliant Americannewspaper "columnists, " now in charge of the department known as "TheSun Dial" on the New York "Evening Sun, " was also at one time on the"Journal, " as was likewise Grantland Rice, America's most widely readsporting writer. Lollie Belle Wiley, whose poetry has a distinctsouthern quality, is, I believe, a member of the "Journal's" staff. Asthe eminent Ty Cobb once wrote a book, it seems fair to mention him alsoamong Georgian authors, though so far as I know he never worked on anAtlanta paper. And if Atlanta's three celebrated golfers have notwritten for the papers, they have at least supplied the sporting pagewith much material. Miss Alexa Sterling of Atlanta, a young lady undertwenty, is one of the best women golfers in the United States; PerryAdair also figures in national golf, and Robert T. ("Bobby") Jones, Jr. , who was southern champion at the age of fourteen, is, perhaps, anunprecedented marvel at the game--so at least my golfing friends informme. The continued militancy of the "Constitution, " under the editorship ofClark Howell, who sits in his father's old chair, with a bust of Gradyat his elbow, is evidenced not only by its frequent editorials againstlynching, but by its fearless campaign against another Georgiaspecialty--the "paper colonel. " The ranks of the "paper colonels" inthe South are chiefly made up of lawyers who "have been colonelized bycustom for no other reason than that they have led their clients tovictory in legal battles. " Some of the real colonels have been objectingto the paper kind, and the "Constitution" has bravely backed up theobjection. The liveliness of journalism in Georgia does not begin and end inAtlanta. The Savannah "Morning News" has an able editorial page, andthere are many others in the State. Some of the small-town papers are, moreover, well worth reading for that kind of breeziness which weusually associate with the West rather than the South. Consider, forexample, the following, in which the Dahlonega (Georgia) "Nugget, "published up in the mountains, in the section where gold is mined, discusses the failings of one Billie Adams, the editor's own son-in-law: On Saturday last, Billie Adams and his wife waylaid the public road over on Crown Mountain, where this sorry piece of humanity stood and cursed while his wife knocked down and beat her sister, Emma. He is a son-in-law of ours, but if the Lord had anything to do with him, He must have made a mistake and thought He was breathing the breath of life into a dog. He is too lazy to work and lays around and waits for his wife to get what she can procure on credit, until she can get nothing more for him and the children to eat. Recently he claimed to be gone to Tennessee in search of work. Upon hearing that his family had nothing to eat, we had Carl Brooksher send over nearly four dollars' worth of provisions. In he came and sat there and feasted until every bite was gone. But this ends it with us. There are a lot of people who have sorry kinfolks, but in this instance if there were prizes offered, we would certainly win the first. Last year, thinking he would scare his mother-in-law and sister-in-law off from where they live, so he could get the place, he shot two holes through their window, turned their mule out of the stable, and tried to run it into the bean patch, besides hanging up a bunch of switches at the drawbars. Then their fence was set afire twice. This is said to be the work of his wife. Then, after carrying home meat, flour, lard, and vegetables to eat for her mother and sister, he whipped the latter because she refused to give him two of the wagon wheels. The city made a case against both for the whipping, and the wife, although coming to town alone frequently during the day, brought her baby and everything to the council room, plead guilty and was fined one and costs. Billie didn't appear, but if he stays in this country Marshal Wimpy will have him, when all these things will come to light, both in the council chamber and grand jury room. The scandal of newspaperdom in Georgia is, of course, Tom Watson, whopublishes the "Jeffersonian"--a misnamed paper if there ever was one--inthe town of Thomson. Many years ago, when Edward P. Thomas, nowassistant to the president of the United States Steel Corporation, was alittle boy in Atlanta, complaining about having his ears washed; whenTheodore D. Rousseau, secretary to Mayor Mitchel of New York, was havinghis early education drilled into him at the Ivy Street school; whenRalph Peters, now president of the Long Island Railroad, had leftAtlanta and become a division superintendent on the Panhandle Road; whenthe parents of Ivy Ledbetter Lee were wondering to what college theywould send him when he grew to be a big boy; when Robert Adamson was apage in the Georgia Legislature--as long ago as that, Tom Watson waswaving his red head and prominent Adam's apple as a member of the StateHouse of Representatives. In the mad and merry days of Bryanism hebecame a Populist Member of Congress. He was nominated forvice-president, to run on the Populist ticket with Bryan. Later he ranfor president on the ticket of some unheard-of party, organized inprotest against the "conservatism" of the Populists. Watson's paperreminds one of Brann and his "Iconoclast. " Reading it, I have never beenable to discover what Watson was _for_. All I could find out was what hewas violently against--and that is almost everything. He is the wild assof Georgia journalism; the thistles of chaos are sweet in him, and orderin any department of life is a chestnut burr beneath his tail. CHAPTER XXXV SOME ATLANTA INSTITUTIONS There has been great rejoicing in Atlanta over the raising of funds forthe establishment there of two new universities, Emory and Oglethorpe. Emory was founded in 1914, as the result of a feud which developed inVanderbilt University, located at Nashville, Tennessee, over thequestion as to whether the institution should be controlled by the Boardof Bishops of the southern Methodist Episcopal Church, or by theUniversity trustees, who were not so much interested in the developmentof the sectarian side of the university. The fight was taken to thecourts where the trustees won. As a result, Methodist influence andsupport were withdrawn from Vanderbilt, which thenceforward became anon-sectarian college, and Emory was started--Atlanta having beenselected as its home because nearly a million and a half dollars wasraised in Atlanta to bring it there. Oglethorpe is to be a Presbyterian institution, and starts off with amillion dollars. This will give Atlanta three rather important colleges, since shealready has the technical branch of the University of Georgia, the mainestablishment of which located at Athens, Georgia, is one of the oldeststate universities in the country, having been founded in 1801. (TheUniversity of Tennessee is the oldest state university in the South. Itwas founded in 1794. The University of Pennsylvania, dating from 1740, is the oldest of all state universities. Harvard, founded in 1636, wasthe first college established in the country; and the only otherAmerican colleges which survive from the seventeenth century are Williamand Mary, at Williamsburg, Virginia, established in 1693, and St. John'sCollege, at Annapolis, dating from 1696. ) There is a tendency in some parts of the South to use the terms"college" and "university" loosely. Some schools for white persons, doing little if anything more than grammar and high-school work, arecalled "colleges, " and negro institutions doing similar work aresometimes grandiloquently termed "universities. " Atlanta has thirteen public schools for negroes, but no public highschool for them. There are, however, six large private educationalinstitutions for negroes in the city, doing high-school, college, orgraduate work, making Atlanta a great colored educational center. Ofthese, Atlanta University, a non-sectarian co-educational college with awhite president (Mr. Edward T. Ware, whose father came from New Englandand founded the institution in 1867), is, I believe, the oldest andlargest. It is very highly spoken of. Atlanta and Clark Universities arethe only two colored colleges in Atlanta listed in the "World Almanac's"table of American universities and colleges. Clark also has a white manas president. Spelman Seminary, a Baptist institution for colored girls, has a whitewoman president, and is partially supported by Rockefeller money. Morehouse College, for boys, has a colored president, an able man, is ofsimilar denomination and is also partially supported by Rockefellerfunds. Spelman and Morehouse are run separately, excepting in collegework, on which they combine. Both are said to be excellent. Morris BrownUniversity is not a university at all, but does grammar and high-schoolwork. It is officered and supported by colored people, all churches ofthe African Methodist Episcopal denomination subscribing funds for itsmaintenance. Gammon Theological Seminary is, I am informed, the oneadequately endowed educational establishment for negroes in Atlanta. Itwould, of course, be a splendid thing if the best of these schools andcolleges could be combined. Citizens of Atlanta do not, generally, take the interest they ought totake in these or other institutions for the benefit of negroes. To besure, most Southerners do not believe in higher education for negroes;but, even allowing for that viewpoint, it is manifestly unfair thatwhite children should have public high schools and that negro childrenshould have none, but should be obliged to pay for their education abovethe grammar grades. Perhaps there are people in Atlanta who believe thateven a high-school education is undesirable for the negro. That, however, seems to me a pretty serious thing for one race to attempt todecide for another--especially when the deciding race is not deeply andsincerely interested in the uplift of the race over which it holds thewhip hand. Certainly intelligent people in the South believe inindustrial training for the negro, and equally certainly a negro highschool could give industrial training. Negroes are not admitted to Atlanta parks, nor are there any parksexclusively for them. Until recently there was no contagious-diseasehospital to which negroes could be taken, and there is not now areformatory for colored girls in the State of Georgia. Neither is thereany provision whatsoever in the State for the care of feeble-mindedcolored children. And there is one thing even worse to be said. Shamefulas are Georgia's frequent lynchings, shameful as is the State'sindifference to negro welfare, blacker yet is the law upon her statutebooks making the "age of consent" _ten years_! Various women'sorganizations, and individual women, have, for decades, worked to changethis law, but without success. The term "southern chivalry" must ringmocking and derisive in the ears of Georgia legislators until thisdisgrace is wiped out. Standing as it does, it means but one thing: thatin order to protect some white males in their depravity, the voters ofGeorgia are satisfied to leave little girls, ten, eleven, twelve yearsof age, and upward, white as well as colored, utterly unprotected by thelaw in this regard. I have heard more than one woman in Georgia intimate that she would bewell pleased with a little less exterior "chivalry" and a little moreplain justice. Aside from their efforts to change the "age of consent"law, leading women in the State have been working for compulsoryeducation, for the opening of the State University to women, for factoryinspection and decent child-labor laws. The question of child labor hasnow been taken in hand by the National Government--as, of course, the"age of consent" should also be--but in other respects but littleprogress has been made in Georgia. From such cheerless items I turn gladly to a happier theme. As I have said elsewhere in this book, many colored people in Atlantaare doing well in various ways. At Atlanta University I saw severalstudents whose fathers and mothers were graduates of the sameinstitution. Higher education for the negro has, thus, come into itssecond generation. More prosperous negroes in Atlanta are doing socialsettlement work among less fortunate members of their race, and havestarted a free kindergarten for negro children. Many good people inAtlanta are unaware of these facts, and I believe their judgment on theentire negro question would be modified, at least in certain details, were they merely to inform themselves upon various creditable negroactivities in the city. The northern stranger, attempting to ascertainthe truth about the negro and the negro problem, has to this extent theadvantage of the average Southerner: prejudice and indifference do notprevent his going among the negroes to find out what they are doing forthemselves. * * * * * At various times in my life chance has thrown me into contact withcharities in great variety, and philanthropic work of many kinds. I haveseen theoretical charities, sentimental charities, silly charities, pauperizing charities, wild-eyed charities, charities which did good, and others which worked damage in the world; I have seen organizedcharities splendidly run under difficult circumstances (as in theDepartment of Charities under Commissioner Kingsbury, in New York City), and I have seen other organized charities badly run at great expense; Ihave seen charities conducted with the primary purpose of ministering tothe vanity of self-important individuals who like to say: "See all thegood that I am doing!" and I have seen other personal charities operated(as in the case of the Rockefeller Foundation) with a perfectlymagnificent scope and effectiveness. Nevertheless, of all the charities I have seen, of all the efforts Ihave witnessed to improve the condition of humanity, none has taken afirmer hold upon my heart than the Leonard Street Orphans' Home, fornegro girls, in Atlanta. The home is a humble frame building which was used as a barracks bynorthern troops stationed in Atlanta after the Civil War. In it resideMiss Chadwick, her helpers, and about seventy little negro girls; and itis an interesting fact that several of the helpers are young coloredwomen who, themselves brought up in the home and taught to beself-supporting, have been drawn back to the place by homesickness. Wasever before an orphan homesick for an orphans' home? Miss Chadwick is an Englishwoman. Coming out to America a good manyyears ago, she somehow found Atlanta, and in Atlanta somehow found thisorphanage, which was then both figuratively and literally dropping topieces. Some one had to take hold of it, so Miss Chadwick did. Howsuccessful she has been it is hard to convey in words. I do not meanthat she has succeeded in building up a great flourishing plant with abig endowment and all sorts of improvements. Far from it. The homestands on a tiny lot, the building is ramshackle and not nearly largeenough for its purpose, and sometimes it seems doubtful where the moneyto keep it going will come from. Nevertheless the home is a hundredtimes more successful than I could have believed a home for orphans, colored or white, could be made, had I not seen it with my own eyes. Itssuccess lies not in material possessions or prosperity, not in the foodand shelter it provides to those who so pitifully needed it, but in thefact that it is in the truest and finest sense a _home_, a place endowedwith the greatest blessings any home can have: contentment andaffection. What Miss Chadwick has provided is, in short, an institutionwith a heart. How did she do it? That, like the other mystery of how she manages tohouse those seventy small lively people in that little building, issomething which only Heaven and Miss Chadwick understand. But then, if you have ever visited the home and met Miss Chadwick, andseen her with her children, you know that Heaven and Miss Chadwickunderstand a lot of things the rest of us don't know about at all! CHAPTER XXXVI A BIT OF RURAL GEORGIA To walk with the morning and watch its rose unfold; To drowse with the noontide lulled in its heart of gold; To lie with the night-time and dream the dreams of old. --MADISON CAWEIN. A man I know studies as a hobby something which he calls "graphics"--theterm denoting the reaction of the mind to certain words. One of thewords he used in an experiment with me was "winter. " When he said"winter" there instantly came to me the picture of a snowstorm inQuebec. I saw the front of the Hotel Frontenac at dusk through a mist ofdriving snow. There were lights in the windows. A heavy wind was blowingand as I leaned against it the front of my overcoat was plastered withsticky white flakes. The streets and sidewalks were deep with snow, andthe only person besides myself in the vision was a sentry standing withhis gun in the lee of the vestibule outside the local militiaheadquarters. If my friend were to come now and try me with the word "spring, " I knowwhat picture it would call to mind. I should see the Burge plantation, near Covington, Georgia: the simple old white house with its rose-cladporch, or "gallery, " its grove of tall trees, its carriage-house, itswell-house, and other minor dependencies clustering nearby likechickens about a white hen, its background the rolling cottonfields, their red soil glowing salmon-colored in the sun. For, as I was never soconscious of the brutality of winter as in that evening snowstorm atQuebec, I was never so conscious, as at the time of our visit to theBurge plantation, of the superlative soft sweetness of the spring. In seasons, as in other things, we have our individual preferences. Melancholy natures usually love autumn, with its colorings so like sweetsad minor chords. But what kind of natures they are which rejoice inspring, which feel that with each spring the gloomy past is blotted out, and life, with all its opportunities, begins anew--what kind of naturesthey are which recognize April instead of January as the beginning oftheir year I shall not attempt to tell, for mine is such a nature, andone must not act at once as subject and diagnostician. So long as I endure, spring can never come again without turning mythoughts to northwestern Georgia; to the peculiar penetrating warmthwhich passed through the clothing to the body and made one feel that onewas not surrounded by mere air, but was immersed in a dry bath of someinfinitely superior vapor, a vapor volatile, soothing, tonic, distilled, it seemed, from the earth, from pine trees, tulip trees, balm-of-Gileadtrees, (or "bam" trees, as they call them), blossoming Judas trees, Georgia crabapple, dogwood pink and white, peach blossom, wistaria, sweet-shrub, dog violets, pansy violets, Cherokee roses, wildhoneysuckle and azalia, and the evanescent green of new treetops, allcarried in solution in the sunlight. By day the brilliant cardinal addshis fine note of color and sound, but at night he is silent, and whenthe moon comes out one hears the mockingbird and, it may be also, twowhippoorwills, one in the grove near the house, one in the woods acrossthe road, calling back and forth. Then one is tempted to step down fromthe porch, and follow the voices of the birds into the vague recesses ofa night webbed with dark tree shadows outlined in blue moonlight. Small wonder it is, if, as report says, no houseparty on a southernplantation is a success unless young couples become "sort of engaged, "and if in a region so provocative in springtime under a full moon, adistinction is recognized between being merely "engaged, " and beingengaged _to be married_. One Georgia belle we met, a sloe-eyed girl whose reputation not only forbeauty but for charm reached through the entire South, had, at the timeof our visit, recently become engaged in the more grave and permanentsense. "How does it seem?" a girl friend asked her. "I feel, " she answered, "like a man who has built up a large businessand is about to go into the hands of a receiver. " Such ways as those girls have! Such voices! Such eyes! And such names, too! Names which would not fit at all into a northern setting, relatively so hard and unsentimental, but which, when one becomesaccustomed to them, take their place gracefully and harmoniously in thesouthern picture. The South likes diminutives and combinations in itswomen's names. Its Harriets, Franceses, Sarahs, and Marthas, becomeHatties, Fannies, Sallies and Patsies, and Patsy sometimes undergoes afurther transition and becomes Passie. Moreover, where these diminutiveshave been passed down for several generations in a family, their originis sometimes lost sight of, and the diminutive becomes the actualbaptismal name. In one family of my acquaintance, for example, the namePassie has long been handed down from mother to daughter. The originalgreat-grandmother Passie was christened Martha but was at first calledPatsy; then, because her black mammy was also named Patsy, the daughterof the house came to be known, for purposes of differentiation, asPassie, and when she married and had a daughter of her own, the childwas christened Passie. In this family the name May has more recentlybeen adopted as a middle name, and it is customary for familiars of theyoungest Passie, to address her not merely as Passie, but as Passie-May. The inclusion of the second name, in this fashion, is another custom notuncommon in the South. In Atlanta alone I heard of ladies habituallyreferred to as Anna-Laura, Hattie-May, Lollie-Belle, Sally-Maud, Nora-Belle, Mattie-Sue, Emma-Belle, Lottie-Belle, Susie-May, Lula-Belle, Sallie-Fannie, Hattie-Fannie, Lou-Ellen, Allie-Lou, Clara-Belle, Mary-Ella, and Hattie-Belle. Another young lady was known to her friendsas Jennie-D. The train from Atlanta set us down at Covington, Georgia, or rather atthe station which lies between the towns of Covington and Oxford--forwhen this railroad was built neither town would allow it a right of way, and to this day each is connected with the station by a street car line, either line equipped with one diminutive car, a pair of disconsolatemules, and a driver. Covington is the County seat, a quiet southerntown, part old, part new, with a look of rural prosperity about it. Stopping at the postoffice to inquire for mail we saw this peremptorysign displayed: When the window is down don't bang around and ask for a stamp or two. --J. L. CALLAWAY, Postmaster. As the window was down we tiptoed out and went upon our way, drivingthrough Oxford before going to the plantation. This town was named forOxford, England, and is, like its namesake, a college town. A small andvery old Methodist educational institution, with a pretty though raggedcampus and fine trees, is all there is to Oxford, save a row ofante-bellum houses. One of them, a pleasant white mansion, halfconcealed by the huge magnolias which stand in its front yard, was atone time the residence of General Longstreet. The old front gate, hanging on a stone post, was made by the general with his own hands--andwell made, for it is to-day as good a gate as ever. Corra Harris livedat one time in Oxford; her husband, Rev. Lundy H. Harris, having been aprofessor at the college. * * * * * Though plantation life has necessarily changed since the war, I do notbelieve that there is in the whole South a plantation where it haschanged less than on the Burge plantation. In appearance the place isnot as Sherman's men found it, for they tore down the fences and ruinedthe beautiful old-fashioned garden, and neither has been replaced; nor, of course, is it run, so far as practical affairs are concerned, as itwas before the War; that is to say, instead of being operated as a unitof nine-hundred acres, it is now worked chiefly on shares, and isdivided up into "one mule farms" and "two mule farms, " these beingtracts of about thirty and sixty acres, respectively, thirty acres beingapproximately the area which can be worked by a man and a mule. Practically all the negroes on the place--perhaps a hundred innumber--are either former slaves of the Burge family, or the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of slaves who lived on theplantation. That is one reason why the plantation is less changed inspirit than are many others. The Burges were religious people, usedtheir slaves kindly, and brought them up well, so that the negroes onthe plantation to-day are respectable, and in some instances, exemplarypeople, very different from the vagrant negro type which has developedsince the War, making labor conditions in some parts of the Southuncertain, and plantation life, in some sections, not safe forunprotected women. The present proprietors of the Burge plantation are two ladies, granddaughters of Mrs. Thomas Burge, who lived here, a widow, with alittle daughter, when General Sherman and his hosts came by. Theseladies frequently spend months at the plantation without male protectorssave only the good negroes of their own place, who look after them withthe most affectionate devotion. True, the ladies keep an ugly lookingbut mild mannered bulldog, of which the negroes are generally afraid;true also they carry a revolver when they drive about the country intheir motor, and keep revolvers handy in their rooms; but theseprecautions are not taken, they told me, because of any doubts about themen on their place, their one fear being of tramp negroes, passing by. Of their own negroes several are remarkable, particularly one oldcouple, perfect examples of the fine ante-bellum type so much beloved inthe South, and so much regretted as it disappears. During the period of twenty years or more, while the owners were absent, growing up and receiving their education, the whole place, indoors andout, was in charge of Uncle George and Aunt Sidney. The two lived, andstill do live, in one wing of the house--over which Aunt Sidney presidesas housekeeper and cook, as her mother, Aunt Liddy, did before her. AuntLiddy died only a short time ago, aged several years over a hundred. Uncle George supervises all the business of the plantation, as he hasdone for thirty or forty years. He collects all rents, markets the cropsand receives the payments, makes purchases, pays bills, and keeps peacebetween the tenants--nor could any human being be more honorable orpossess a finer, sweeter dignity. As for devotion, when the little girlswho were away returned after all the years as grown women, every ribbon, every pin in that house was where it had been left, and the place was noless neat than if the "white folks" had constantly remained there. Before Georgia went dry it was customary for negroes of the rougher sortto get drunk in town every Saturday night. Drunken negroes wouldconsequently be passing by, all night, on their way to their homes, yelling and (after the manner of their kind when intoxicated) shootingtheir revolvers in the air. Every Saturday night, when the ladies wereat home, Uncle George would quietly take his gun and place himself onthe porch, remaining there until the last of the obstreperous wayfarershad passed. Uncle Abe and Uncle Wiley are two other worthy and venerable men wholive in cabins on the place. Both were there when Sherman's army passedupon its devastating way, and both were carried off, as were thousandsupon thousands of other negroes out of that wide belt across the Stateof Georgia, which was overrun in the course of the March to the Sea. "Ah was goin' to mill wid de ox-caht, " Uncle Abe told me, "when desoljas dey kim 'long an' got me. Dey tol' me, 'Heah, nigga! Git out datcaht, an' walk behin'. When _it_ moves _you_ move; when _it_ stops _you_stop!' An' like dat Ah walk all de way to Savannah [two hundred andfifty miles]. Den, after dat, dey took us 'long up No'th--me an' mabrotha Wiley, ovah deh. " I asked him what regiment he went with. He said it was the Twenty-secondIndiana, and that Dr. Joe Stilwell, of that regiment, who came from aplace near Madison, Indiana ("Ah reckon de town was name Brownstown"), was good to him. An officer whom he knew, he said, was Captain JohnSnodgrass, and another Major Tom Shay. "All Ah was evvuh wo'ied about aftuh dey kim tuck me, " he declared, "wasgittin' somep'n t' eat. Dat kinda put me on de wonduh, sometahmes, butdey used us all right. Dr. Pegg--him dat did de practice on deplantation befo' de Wah--he tol' de niggas dat de Yankees would put gagsin deh moufs an' lead 'em eroun' like dey wuz cattle. But deh wa' n'tlike dat nohow. I b'longed to de Secon' Division, Thuhd B'gade, Fou'teenth Co' [corps]. Cap'n Snodgrass, he got to be lieutenant-cuhnel. He was de highes' man Ah evuh hel' any convuhsation wid, but I _saw_ allde gennuls of dat ahmy. " Uncle Wiley is older than Uncle Abe. He was already a grown man withthree children when taken away by some of Sherman's men. He told me hewas with the Fifty-second Ohio, and mentioned Captain Shepard. The two brothers got as far as Washington, D. C. "We got los' togedduh in de U. S. Buildin' in dat city, " said UncleWiley. "De President of de U. S. Right at dat tahme he was daid. He waskill', Ah don' s'pose it wuz a week befo' we got to Wash'n, D. C. " "How did you happen to come all the way back?" I asked. "Well-l, " ruminated the old man, "home was always a-restin' on mah min'. Ah kep' thinkin' 'bout home. So aftuh de Wah ceasted Ah jus' kim 'longback. " Many of the old plantation customs still survive. A little before noonthe bell is rung to summon the hands from the cotton fields. Over thered plowed soil you hear a darky cry, a melodious "Oh-_oh_-oh!" as wildand musical as the cries of the south-Italian olive gatherers. Theplanters cease their work, mules stand still, traces are unhooked fromsingletrees, and chain-ends thrown over the mules' backs; then the menmount the animals and ride in to the midday meal, the women trudgingafter. Those who rent land, or work on shares, go to their own cabins, while those employed by the hour or by the day (the rate of pay is tencents an hour or seventy-five cents a day) come to the kitchen to befed. Nor is it customary to stop there at feeding negroes. As in the olddays, any negro who has come upon an errand or who has "stopped by" tosell supplies, or for whatever purpose, expects to stay for "dinner, "and makes it a point to arrive about noon. Thus from sixteen to twentynegroes are fed daily at the Burge plantation house. The old Christmas traditions are likewise kept up. On Christmas day thenegroes come flocking up to the house for their gifts. Their firstconcern is to attempt to cry "Christmas gift!" to others, before it canbe said to them--for according to ancient custom the one who says thewords first must have a gift from the other. CHAPTER XXXVII A YOUNG METROPOLIS An observer approaching a strange city should be "neutral even inthought. " He may listen to what is said of the city, but he must notpermit his opinions to take form in advance; for, like other gossip, gossip about cities is unreliable, and the casual stranger's estimate ofcities is not always founded upon broad appreciations. But though it isunwise to judge of cities by what is said of them, it is perhaps worthremarking that one may often judge of men by what they say of cities. I remember an American manufacturer, broken down by overwork, who, whenhe looked at Pompeii, could think only of the wasted possibilities ofVesuvius as a power plant, and I remember two traveling salesmen on asouthern railroad train who expressed scorn for the exquisite city ofCharleston because--they said--it is but a poor market place forsuspenders and barbers' supplies. There are those who think of Bostononly as headquarters of the shoe trade, others who think of it only inthe terms of culture, and still others who regard it solely as an abodeof negrophiles. In the case of the chief city of Alabama, however, my companion and Inoticed, as we journeyed through the South, that reports weresingularly in accord. Birmingham is too young to have any Civil Warhistory. Her history is the history of the steel industry in the South, and one hears always of that: of the affluence of the city when theindustry is thriving, and hard times when it is not. One is invariablytold that Birmingham is not a southern city, but a northern city in theSouth, and the chief glories of the place, aside from steel, are (if oneis to believe rumors current upon railroad trains and elsewhere), atwenty-seven story building, Senator Oscar Underwood, the distinguishedDemocratic leader, and the Tutwiler Hotel. Even in Atlanta it isconceded that the Tutwiler is a good hotel, and when Atlanta admits thatanything in Birmingham is good it may be considered as established thatthe thing is very, very good--for Birmingham and Atlanta view each otherwith the same degree of cordiality as is exchanged between St. Louis andKansas City, Minneapolis and St. Paul, San Francisco and Los Angeles. Having been, in the course of our southern wanderings, in several verybad hotels, and having heard the Tutwiler compared with Chicago'sBlackstone, my companion and I held eager anticipation of this hostelry. Nor were our hopes dashed by a first glimpse of the city on the night ofour arrival. It was a modern-looking city--just the sort of city thatwould have a fine new hotel. The railroad station through which wepassed after leaving the train was not the usual dingy little southernstation, but an admirable building, and the streets along which wepresently found ourselves gliding in an automobile hack, were wide, smooth, and brightly illuminated by clustered boulevard lights. True, we had long since learned not to place too much reliance upon thenocturnal aspects of cities. A city seen by night is like a womandressed for a ball. Darkness drapes itself about her as a black-velvetevening gown, setting off, in place of neck and arms, the softly glowingfaçades of marble buildings; lights are her diamond ornaments, and herperfume is the cool fragrance of night air. Almost all cities, andalmost all women, look their best at night, and there are those which, though beautiful by night, sink, in their daylight aspect, to uttermediocrity. Presently our motor drew up before the entrance of the Tutwiler--a proudentrance, all revolving doors and glitter and promise. A brisk bell boycame running for our bags. The signs were of the best. The lobby, though spacious, was crowded; the decorations and equipmentwere of that rich sumptuousness attained only in the latest and mostmagnificent American hotels; there was music, and as we made our wayalong we caught a glimpse, in passing, of an attractive supper room, with small table-lights casting their soft radiance upon white shirtfronts and the faces of pretty girls. In all it was a place to make gladthe heart of the weary traveler, and to cause him to wonder whether hisdress suit would be wrinkled when he took it from his trunk. Behind the imposing marble "desk" stood several impeccable clerks, andto one of these I addressed myself, giving our names and mentioning thefact that we had telegraphed for rooms. I am not sure that this youngman wore a braided cutaway and a white carnation; I only know that heaffected me as hotel clerks in braided cutaways and white carnationsalways do. While I spoke he stood a little way back from the counter, his chin up, his gaze barely missing the top of my hat, his nostrilsseeming to contract with that expression of dubiousness assumed bydelicate noses which sense, long before they encounter it, the aroma ofunworthiness. "Not a room in the house, " he said. Then, as though to forestall furtherparley, he turned and spoke with gracious lightness to one of his ownrank and occupation who, at the request of my companion, wasascertaining whether letters were awaiting us. "But we telegraphed two days ago!" I protested desperately. "Can't help it. Hardware Convention. Everything taken. " Over my shoulder I heard from my companion a sound, half sigh, halfgroan, which echoed the cry of my own heart. "I felt this coming!" he murmured. "Didn't you notice all these peoplewith ribbons on them? There's never any room in a hotel whereeverybody's wearing ribbons. It's like a horse show. They get theribbons and we get the gate. " "Surely, " I faltered, "you can let us have one small room?" "Impossible, " he answered brightly. "We've turned away dozens of peoplethis evening. " "Then, " I said, abandoning hope, "perhaps you will suggest some otherhotel?" I once heard a woman, the most perfect parvenu I ever met, speak of herpoor relations in a tone exactly similar to that in which the clerk nowspoke the names of two hotels. Having spoken, he turned and passedbehind the partition at one end of the marble counter. My companion and I stood there for a moment looking despondently at eachother. Then, without a word, we retreated through that gorgeous lobby, feeling like sad remnants of a defeated Yankee army. Again we motored through the bright streets, but only to successivedisappointments, for both hotels mentioned by the austere clerk were"turning 'em away. " Our chauffeur now came to our aid, mentioningseveral small hotels, and in one of these, the Granada, we were at lastso fortunate as to find lodgings. "It begun to look like you'd have to put up at the Roden, " the chauffeursmiled as we took our bags out of the car and settled with him. "The Roden?" "Yes, " he returned "Best ventilated hotel in the United States. " Next day when the Hotel Roden was pointed out to us we appreciated thewitticism, for the Roden is--or was at the time of our visit--merelythe steel skeleton of a building which, we were informed, had for someyears stood unfinished owing to disagreements among those concerned withits construction. As for the Granada, though a modest place, it was new and clean; theclerk was amiable, the beds comfortable, and if our rooms were too smallto admit our trunks, they were, at all events, outside rooms, each witha private bath, at a rate of $1 per day apiece. Never in any hotel haveI felt that I was getting so much for my money. Next morning, after breakfast, we set out to see the city. Havingrepeatedly heard of Birmingham as the "Pittsburgh of the South, " weexpected cold daylight to reveal the sooty signs of her industrialism, but in this we were agreeably disappointed. By day as well as by nightthe city is pleasing to the eye, and it is a fact worth noting that thedowntown buildings of Atlanta (which is not an industrial city) arestreaked and dirty, whereas those of Birmingham are clean--the reasonfor this being that the mills and furnaces of Birmingham are far removedfrom the heart of the town, whereas locomotives belch black smoke intothe very center of Atlanta's business and shopping district. Moreover, the metropolis of Alabama is better laid out than that ofGeorgia. The streets of Birmingham are wide, and the business part ofthe city, lying upon a flat terrain, is divided into large, evensquares. From this district the chief residence section mounts by easy, graceful grades into the hills to the southward. Because of thesegrades, and the curving drives which follow the contours of the hills, and the vistas of the lower city, and the good modern houses, and thelawns and trees and shrubbery and breezes, this Highlands region isreminiscent of a similar residence district in Portland, Oregon--whichis to say that it is one of the most agreeable districts of the kind inthe United States. Well up on the hillside, Highland Avenue winds a charming course betweenpleasant homes, with here and there a little residence park branchingoff to one side, and here and there a small municipal park occupying anangle formed by a sharp turn in the driveway; and if you follow thestreet far enough you will presently see the house of the BirminghamCountry Club, standing upon its green hilltop, amidst rolling, partlywooded golf links, above the road. Nor is the Country Club at the summit of this range of hills. Back of itrise other roads, the most picturesque of them being Altamont Road, which runs to the top of Red Mountain, reaching a height aboutequivalent to that of the cornice line of Birmingham's tallest building. The houses of this region are built on streets which, like some streetsof Portland, are terraced into the hillside, and the resident of anupper block can almost look down the chimneys of his neighbors on theblock below. The view commanded from these mountain perches does notsuggest that the lower city runs up into the Highlands. It seems to be aseparate place, down in a distant valley, and the sense of itsremoteness is heightened by the thin veil of gray smoke which wafts fromthe tall smokestacks of far-off iron furnaces, softening the serratedoutlines of the city and wrapping its tall buildings in the industrialequivalent for autumn haze. At night the scene from the Highlands is even more spectacular, for atbrief intervals the blowing of a converter in some distant steel plantilluminates the heavens with a great hot glow, like that which rises andfalls about the crater of a volcano in eruption. Thus the city's vastaffairs are kept before it by day in a pillar of cloud, and by night ina pillar of fire. Iron and steel dominate Birmingham's mind, activitiesand life. The very ground of Red Mountain is red because of the iron orethat it contains, and those who reside upon the charming slopes of thishill do not own their land in fee simple, but subject always to themineral rights of mining companies. The only other industry of Birmingham which is to be compared, inmagnitude or efficiency, with the steel industry is that of "cutting in"at dances. All through the South it is carried on, but whereas in suchcities as Memphis, New Orleans and Atlanta, men show a little mercy tothe stranger--realizing that, as he is presumably unacquainted with allthe ladies at a dance, he cannot retaliate in kind--Birmingham ismerciless and prosecutes the pestilential practice unremittingly, evengoing so far as to apply the universal-service principle and call outher highschool youths to carry on the work. Before I went to certaindances in Birmingham I felt that high-school boys ought to be kept athome at night, but after attending these dances I realized that suchrestriction was altogether inadequate, and that the only way to dealwith them effectively would be to pickle them in vitriol. Where, in other cities of the South, I have managed to dance as much ashalf a dance without interruption, I never danced more than twenty feetwith one partner in Birmingham. Nor did my companion. Our host was energetic in presenting us to ladies of infinitepulchritude and State-wide terpsichorean reputation, but we would startto tread a measure with them, only to have them swiftly snatched from usby some spindle-necked, long-wristed, big-boned, bowl-eared high-schoolyouth, in a dinner suit which used to fit him when it was new, sixmonths ago. As we would start to dance the lady would say: "You-all ah strangehs, ahn't you?" We would reply that we were. "Wheh do you come from?" "New York. " Then, because the Hardware Convention was being held in town at thetime, she would continue: "Ah reckon you-all ah hahdware men?" But that was as far as the conversation ever got. Just about the timethat she began to reckon we were hardware men a mandatory hand would belaid upon us, and before we had time to defend ourselves against thehardware charge, the lady would be wafted off in the arms of somepredatory youth who ought to have been at home considering _ponsasinorum_. Had we indeed been hardware men, and had we had our hardware with us, they could have done with fewer teachers in the high schools of thatcity after the night of our first dance in Birmingham. * * * * * Up in the hills, some miles back of the Country Club, on the banks of alarge artificial lake, stands the new clubhouse of the Birmingham Motorand Country Club, and around the lake runs the club'stwo-and-a-half-mile speedway. Elsewhere is the Roebuck Golf Club, thelinks of which are admitted ("even in Atlanta!") to be excellent--theone possible objection to the course of the Birmingham Country Clubbeing that it is suited only to play with irons. I mention these golfing matters not because they interest me, butbecause they may interest you. I am not a golfer. I played the game fortwo seasons; then I decided to try to lead a better life. The first timeI played I did quite well, but thence onward my game declined until, toward the last, crowds would collect to hear me play. When I determinedto abandon the game I did not burn my clubs or break them up, accordingto the usual custom, but instead gave them to a man upon whom I wishedto retaliate because his dog had bitten a member of my family. Small wonder that all golf clubs have extensive bars! It is not hard tounderstand why men who realize that they have become incurable victimsof the insidious habit of golf should wish to drown the thought indrink. But in Birmingham they can't do it--not, at least, at bars. Alabama has beaten her public bars into soda fountains and quick-lunchrooms, and though her club bars still look like real ones, the drinksserved are so soft that no splash occurs when reminiscent tears dropinto them. When we were in Alabama each citizen who so desired was allowed by lawto import from outside the State a small allotment of strong drink forpersonal use, but the red tape involved in this procedure had alreadydiscouraged all but the most ardent drinkers, and those found it next toimpossible, even by hoarding their "lonesome quarts, " and poolingsupplies with their convivial friends, to provide sufficient alcoholicdrink for a "real party. " We met in Birmingham but one gentleman whose cellars seemed to be wellstocked, and the tales of ingenuity and exertion by which he managed tosecure ample supplies of liquor were such as to lead us to believe thatthis matter had become, with him, an occupation to which all otherbusiness must give second place. It was this gentleman who told us that, since the State went dry, theancient form, "R. S. V. P. , " on social invitations, had been revised to"B. W. H. P. , " signifying, "bring whisky in hip pocket. " To the "B. W. H. P. " habit he himself strictly adhered. One night, when wechanced to meet him in a downtown club, he drew a flask from a hippocket, and invited us to "have something. " "What is it?" asked my companion. "Scotch. " When my companion had helped himself he passed the flask to me, but Ireturned it to the owner, explaining that I did not drink Scotch whisky. "What do you drink?" he asked. "Bourbon. " "Here it is, " he returned, drawing a second flask from the other hippocket. How well, too, do I remember the long, delightful evening upon which mycompanion and I sat in an Atlanta club with a group of the oldermembers, the week before Georgia went bone dry. There, as in Alabamabefore 1915, there had been pretended prohibition, but now the bars ofleading clubs were being closed, and convivial men were looking into thefuture with despair. One of the gentlemen was a justice of the SupremeCourt of the State, and I remember his wistful declaration thatprohibition would fall hardest upon the older men. "When a man is young, " he said, "he can be lively and enjoy himselfwithout drinking, because he is full of animal spirits. But we older menaren't bubbling over with liveliness. We can't dance, or don't want to, and we lack the stimulus which comes of falling continually in love. Mygreat pleasure is to sit of an evening, here at a table in the café ofthis club, conversing with my friends. That is where prohibition isgoing to hurt me. I shall not see my old friends any more. " The others protested at this somber view, but the judge gravely shookhis head, saying: "You don't believe me, but I know whereof I speak, forI have been through something like this, in a minor way, before. A goodmany years ago I was one of a little group of congenial men to organizea small club. We had comfortable quarters, and we used to drop in atnight, much as we have been doing of late years here, and have the kindof talks that are tonic to the soul. Of course we had liquor in theclub, but there came a time when, for some reason or other--I think itwas some trouble over a license--we closed our bar. We didn't think itwas going to make a great difference, but it did. The men began to stopcoming in, and before long the club ceased to exist. "It won't be like that here. This club will go on. But we won't comehere. We won't want to sit around a table, like this, and drink gingerale and sarsaparilla; and even if we do, the talk won't be so good. Thething that makes me downcast is not that liquor is going, but that weare really parting this week. "Every one knows that the abuse of drink does harm in the world, butthese pious prohibitionists are not of the temperament to understand howalcohol ministers to the esthetic side of certain natures. It gives usbetter companions and makes us better companions for others. Itstimulates our minds, enhances our appreciations, sharpens our wit, loosens our tongues, and saves brilliant conversation from becoming alost art. " My sympathies went out to the judge. It has always seemed to me a pitythat the liquor question has resolved itself into a fight betweenextremists--for I think the wine and beer people might survive if theywere not tied up with the distillers, and I do not believe that anyconsiderable evil comes of drinking wine or beer. Nevertheless it must be apparent to every one who troubles toinvestigate, that prohibition invariably works great good wherever it ismade effective. Take, for example, Birmingham. There was one year--I believe it was 1912--when there was an average ofmore than one murder a day, for every working day in the year, in thecounty in which Birmingham is located. On one famous Saturday nightthere were nineteen felonious assaults (sixteen by negroes and three bywhites), from which about a dozen deaths resulted, two of those killedhaving been policemen. All this has changed with prohibition. Killings are now comparativelyrare, arrests have diminished to less than a third of the formeraverage, whether for grave or petty offenses, and the receiving jail, which was formerly packed like a pigpen every Saturday night, now standsalmost empty, while the city jail, which used continually to house from120 to 150 offenders, has diminished its average population to 30 or35. CHAPTER XXXVIII BUSY BIRMINGHAM The fact that a man may shut off his motor and coast downhill from hishome to his office in the lower part of Birmingham, is not withoutsymbolism. Birmingham is all business. If I were to personify the place, it would be in the likeness of a man I know--a big, powerful fellow withan honest blue eye and an expression in which self-confidence, ambition, and power are blended. Like Birmingham, this man is a little more thanforty years of age. Like Birmingham, he has built up a large business ofhis own. And, like Birmingham, he is a little bit naïve in his pride ofsuccess. His life is divided between his office and his home, and itwould be difficult to say for which his devotion is the greater. Hetalks business with his wife at breakfast and dinner, and on theirSunday walks. He brings his papers home at night and goes over them withher, for, though her specialty is bringing up the children, she isdeeply interested in his business and often makes suggestions which hefollows. This causes him to admire her intensely, which he would notnecessarily do were she merely a good wife and mother. He has no hobbies or pastimes. True, he plays golf, but with him golf isnot a diversion. He plays because he finds the exercise increases hisefficiency ("efficiency" is perhaps his favorite word), and because manyof his commercial associates are golfers, and he can talk business withthem on the links. His house is pleasant and stands upon a good-sized city lot. It isfilled with very shiny mahogany furniture and strong-colored portièresand sofa cushions. It is rather more of a house than he requires, forhis tastes are simple, but he has a feeling that he ought to have alarge house, for the same reason that he and his wife ought to dressexpensively--that is, out of respect, as it were, to his business. One of his chief treasures is an automatic piano, upon which he rollsoff selections from Wagner's operas. He likes the music of the greatGerman because, as he has often told me, it stirs his imagination, thereby helping him to solve business problems and make business plans. The thing he most abhors is general conversation, and he is never soamusing--so pathetically and unconsciously amusing--as when trying totake part in general conversation and at the same time to conceal thewrithings of his tortured spirit. There is but one thing which willdrive him to attempt the feat, and that is the necessity of makinghimself agreeable to some man, or the wife of some man, from whom hewishes to get business. The census of 1910 gave Birmingham a population of 132, 000, and it isestimated that since that time the population has increased by 50, 000. Birmingham not only knows that it is growing, but believes in trying tomake ready in advance for future growth. It gives one the impressionthat it is rather ahead of its housing problems than behind them. Itsarea, for instance, is about as great as that of Boston or Cleveland, and its hotels may be compared with the hotels of those cities. If ithas not so many clubs as Atlanta, it has, at least, all the clubs itneeds; and if it has not so many skyscrapers as New York, it has severalwhich would fit nicely into the Wall Street district. Moreover, the tallbuildings of Birmingham lose nothing in height by contrast with theolder buildings, three or four stories high, which surround them, givingthe business district something of that look which hangs about a boy whohas outgrown his clothing. Nor are the vehicles and street crowds, altogether in consonance, as yet, with the fine office buildings of thecity, for many of the motors standing at the curb have about them thatgray, rural look which comes of much mud and infrequent washing, and theidlers who lean against the rich façades of granite and marble areentirely out of the picture, for they look precisely like the idlers wholean against the wooden posts of country railroad station platforms. Such curious contrasts as these may be noted everywhere. For instance, Birmingham has been so busy paving the streets that it seems quite tohave forgotten to put up street signs. Also, not far from the majesticTutwiler Hotel, and the imposing apartment building called the Ridgely, the front of which occupies a full block, is a park so ill kept that itwould be a disgrace to the city but for the obvious fact that the cityis growing and wide-awake, and will, of course, attend to the park whenit can find the time. Here are, I believe, the only public monumentsBirmingham contains. One is a Confederate monument in the form of anobelisk, and the other two are statues erected in memory of Mary A. Cahalan, for many years principal of the Powell School, and of WilliamElias B. Davis, a distinguished surgeon. Workers in these fields are tooseldom honored in this way, and the spirit which prompted the erectionof these monuments is particularly creditable; sad to say, however, botheffigies are wretchedly placed and are in themselves exceedingly poorthings. Art is something, indeed, about which Birmingham has much tolearn. So far as I could discover, no such thing as an art museum hasbeen contemplated. But here again the critic should remember that, whereas art is old, Birmingham is young. She is as yet in the stage ofdevelopment at which cities think not of art museums, but of municipalauditoriums; and with the latter subject, at least, she is nowconcerning herself. Even in the city's political life contrasts are not wanting, for thoughthe town is Republican in sentiment, it proves itself southern by votingthe Democratic ticket, and it is interesting to note further that thecommission by which it is governed had as one of its five members, whenwe were there, a Socialist. Another curious and individual touch is contributed by the soda-fountainlunch rooms which abound in the city, and which, I judge, arrived withthe disappearance of barroom lunch counters. In connection with many ofthe downtown soda fountains there are cooking arrangements, and businesslunches are served. The roads leading out of the city in various directions have manydangerous grade crossings, and accidents must be of common occurrence. At all events, I have never known a city in which cemeteries andundertaking establishments were so widely advertised. In the streetcars, for instance, I observed the cheerful placards of one WallaceJohns, undertaker, who promises "all the attention you would expect froma friend, " and I was informed that Mr. Johns possesses business cards(for restricted use only) bearing the gay legend: "I'll get you yet!" As to schools the city is well off. Dr. J. H. Phillips, superintendent ofpublic schools, has occupied his post probably as long as any schoolsuperintendent in the country. He organized the city school system in1883, beginning with seven teachers, as against 750 now employed. Thecolored schools are reported to be better than in most southern cities. Of the general status of the negro in Birmingham I cannot speak withauthority. As in Atlanta, negroes are sometimes required to use separateelevators in office buildings, and, as everywhere south of Washington, the Birmingham street cars give one end to whites and the other tonegroes. But whereas negroes use the back of the car in Atlanta, theyuse the front in Birmingham. It was attempted, at one time, to reversethis order, for reasons having to do with draft and ventilation, but thepeople of Birmingham had become accustomed to the existing arrangementand objected to the change. "After all, " one gentleman said to me, inspeaking of this matter, "it is not important which end of the car isgiven to the nigger. The main point is that he must sit where he istold. " The means by which the negro vote is eliminated in various SouthernStates are generally similar, though Alabama has, perhaps, been morethorough in the matter than some other States. The importance of thisissue to the southern white man is very great, for if all negroes wereallowed to vote the control of certain States would be in negro hands. To the Southerner such an idea is intolerable, and it is my confidentbelief that if the State of Alabama were resettled by men fromMassachusetts, and the same problems were presented to those men, theywould be just as quick as the white Alabamans of to-day to find means tosuppress the negro vote. With all my heart I wish that such an exchangeof citizens might temporarily be effected, for when the immigrants fromMassachusetts moved back to their native New England, after anexperience of the black belt, they would take with them anunderstanding of certain aspects of the negro problem which they havenever understood; an understanding which, had they possessed it sixty orseventy years ago, might have brought about the freeing of slaves bygovernment purchase--a course which Lincoln advocated and which wouldprobably have prevented the Civil War, and thereby saved millions uponmillions of money, to say nothing of countless lives. Had they evenunderstood the problems of the South at the end of the Civil War, thehorrors of Reconstruction might have been avoided, and I cannot toooften reiterate that, but for Reconstruction we should not be perplexed, to-day, by the unhappy, soggy mass of political inertia known as theSolid South. I asked a former State official how the negro vote had been eliminatedin Alabama. "At first, " he said, "we used to kill them to keep them fromvoting; when we got sick of doing that we began to steal their ballots;and when stealing their ballots got to troubling our consciences wedecided to handle the matter legally, fixing it so they couldn't vote. " I inquired as to details. He explained. It seems that in 1901 a constitutional convention was held, at which itwas enacted that, in order to be eligible for life to vote, citizensmust register during the next two years. There were, however, certainqualifications prescribed for registration. A man must be of goodcharacter, and must have fought in a war, or be the descendant of aperson who had fought. This enactment, known as the "grandfatherclause, " went far toward the elimination of the negro. As an additionalsafeguard, however, an educational clause was added, but the educationalrequirement did not become effective at once, as that would have madeilliterate whites ineligible as voters. Not until the latter were safelyregistered under the "grandfather clause, " was the educational clauseapplied, and as, under this clause, the would-be voter must read andwrite _to the satisfaction of his examiner_, the negro's chance to getsuffrage was still more reduced. The United States Supreme Court has, I believe, held that theeducational clause does not constitute race discrimination. As though the above measures were not sufficient, it is further requiredthat, in order to vote at November elections in Alabama, voters must paya small voluntary poll tax. This tax, however, must be paid each yearbefore February first--that is, about nine months before electionsactually take place. The negro has never been distinguished for hisforesightedness with a dollar, and, to make matters harder for him, thistax is cumulative from the year 1901, so that a man who wishes to beginto vote this year, and can qualify in other respects, must pay a taxamounting to nearly twenty dollars. These measures give Alabama, as my informant put it, a "very exclusiveelectorate. " With a population of approximately two millions, thegreatest number of votes ever cast by the State was 125, 000. Of thisnumber, 531 votes were those of negroes, "representing" a coloredpopulation of 840, 000! The gentleman who explained these matters also told me a storyillustrative of the old-time Southerner's attitude toward the negro inpolitics. During Reconstruction, when Alabama's Legislature was about one-thirdwhite and two-thirds negro, a fine old gentleman who had been aslaveholder and was an experienced parliamentarian, was attempting topreside over the Legislature. In this he experienced much difficulty, his greatest _bête noir_ being a negro member, full of oratory, whocontinually interrupted other speakers. Realizing that this was a part of the new order of things, the presidingofficer tried not to allow his irritation to get the better of him, andto silence the objectionable man in parliamentary fashion. "The memberwill kindly come to order!" he repeated over and over, rapping with hisgavel. "The member will kindly come to order!" After this had gone on for some time without effect, the old gentleman'spatience became exhausted. He laid down his gavel, arose to his feet, glared at the irrepressible member, and, shaking his finger savagely, shouted: "Sit down, you blankety-blank black blankety-blank!" Whereupon the negro dropped instantly to his seat and was no more heardfrom. CHAPTER XXXIX AN ALLEGORY OF ACHIEVEMENT To visit Birmingham without seeing an iron and steel plant would be likevisiting Rome without seeing the Forum. Consequently my companion and Imade application for permission to go through the Tennessee Coal, Iron, & Railroad Company's plant, at Ensley, on the outskirts of the city. When the permission was refused us we attacked from another angle--usinginfluence--and were refused again. Next we called upon a high officialof the company, and (as we had, of course, done in making our previousrequests for admission to the plant) explained our errand. Though this gentleman received us with the utmost courtesy, he declaredthat the company desired no publicity, and plainly indicated that he wasnot disposed to let us into the plant. "I'll tell you what the trouble is, " said my companion to me. "Thiscompany is a part of the United States Steel Corporation, and in the oldmuckraking days it was thoroughly raked. They think that we have comedown here full of passionate feeling over the poor, downtroddenworkingman and the great, greedy octopus. " "What makes you think that?" "Well, we are a writer and an artist. Lots of writers and artists havemade good livings by teaching magazine readers that it is dishonest fora corporation, or a corporation official, to prosper; that the way tointegrity is through insolvency; that the word 'company' is a term ofreproach, while 'corporation' is a foul epithet, and 'trust' blasphemy. " "What shall we do?" "We must make it clear to these people, " he said, "that we have nomission. We must satisfy them that we are not reformers--that we didn'tcome to dig out a red-hot story, but to see red-hot rails rolled out. " Pursuing this course, we were successful. All that any official of thecompany required of us was that we be open-minded. The position of thecompany, when we came to understand it, was simply that it did not wishto facilitate the work of men who came down with pencils, paper, andpreconceived "views, " deliberately to play the great American game of"swat the corporation. " * * * * * Surely there is not in the world an industry which, for sheer pictorialmagnificence, rivals the modern manufacturing of steel. In the firstplace, the scale of everything is inexpressibly stupendous. To speak ofa row of six blast furnaces, with mouths a hundred feet above theground, and chimneys rising perhaps another hundred feet above thesemouths, is not, perhaps, impressive, but to look at such a row offurnaces, to see their fodder of ore, dolomite, and coke brought in bytrain loads; to see it fed to them by the "skip"; to hear them roarcontinually for more; to feel the savage heat generated within theirbodies; to be told in shouts, above the din, something of what is goingon inside these vast, voracious, savage monsters, and to see themdripping their white-hot blood when they are picked by a long steel barin the hands of an atom of a man--this is to witness an almostterrifying allegory of mankind's achievement. The gas generated by blast furnaces is used in part in the hot-blaststoves--gigantic tanks from which hot air, at very high pressure, isadmitted to the furnaces themselves, and is also used to develop steamfor the blowing engines and other auxiliaries. In the furnaces themolten iron, because of its greater specific gravity, settles to thebottom, while the slag floats to the top. The slag, by the way, is not, as I had supposed, altogether worthless, but is used for railroadballast and in the manufacture of cement. The molten iron drawn from the blast furnaces runs in glitteringrivulets (which, at a distance of twenty or thirty feet, burn the faceand the eyes), into ladle cars which are like a string of devils' soupbowls, mounted on railroad trucks ready to be hauled away by alocomotive and served at a banquet in hell. That is not what happens to them, however. The locomotive takes them toanother part of the plant, and their contents, still molten, is pouredinto the mixers. These are gigantic caldrons as high as houses, whichstand in rows in an open-sided steel shed, and the chief purpose of themis to keep the "soup" hot until it is required for the converters--whenit is again poured off into ladle cars and drawn away. The converters are in still another part of the grounds. They are huge, pear-shaped retorts, resembling in their action those teakettles whichhang on stands and are poured by being tilted. But a million teakettlescould be lost in one converter, and the boiling water from a millionteakettles, poured into a converter, would be as one single drop of icewater let fall into a red-hot stove. In the converters the metalloids--silicon, manganese, and carbon--areburned out of the iron under a flaming heat which, by means of high airpressure, is brought to a temperature of about 3400 degrees. It is theblowing of these converters, and the occasional pouring of them, whichthrows the Vesuvian glow upon the skies of Birmingham at night. The heatthey give off is beyond description. Several hundred feet away you feelit smiting viciously upon your face, and the concrete flooring of thehuge shed in which they stand is so hot as to burn your feet through thesoles of your shoes. The most elaborate display of fireworks ever devised by Mr. Pain wouldbe but a poor thing compared with the spectacle presented when aconverter is poured. The whole world glows with golden heat, and isfilled with an explosion of brilliant sparks, and as the molten metalpasses out into the sunlight that light is by contrast so feeble that itseems almost to cast a shadow over the white-hot vats of iron. Next come the tilting open-hearth furnaces, where the iron is subjectedto the action of lime at a very high temperature. This removes thephosphorus and leaves a bath of commercially pure iron which is then"teemed" into a hundred-ton ladle, wherein it is treated in such a wayas to give it the properties required in the finished steel. What theseproperties may be, depends, of course, upon the purpose to which thesteel is to be put. Rails, for example, must, above all, resistabrasion, and consequently have a higher carbon content than, say, reinforcing bars for concrete work. To obtain various qualities in steelare added carbon, ferro-manganese, or ferro-silicon in proportionsdiffering according to requirements. In the next process steel ingots are made. I lost track of the exactdetail of this, but I remember seeing the ingots riding about in theirown steel cars, turning to an orange color as they cooled, and Iremember seeing them pounded by a hammer that stood up in the air likean elevated railroad station, and I know that pretty soon they got intothe blooming mill and were rolled out into "blooms, " after which theywere handled by a huge contrivance like a thumb and forefinger of steelwhich--though the blooms weigh five tons apiece--picked them up much asyou might pick up a stick of red candy. Still orange-hot, the blooms find their way to the rolling mill, wherethey go dashing back and forth upon rollers and between rollers--thelatter working in pairs like the rollers of large wringers, squeezingthe blooms, in their successive passages, to greater length and greaterthinness, until at last they take the form of long, red, glowing rails;after which they are sawed off, to the accompaniment of a spray of whitesparks, into rail lengths, and run outside to cool. And I may add that, while there is more brilliant heat to be seen in many other departmentsof the plant, there is no department in which the color is morebeautiful than in the piles of rails on the cooling beds--some of themstill red as they come from the rollers, others shading off to rose andpink, and finally to their normal cold steel-gray. Presently along comes a great electromagnet; from somewhere in the skyit drops down and touches the rails; when it rises bunches of them risewith it, and, after sailing through the air, are gently deposited uponflat cars. Here, even after the current is shut off, some of them maytry to stick to the magnet, as though fearing to go forth into theworld. If so, it gives them a little shake, whereupon they let go, andit travels back to get more rails and load them on the cars. Iron ore, coal, and limestone, the three chief materials used in themaking of steel, are all found in the hills in the immediate vicinity ofBirmingham. I am told that there is no other place in the world wherethe three exist so close together. That is an impressive fact, but onegrows so accustomed to impressive facts, while passing through thisplant, that one ceases to be impressed, becoming merely dazed. If I were asked to mention one especially striking item out of all thatwelter, I should think of many things--things having to do withvastness, with gigantic movements and mutations, with Niagara-likenoises, with great bursts of flame suggesting fallen fragments from thesun itself--but above all I think that I should speak of the apparentabsence of men. There were some four thousand men in the plant, I believe, at the timewe were there, but excepting when a shift changed, and a great armypassed out through the gates, we never saw a crowd; indeed I hardlythink we saw a group of any size. Here and there two or three men wouldbe doing something--something which, probably, we did not understand; inthe window of a locomotive cab, or that of a traveling crane, we wouldsee a man; we kept passing men as we went along; and sometimes as welooked from a high perch over the interior of one of the great sheds, wewould be vaguely conscious of men scattered about the place. But theywere very small and gray and inconspicuous dots upon the surface ofgreat things going on--going on, seemingly by themselves, with a sort ofmad, mechanical, majestic, molten sweep. * * * * * At this time, when the great efficient organization started by Bismarckis being devoted entirely to destruction, it is interesting to recallthat the idea of industrial welfare work originated in Germany duringthe period of Bismarckian reorganization. So, paradoxically, the veryforces which, on one hand, were building towards the new records for theextinction of life established in the present war, were, upon the otherhand, developing plans for the safeguarding of life and for making itworth living--plans which have enormously affected the industrialexistence of the civilized world. The broad theory of industrial welfare work was brought to this countryby engineers, chemists, and workmen who had resided in Germany; but, where this work developed over there along coöperative lines, it hasremained for Great Britain and the United States to work it out in amore individualistic way. In this country welfare work has come as a logical part of the generalindustrial development. The first step in this development was theassembling of small, weak industrial units into large, powerful, effective units--that is to say, the formation of great corporations andtrusts. The second step was the coördination of these great industrialalliances for "efficiency. " The third step was the achievement ofmaterial success. When our great corporations were in their formative period, effort wasconcentrated on making them successful, but with success came thoughtsof other things. It began to be seen, for example, that whereas the oldsmall employer of labor came into personal contact with his handful ofworkmen, and could himself supervise their welfare, some plan must nowbe devised for doing this work in a large, corporate way. Thus welfare work developed in the United States, and it is interestingto observe, now, that many of our great corporations are finding timeand funds to expend upon purely æsthetic improvements, and that, in theconstruction of the most modern American industrial plants, architects, landscape gardeners, and engineering men work in coöperation, so that, instead of being lopsided, the developments are harmonious andoftentimes beautiful. On work calculated to prevent accidents in mines, not only the TennesseeCoal, Iron, & Railroad Company, but all the leading mining companies inthe State join for conference. As a result the number of accidentssteadily decreases. Nine years ago one man was killed, on an average, for every 100, 000 tons of iron ore raised. The record at the time of ourvisit was one man to 450, 000 tons. In the coal mines, where nine yearsago one man was killed for every 75, 000 tons raised, the recent recordis one man for 650, 000 tons. In 1914, 126 men were killed in the coal mines of Alabama. In 1915, though the tonnage was about the same, this number was reduced to 63, which was a record. All this is the result of safety work. "Aside from humane considerations, " said an official of the TennesseeCompany, "this concern realizes that the man is the most valuablemachine it has. " This gentleman was one of the ablest men we met in the South. Whiletaking us through the company's plant, and explaining to us the variousoperations, he was interesting, but the real enthusiasm of the man didnot crop out until he took us to the company's villages and showed uswhat was being done for the benefit of operatives and their families, and, of course, for the benefit of the company as well--for he was acorporation official of the modern school, and he knew that bybenefiting its men a corporation necessarily benefits itself. The story of the Tennessee Company's work among its employees, whichbegan about five years ago, some time after the company was taken overby the United States Steel Corporation, is too great to be more thantouched on here. In the department of health thirty-six doctors, sixteennurses, and a squad of sanitary inspectors are employed. The departmentof social science covers education, welfare, and horticulture. To me thework of these departments was a revelation. Each camp has a first-ratehospital, each has its schools and guildhall, and everything is run asonly an efficiently managed corporation can run things. The Docena Village is less like one's idea of a coal "camp" than of apretty suburban development, or a military post, with officers' housesbuilt around a parade. The grounds are well kept; there is a tenniscourt with vine-clad trellises about it, a fine playground for children, pretty brick walks, with splendid trees to shade them; and there is abrick schoolhouse which is a better building, better equipped, betterlighted, and, above all, better ventilated than the schools I attendedin my boyhood. Near the school is the guildhall, which is used for religious services, meetings, and entertainments. And best of all, perhaps, the houses arenot the rows of sad, unpainted cabins one remembers having seen inwestern mining camps, but are pretty cottages, touched with a slightarchitectural variety, and with little variations of color, so that eachhome has individuality. The schools are financed partly by the company and partly by the parentsof the three thousand scholars. The teachers are, for the most part, graduates of leading colleges--Smith, Wellesley, Vassar, the Universityof Chicago, the University of Wisconsin--and educational work of greatvariety is carried on, including instruction in English for foreignemployees, and domestic-science classes for women--separateestablishments, of course, for whites and blacks, for the color line isdrawn in southern mining camps as elsewhere. Negroes are, however, better provided for by the corporation than by most southernmunicipalities, both in the way of living conditions and of education. On the whole, I believe that a child who grows up in the Docena Village, and is educated there, has actually a better chance than one who growsup in most Alabama towns, or, for the matter of that, in towns in anyother State which has not compulsory education. Moreover, I doubt thatthere is in all Alabama another kindergarten as truly charming as theone we visited at Docena, or that there is, in the State, a schoolhouseof the same size which is as perfect as the one we saw in that camp. In another camp old houses have been remodeled, giving practicaldemonstration of what can be done in the way of making a hovel into apretty home by the intelligent use of a little lattice-work, a littlepaint, and a few vines and flowers. Old boarding-houses in thisneighborhood have been converted into community houses, withentertainment halls, shower baths, and other conveniences for the menand their families. Thus tests are being made to discover whether it ispossible to encourage among certain classes of foreign laborers, whosehabits of life have not, to put it mildly, been of the tidiest, someappreciation of the standard of civilization represented by clean, pretty cottages, pleasant meeting houses, and shower baths. I have not told about the billiard tables, bowling alleys, and gamerooms of the clubs, nor about the model rooms fitted up to showhousewives how they may make their homes attractive at but slightexpense, nor about the annual medical examination of the children, norabout the company dentists who charge their patients only for the costof gold actually used, nor about the fine company store at EdgewaterMine, nor about the excellent meats supplied by the company butchers, nor about the low prices of supplies, nor about the effort todiscourage employees from buying cheap furniture at high prices on theinstallment plan, nor, above all, about the clean, decent, happy look ofthe families we chanced to see. Even had I the space in which to tell of these things, it is perhapswiser that I refrain from doing so. For I am aware that in speakinganything but ill of a great corporation I have scandalously outragedprecedent. Nor does it argue well for my powers of observation, or thoseof my companion. I feel confident that where our limited visionsperceived only prosperity and contentment, certain of my brotherwriters, and his brother illustrators would, in our places, have rentthe thin, vaporish veil of apparent corporate kindliness, and found suchfoul shame, such hideous malignity, such grasping, grubby greed, suchdespicable soul-destroying despotism, as to shock the simple nature of achief of the old-time Russian Secret Police. It shames me to think what my friend Lincoln Steffens could have donehad he but enjoyed my opportunities. It shames me to think what JohnReed or other gifted writers for "The Masses" could have done. And Ishould think that Wallace Morgan would writhe with shame. For, where ArtYoung would have seen heavy-jowled, pig-eyed Capital, in a silk hat anda checked suit, whirling a cruel knout over the broad and noble (butbent and shuddering) back of Labor--where Boardman Robinson would havefound a mother, her white, drawn face half hidden by the shoddy shawlof black, to which cling the hands of her emaciated brood--what hasWallace Morgan seen? A steel-plant in operation. A company steel-plant! A _corporation_steel-plant! A TRUST steel-plant. Yet never so much as a starving cat or a pile of garbage in theforeground! CHAPTER XL THE ROAD TO ARCADY Before we saw the train which was to take us from Birmingham toColumbus, Mississippi, we began to sense its quality. When we attemptedto purchase parlor car seats of the ticket agent at the Union Stationand were informed by him that our train carried no parlor car, it seemedto us that his manner was touched with cynicism, and this impression wasconfirmed by his reply to our further timid inquiry as to a dining car: "Where do you gentlemen reckon you're a-goin' to, anyhow?" Presently we passed through the gate and better understood the nature ofthe ticket agent's thoughts. The train consisted of several untidy daycoaches, the first a Jim Crow car, the others for white people. Thenegro car was already so full that many of its occupants had to stand inthe aisle, but this did not seem to trouble them, for all were gabblinghappily, and the impression one got, in glancing through the door, wasof many sets of handsome white teeth displayed in as many dark grinningfaces. There are innumerable things for which we cannot envy the negro, but neither his teeth nor his good nature are among them. It was Saturday afternoon, and the two or three other cars, though notovercrowded, were well filled with people from the neighboring miningtowns who were going home after having spent the morning shopping in thecity. Almost all our fellow passengers carried packages, many hadinfants with them, and we were struck with the fact that the complexionsof these people suggested a diet of pie--fried pie, if there be such athing--that a peculiarly high percentage of them suffered from diseasesof the eye, and that the pervading smell of the car in which we sat wasof oranges, bananas, babies, and overheated adults. A young mother in the seat in front of us had with her three smallchildren, the youngest an infant in arms. She was feeding a banana tothe second child, who looked about two years old. Behind us a clean, capable-looking woman talked in a broad Scottish dialect with anotherhousewife whose jargon was that of the mountaineers. The region through which the train presently began to wind its way wasgreen and hilly, and there were many stops at villages, all of themmining camps apparently, made up of shabby little cabins scatteredhelter-skelter upon the hillsides. In many of the cabin doorways motherslingered with their broods watching the train, and on all the stationplatforms stood crowds of idlers--men, women, and children, negro andwhite--many of the men stamped, by their coal-begrimed faces, theirstained overalls, and the lamps above the visors of their caps, as mineworkers. After a time my companion and I moved to the exceedingly dirty smokingroom at the end of the car, where we sat and listened to the homelyconversation of a group of men who seemed not only to know one another, but to know the same people in towns along the line. Between stationsthey gossiped, smoked, chewed, spat, and swore together like so many NewEngland crossroad sages, but when the train stopped they gaveencouraging attention to the droll performances of one of their number, a shaggy, unshaven, rawboned man, of middle age, gray-haired andcollarless, who sat near the window and uttered convincing imitations ofthe sounds made by chickens, roosters, pigs, goats, and crows. The platform crowds, the negroes in particular, were mystified and luredby this animal chorus coming from a passenger coach. On hearing it theywould first gaze in astonishment at the car, then edge up to the windowsand doors, and peer in with eyes solemn, round, and wondering, only tobe more amazed than ever by the discovery that the car housed neitherbird nor beast. This bucolic comedy was repeated at every station untilwe reached Wyatt, Alabama, where our gifted fellow traveler arose, pointed his collar button toward the door, bade us farewell, anddeparted, saying that he was going to "walk over to Democrat. " Presently the conductor dropped in for a chat, in the course of whichhe informed the assembly that a certain old lady in one of the townsalong the way had died the night before, whereupon our companions of thesmoking room, all of whom seemed to have known the old lady well, held aprotracted discussion of her history and traits. After a time my companion and I put in a few questions about the Stateof Mississippi. Boiled down, the principal information we gathered wasas follows: By the 1910 census Mississippi had not one city of 25, 000 inhabitants. Meridian, with 23, 000, was (and probably still is) her metropolis, withJackson and Vicksburg, cities of about 20, 000 each, following. Theentire State has but fifteen cities having a population of 5000 or more, so that, of a total of about a million and three-quarters of people inthe State (more than half of them colored), only about one-tenth live intowns with a population of 5000 or over. After a little visit the conductor went away. Now and then a man wouldleave us and get off at a station, or some new passenger would join ourgroup. Presently I found myself thinking about dinner, and asked a manwearing an electric-blue cap if he knew what provision was made for theevening meal. Before he could reply the train boy, who had come into the smoking rooma few minutes before, piped up. He was a train boy of a type I hadsupposed extinct: the kind of train boy one might have encountered onalmost any second-rate train twenty years ago, --a bold, impudent youngsmartaleck, full of insistent salesmanship and obnoxious conversation. He declared that dinner was not to be had, and that the only sustenanceavailable en route consisted in the uninviting assortment of fruit, nuts, candy, and sweet tepid beverages contained in his basket. Fortunately for us, the man we had addressed knew better. "What do you want to lie like that for, boy?" he demanded. "You know aswell as I do that the brakeman takes on five boxes of lunch at Covin. " "Well, " said the boy, with a grin, "I gotta sell things, ain't I? Thebrakeman hadn't oughta have that graft anyhow. _I'd_ oughta have it. Hegets them lunches fer two bits and sells 'em for thirty-five cents. " Farfrom feeling abashed, he was pleased with himself. "Folks is funny people, " remarked a man with a weather-beaten face whosat in the corner seat, and seemed to be addressing no one inparticular. "I know a boy that's going to git hung some day. And whenthey've got the noose rigged nice around his neck, and everything ready, and the trap a-waitin' to be sprung, why, then that boy is goin' to beso sorry for hisself that he won't hardly know what to do. He'll say: 'Iain't never had no chance in life, I ain't. The world ain't never usedme right. ' ... Yes, folks is funny people. " After this soliloquy there occurred a brief silence in the smokingroom, and presently the train boy took up his basket and went upon hisway. "You say they take on the lunches at Covin now?" one of the passengersasked of the man in the electric-blue cap. "Yes. " "What's become of old man Whitney, over to Fayetteville?" "They used to git lunches off of him, " replied the other, "but the oldman wasn't none too dependable. Now and then he'd oversleep, and folkson the 5 A. M. Out of Columbus was like to starve for breakfast. " "Right smart shock-headed boy the old man's got, " put in another. "Theold man gives 'im anything he wants. He wanted a motorcycle, and the oldman give 'im one. Then he wanted one of them hot-candy machines; theycost about two hundred and fifty dollars, but the old man give it to 'imjust the same. " "The kid went to San Francisco with it, didn't he?" asked the man withthe electric-blue cap. "He started to go there, " replied the former speaker, "but he only gotas fur as Little Rock; then he come on back home, and the old man bought'im a wireless-telegraph plant. Yeaup! That boy gets messages right outathe air--from Washington, D. C. , and Berlin, and every place. TheGovamunt don't allow 'im to tell you much of it. He tells a little, though--just to give you a notion. " So, through the five-hour ride the conversation ran. Several times thetalk drifted to politics and to the European War, but the politicsdiscussed were local and lopsided, and the war was all too clearlyregarded as something interesting but vague and remote. On the entirejourney not one word was spoken indicating that the people of thissection had the least grasp on any national question, or that they wereconsidering national questions, or that they realized what the war inEurope is about--that it is a war for freedom and democracy, a waragainst war, a war to prevent a few individuals from ever again plungingthe world into war. Nor, though the day of our entry into the war wasclose at hand, had the idea that we might be forced to take part in theconflict so much as occurred to any of them. They were not stupid people; on the contrary, some of them possessed ahomely and picturesque philosophy; but they were not informed, and thereason they were not informed has to do with one of the chief needs ofour rural population--especially the rural population of the South. What they need is good newspapers. They need more world news andnational news in place of county news and local briefs. In the wholeSouth, moreover, there is need for general political news instead ofbiased news written always from inside the Democratic party, andsandwiched in between patent medicine advertisements. CHAPTER XLI A MISSISSIPPI TOWN It was dark when, after a journey of one hundred and twenty miles at therate of twenty miles an hour, we reached Columbus, a city which wasnever intended to be a metropolis and which will never be one. Columbus is situated upon a bluff on the east bank of the TombigbeeRiver, to the west of which is a very fertile lowland region, filledwith plantations, the owners of which, a century ago, founded the townin order that their families might have churches, schools, and theadvantages of social life. As the town grew, a curious but entirelynatural community spirit developed; when a gas plant, water works, orhotel was needed, prosperous citizens got together and financed theenterprise, not so much for profit as for mutual comfort. In these ante bellum times the planters used to make annual journeys toMobile and New Orleans, going by boat on the Tombigbee and taking theircrops and their families with them. After selling their cotton andenjoying themselves in the city, they would load supplies for theensuing year upon river boats and return to Columbus, where the supplieswere transferred to their vast attic storerooms. Though their only water transportation was to the southward, they didnot journey invariably in that direction, but sometimes made excursionsto such fashionable watering places as the Virginia Springs, orSaratoga, to which they drove in their own carriages. When, in the early days of railroad building, the Mobile & Ohio Railroadwas being planned, the company proposed to include Columbus as one ofits main-line points and asked for a right of way through the town and acash bonus in consideration of the benefits Columbus would derive fromrailroad service. Both requests were refused. The railroad company thenwaived the bonus and attempted to obtain a right of way by purchase. Butto no purpose. The citizens would not sell. They did not want arailroad. They were prosperous and healthy, and they contended that arailroad would bring poor people and disease among them, besides killingfarm animals and causing runaways. The company was consequently forcedto make a new survey, and when the line was built it passed at adistance of a dozen miles or more from the city. Gradually dawned the era of speed and impatience. People who hadhitherto been satisfied to make long journeys in horse-drawn vehicles, and had refused the railroad a right of way, now began to complain ofthe twelve-mile drive to the nearest station, and to suggest that thecompany build a branch line into the town. But this time it was therailroad's turn to say no, and Columbus was informed that if it wished abranch line it could go ahead and build it at its own expense. This wasfinally done at a cost of fifty thousand dollars. With the construction of the branch line, carriages fell into disuse anddilapidation, and many an old barouche, landau, and brett passed intothe hands of the negro hackmen who were former slaves of the oldfamilies. Among these ex-slaves the traditions of the first families ofColumbus were upheld long after the war, and it thus happened that when, a few years since, a young New Yorker, arriving for a visit in the town, alighted from his train, he was greeted by an ancient negro who, indicating an equally ancient carriage, cried: "Hack, suh! Hack, suh!Ain't nevah been rid in by none but the Billupses. " Not every young man from the North would have understood this reference, but by a coincidence it was at the residence of Mrs. Billups that thisone had come to visit. Neither as to hack nor habitation were my companion and I so fortunateas the earlier visitor. Our conveyance was a Ford, and the driver warnedus, as we progressed through shadowy tree-bordered streets, that theGilmer Hotel was crowded with delegates who had come to attend the Stateconvention of the Order of the Eastern Star. Nor was his warning withoutfoundation. The wide old-fashioned lobby of the Gilmer was hung with thecolors of the Order and packed with Ladies of the Eastern Star and theirecstatic families; we managed to make our way through the press only tobe told by the single worn-out clerk on duty that not a room was to behad. Unlike the haughty clerk who had dismissed us from the Tutwiler Hotel inBirmingham, the clerk at the Gilmer was not without the quality ofmercy. Overworked though he was, he began at once to telephone about thetown in an effort to secure us rooms. But if this led us to concludethat our problem was thereby in effect solved, we discovered, afterlistening to his brief telephonic conversations with a series of unseenladies, that the conclusion was premature. Though there were vacantrooms in several private houses, strange stray males were not desired aslodgers. Concerned as we were over our plight, my companion and I could not helpbeing aware that a young lady who had been standing at the desk when wecame in, and had since remained there, was taking kindly interest in thesituation. Nor, for the matter of that, could we help being aware, also, that she was very pretty in her soft black dress and corsage ofnarcissus. She did not speak to us; indeed, she hardly honored us with aglance; but, despite her sweet circumspection, we sensed in some subtleway that she was sorry for us, and were cheered thereby. After a time, when the clerk seemed to have reached the end of hisresources, the young lady hesitantly ventured some suggestions as toother houses where rooms might possibly be had. These suggestions sheaddressed entirely to the clerk--who, upon receiving them, did moretelephoning. "Have you tried Mrs. Eichelberger?" the young lady asked him, afterseveral more failures. He had not, but promptly did so. His conversation with Mrs. Eichelbergerstarted promisingly, but presently we heard him make the damningadmission he had been compelled repeatedly to make before: "No, ma'am. It's two men. " Then, just as the last hope seemed to be fading, our angel of mercyspoke again. "Wait!" she put in impulsively. "Tell her--tell her I recommend them. " Thus informed, Mrs. Eichelberger became compliant; but when the detailswere arranged, and we turned to thank our benefactor, she had fled. Mrs. Eichelberger's house was but a few blocks distant from the Gilmer. She installed us in two large, comfortable rooms, remarking, as weentered, that we had better hurry, as we were already late. "Late for what?" one of us asked. "Didn't you come for the senior dramatics?" "Senior dramatics where?" "At the I. I. And C. " "What is the I. I. And C?" At this question a look of doubt, if not suspicion, crossed the lady'sface. "Where are you-all from?" she demanded. The statement that we came from New York seemed to explainsatisfactorily our ignorance of the I. I. And C. Evidently Mrs. Eichelberger expected little of New Yorkers. The I. I. And C. , sheexplained, was the Mississippi Industrial Institute and College, formerly known as the Female College, a State institution for youngwomen; and the senior dramatics were even then in progress in thecollege chapel, just up the street. To the chapel, therefore, my companion and I repaired as rapidly asmight be, guided thither by frequent sounds of applause. From among the seniors standing guard in cap and gown at the chapeldoor, the quick artistic eye of my companion selected a brown-eyedauburn-haired young goddess as the one from whom tickets might mostappropriately be bought. Nor did he display thrift in the transaction. Instead of buying modest quarter seats he magnificently purchased thefifty-cent kind. The dazzling ticket seller, transformed to usher, now led us into thecrowded auditorium and down an aisle. A few rows from the stage shestopped, and, fastening a frigid gaze upon two hapless young women whowere seated some distance in from the passageway, bade them emerge andyield their place to us. Of course we instantly protested, albeit in whispers, as the play wasgoing on. But the beautiful Olympian lightly brushed aside ourobjections. "They don't belong here, " she declared loftily. "They're freshmen--andthey only bought quarter seats. " Then, as the guilty pair seemed to hesitate, she summoned them with acompelling gesture and the command: "Come out!" At this they arose meekly enough, whereupon we redoubled our protests. But to no purpose. The Titian-tinted creature was relentless. Our pleasfigured no more in her scheme of things than if they had been babblingsin an unknown tongue. To add to our discomfiture, a large part of theaudience seemed to have perceived the nature of our dilemma, and wasgiving us amused attention. It was a crisis; and in a crisis--especially one in which a member ofthe so-called gentle sex is involved--I have learned to look to mycompanion. He understands women. He has often told me so. And now, byhis action, he proved it. What he did was to turn and flee, and I fledwith him; nor did we pause until we were safely hidden away in humbletwenty-five cent seats at the rear of the chapel, in the shadow of theoverhanging gallery. It is not my intention to write an extended criticism of theperformance. For one thing, I witnessed only a fragment of it, and foranother, though I once acted for a brief period as dramatic critic on aNew York newspaper, I was advised by my managing editor to give updramatic criticism, and I have followed his advice. The scene evidently represented a room, its walls made of red screensbehind which rose the lofty pipes of the chapel organ. On a pedestal atone side stood a bust of the Venus de Milo, while on the other hung anengraving of a familiar picture which I believe is called "The Fates, "and which has the appearance of having been painted by some-one-or-otherlike Leighton or Bouguereau or Harold Bell Wright. After we had given some attention to the play my companion remarkedthat, from the dialect, he judged it to be "Uncle Tom's Cabin. " I hadbeen told, however, that for certain reasons "Uncle Tom's Cabin" isnever played in the South; I therefore asked the young man in front ofme what play it was. He replied that it was Booth Tarkington and HarryLeon Wilson's comedy, "The Man From Home, " and as he made the statementopenly, I feel that I am violating no confidence in repeating what hesaid--especially since his declaration was supported by the programwhich he showed me. He was a pleasant young man. Perceiving that I was a stranger, hevolunteered the additional information that the masculine rôles, as wellas the feminine ones, were being played by girls; and I trust that Iwill not seem to be boasting of perspicacity when I declare that therehad already entered my mind a suspicion that such was indeed the case. Behold them! Gaze upon the character called Daniel Voorhees Pike! Seewhat long strides he takes, and with what pretty tiny feet! Observe themanliness with which he thrusts his pink little hands deep in thepockets of his--or somebody's--pantaloons! Look at the Grand Duke Vasili of Russia, his sweet oval face and rosymouth partly obscured by mustache and goatee of a most strangewooliness. Observe the ineradicable daintiness of the Honorable Almeric St. Aubyn, but more particularly attend to that villain of helpless loveliness, theEarl of Hawcastle. The frightful life which, it is indicated, the Earlhas led, leaves no tell-tale marks upon his blooming countenance. Hisonly facial disfigurement consists in a mustache which, by reason of itsgrand-ducal lanateness, seems to hint at a mysterious relationshipbetween the British and Russian noblemen. Take note, moreover, of the outlines of the players. If ever earl wasbelted it was this one. If ever duke in evening dress revealeddelectable convexities of figure, it was this duke. If ever worthy malefrom Indiana spoke in a soprano voice and was lithe, alluring, andrecurvous, she was Daniel Voorhees Pike. A young woman seated near us described to her escort the personalcharacteristics of the various young ladies on the stage, and when weheard her call one girl who played in a betrousered part, "a perfectdarling, " we echoed inwardly the sentiment. All were darlings. And thisespecial "perfect darling" appeared as well to be a "perfectthirty-six. " The Earl was my undoing. At a critical point in the unfolding of theplot there was talk of his having been connected with a scandal in St. Petersburg. This he attempted to deny, and though I am unable to quotethe exact words of his denial, the sound of it lingers sweetly in mymemory. Nor would the exact words, could I give them, convey, in print, the quality of what was said, for the Earl, and all the rest, spoke inthe soft, melodious tones of Mississippi. "What you-all fussin' raound heah for, this mownin'?" That, perhaps, conveys some sense of a line he spoke on entering. And when, in reply, one of the others mentioned the scandal at St. Petersburg, the flavor of the Earl's retort, as its cooing tones remainwith me, was this: "Wha', honey! What you-all mean hintin' raound 'baout St. Petuhsbuhg? Ireckon you don' know what you talkin' 'baout! Ah nevuh was in that taownin all ma bo'n days!" What followed I am unable to relate, for the Earl's speech caused me tobecome emotional, and my companion, after informing me severely that Iwas making myself conspicuous, removed me from the chapel. The auburn goddess was still on duty at the door as we went out. Advancing, she placed in each of our hands a quarter. I regret to saythat, in my shaken state, I misinterpreted this action. "Oh, no! _Please!_" I protested, fearing that she thought we had notenjoyed the performance, and was therefore returning our money. "Itreally wasn't bad at all. We're only going because we have anengagement. " "Be quiet!" interrupted my companion in a savage undertone, jerking mealong by the arm. "It's only a rebate on the seats!" And withoutallowing me a chance to set myself right he dragged me out. CHAPTER XLII OLD TALES AND A NEW GAME Mrs. Eichelberger supplied us merely with a place to sleep. For mealsshe referred us to a lady who lived a few doors up the street. But whenin the morning we went, full of hunger and of hope, to the house of thislady, we were coldly informed that breakfast was over, and wererecommended to the Bell Café, downtown. My companion and I are not of that robust breed which enjoys a bracingwalk before its morning coffee, and the fact that the streets ofColumbus charmed us, as we now saw them for the first time by daylight, is proof enough of their quality. There is but little appetite forbeauty in an empty stomach. The streets were splendidly wide, and bordered with fine old trees, andthe houses, each in its own lawn, each with its vines and shrubs, werefull of the suggestion of an easy-going home life and an informalhospitality. Most of them were of frame and in their architectureillustrated the decadence of the eighties and nineties, but here orthere was a fine old brick homestead with a noble columned portico, or aformal Georgian house, disposed among beautiful trees and gardens andsheltered from the street by an ancient hedge of box. So, thoughColumbus is, as I have indicated, not too easily reached by rail, andthough, as I have further indicated, walks before breakfast are not tomy taste, I am compelled to say that for both the journey and the walk Ifelt repaid by the sight of some of the old houses--the Baldwin house, the W. D. Humphries house, the J. O. Banks house, the old McLaren house, the Kinnebrew house, the Thomas Hardy house, the J. M. Morgan house, withits garden of lilies and roses, its giant magnolia trees and its hugecamellia bushes; and most of all, perhaps, for its Georgian beauty, themellow tone of its old brick, its rich tangle of southern growths, andits associations, the venerable mansion of the late General Stephen D. Lee, C. S. A. --now the property of the latter's only son, Mr. Blewett Lee, general counsel of the Illinois Central Railroad, and a resident ofChicago. It was apropos of our visit to the Lee house that I was told of adramatic and touching example of the rebirth of amity between North andSouth. Stephen D. Lee it was who, as a young artillery officer attached to thestaff of General Beauregard, transmitted the actual order to fire onFort Sumter, the shot which began the war. Two years later, having beenpromoted to the rank of lieutenant-general, the same Stephen D. Leeparticipated in the defense of Vicksburg against the assaults ofPorter's gunboats from the river and of Grant's armies, which hemmed inthe hilled city on landward side, until at last, on the 4th of July, 1863, the place was surrendered, making Grant's fame secure. Years after, when the Government of the United States accepted a statueof General Stephen D. Lee, to be placed upon the battle ground ofVicksburg--now a national park--it was the late General Frederick DentGrant, son of the capturer of the city, who journeyed thither to unveilthe memorial to his father's former foe. And by a peculiarly graciousand fitting set of circumstances it came about that when, in April last, the ninety-fifth anniversary of the birth of U. S. Grant was celebratedin his native city, Galena, Illinois, it was Blewett Lee, only son ofthe general taken by Grant at Vicksburg, who journeyed to Galena andthere in a memorial address, returned the earlier compliment paid to thememory of his own father by Grant's son. * * * * * Columbus may perhaps appreciate the charm of its old homes, but there isevidence to show that it did not appreciate certain other weatherwornstructures of great beauty. I have seen photographs of an old BaptistChurch with a fine (and not at all Baptist-looking) portico and flutedcolumns, which was torn down to make room for the present stupidlycommonplace Baptist church: and I have seen pictures of the beautifulold town hall which was recently supplanted by an ignorantly ordinarytown building of yellow pressed brick. The destruction of these twoearly buildings represents an irreparable loss to Columbus, and it is tobe hoped that the town will some day be sufficiently enlightened toknow that this is true and to regret that it did not restore and enlargethem instead of tearing them down. Until a decade or two ago Columbus had, so far as I can learn, but fourstreets possessing names: Main Street, Market Street, College Street, and Catfish Alley, all other streets being known as "the street thatMrs. Billups, or Mrs. Sykes, or Mrs. Humphries, or Mrs. Some-one-elselives on. " Market and Main are business streets--at least they are so where theycross--and, like the other streets, are wide. They are lined with brickbuildings few if any of them more than three stories in height, and itwas in one of these buildings, on Main Street, that we found the BellCafé--advertised as "the most exclusive café in the State. " Being in search of breakfast rather than exclusiveness, we did not sitat one of the tables, but at the long lunch counter, where we werequickly served. After breakfast we felt strong enough to look at picture post cards, andto that end visited first "Cheap Joe's" and then the shop of Mr. Divilbis, where newspapers, magazines, sporting goods, cameras, and allsuch things, are sold. Having viewed post cards picturing such scenes as"Main Street looking north, " "The 1st Baptist Church, " and "Steamer_America_, Tombigbee River, " we were about to depart, when our attentionwas drawn to a telephonic conversation which had started between Mr. Divilbis's clerk and a customer who was thinking of going in for thegame of lawn tennis. The half of the conversation which was audible tous proved entertaining, and we dallied, eavesdropping. The clerk began by recommending tennis. "Yes, " he said, "that would bevery nice. Everybody is playing tennis now. " But that got him into trouble, for after a pause he said: "I'm sorry Ican't tell you everything about it. I don't play tennis myself. Al couldtell you, though. He plays. " Then, after a much longer pause: "Well, ma'am, you see, in a game oflawn tennis everybody owns their own racquet. " At this juncture a tall, thin man in what is known (excepting at PalmBeach) as a "Palm Beach suit, " entered the shop and the clerk asked hisinquisitor to hold the wire while he made some inquiries. After a longconversation with the new arrival he returned to the telephone andresumed his explanation. "Well, you see, they have a net, and one stands on one side and one onthe other--yes, ma'am, there _can_ be two on each side--and one serves. What? Yes, he hits the ball over the net, and it has to go in theopposite court on the other side, and then if that one doesn't send itback--Yes, the court is marked with lines--why, that counts fifteen. Thenext count is thirty. What? No, ma'am, I don't know why they count thatway. No, it's just the way they do in lawn tennis. If your opponent hasnothing, why, they call that 'love. ' Yes, that's it--l-o-v-e--just thesame as when anybody's _in_ love. No, ma'am, I don't know why.... Sothat's the way they count. "No, ma'am, the lines are boundaries. You have to stand in a certainplace and hit the ball in a certain place.... No, I don't mean that way. You've got to hit it so it _lands_ in a certain place; and the onethat's playing against you has to hit it back in a certain place, and ifit goes in some _other_ place, then you can't play it any more. Oh, no!Not all day. I mean that ends _that_ part, and you start over. You justkeep on doing like that. " But though it was apparent that he considered his explanation complete, the lady at the other end of the wire was evidently not yet satisfied, and as he began to struggle with more questions we left the shop andwent to the Gilmer Hotel to see if any mail had come for us. The Gilmer was built by slave labor some years before the war, and wasin its day considered a very handsome edifice. Nor is it to-day anunsatisfactory hotel for a town of the size of Columbus. Its old brickwalls are sturdy, and its rooms are of a fine spaciousness. Downstairsit has been somewhat remodeled, but the large parlor on the second flooris much as it was in the beginning, even to the great mirrors and thecarved furniture imported more than sixty years ago from France. Most ofthe doors still have the old locks, and the window cords originallyinstalled were of such a quality that they have not had to be renewed. The Gilmer was still new when the Battle of Shiloh was fought, andseveral thousand of the wounded were brought to Columbus. The hotel andvarious other buildings, including that of the former Female Institute, were converted into hospitals, as were also many private houses in thetown. Though there was never fighting at Columbus, the end of the war foundsome fifteen hundred soldiers' graves in Friendship Cemetery, perhapstwoscore of the number being those of Federals. The citizens were, atthis time, too poor and too broken in spirit to erect memorials, butseveral ladies of Columbus made it their custom to visit the cemeteryand care for the graves of the Confederate dead. This movement, startedby individuals--Miss Matt Moreton, Mrs. J. T. Fontaine, and Mrs. Green T. Hill--was soon taken up by other ladies of the place and resulted in adetermination to make the decoration of soldiers' graves an annualoccurrence. In an old copy of the "Mississippi Index, " published at the time, may befound an account of the solemn march of the women, young and old, to thecemetery, on April 25, 1866--one year after Robert E. Lee'ssurrender--and of the decoration of the graves not only of Confederatebut of Federal soldiers. It is the proud boast of Columbus that thisoccasion constituted the first celebration of the now nationalDecoration Day--or, as it is more properly called, Memorial Day. It should perhaps be said here that Columbus, Georgia, disputes theclaim of Columbus, Mississippi, as to Memorial Day. In the Georgia cityit is contended that the idea of decorating soldiers' graves originatedwith Miss Lizzie Rutherford, later Mrs. Roswell Ellis, of that place. The inscription of Mrs. Ellis' monument in Linwood Cemetery, Columbus, Georgia, states that the idea of Memorial Day originated with her. It seems clear, however, that the same idea occurred to women in bothcities simultaneously, and that, while the actual celebration of the dayoccurred in Columbus, Mississippi, one day earlier than in Columbus, Georgia, the ladies of the latter city may have been first in suggestingthat Memorial Day be not a local celebration, but one in which the wholeSouth should take part. The incident of the first decoration of the graves of Union as well asConfederate soldiers appears, however, to belong entirely to Columbus, Mississippi, and it is certain that this exhibition of magnanimityinspired F. W. Finch to write the famous poem, "The Blue and the Gray, "for when that poem was first published in the "Atlantic Monthly" forSeptember, 1867, it carried the following headnote: The women of Columbus, Miss. , animated by noble sentiments, have shown themselves impartial in their offerings to the memory of the dead. They strewed flowers on the graves of the Confederate and of the National soldiers. This episode becomes the more touching by reason of the fact that theColumbus lady who initiated the movement to place flowers on the Uniongraves, at a time when such action was sure to provoke much criticism inthe South, was Mrs. Augusta Murdock Sykes, herself the widow of aConfederate soldier. So with an equal splendor The morning sun rays fall, With a touch impartially tender On the blossoms blooming for all; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the Judgment Day; Broidered with gold the Blue; Mellowed with gold the Gray. CHAPTER XLIII OUT OF THE LONG AGO While local historians attempt to tangle up the exploration of De Sotowith the early history of this region, saying that De Soto "entered theState of Mississippi near the site of Columbus, " and that "he probablycrossed the Tombigbee River at this point, " their conclusions arelargely the result of guesswork. But it is not guesswork to say thatwhen the Kentucky and Tennessee volunteers, going to the aid of AndrewJackson, at New Orleans, in 1814, cut a military road from Tuscumbia, Alabama, to the Gulf, they passed over the site of Columbus, for theroad they cut remains to-day one of the principal highways of thedistrict as well as one of the chief streets of the town. More clearly defined, of course, are memories of the Civil War and ofReconstruction, for there are many present-day residents of Columbus whoremember both. Among these is one of those wonderful, sweet, high-spirited, and altogether fascinating ladies whom we call old onlybecause their hair is white and because a number of years have passedover their heads--one of those glorious young old ladies in which theSouth is, I think, richer than any other single section of the world. It was our good fortune to meet Mrs. John Billups, and to see some ofher treasured relics--among them the flag carried through the battles ofMonterey and Buena Vista by the First Mississippi Regiment, of whichJefferson Davis was colonel, and in which her husband was a lieutenant;and a crutch used by General Nathan Bedford Forrest when he was housedat the Billups residence in Columbus, recovering from a wound. Butbetter yet it was to hear Mrs. Billups herself tell of the times whenthe house in which she lived as a young woman, at Holly Springs, Mississippi, was used as headquarters by General Grant. Mrs. Billups, who was a Miss Govan, was educated in Philadelphia andWilmington, and had many friends and relatives in the North. Her motherwas Mrs. Mary Govan of Holly Springs, and her brother's wife, whoresided with the Govans during the war, was a Miss Hawkes, a daughter ofthe Rev. Francis L. Hawkes, then rector of St. Thomas's Church in NewYork. All were, however, good Confederates. Mrs. Govan's house at Holly Springs was being used as a hospital whenGrant and his army marched, unresisted, into the town, and Mrs. Govan, with her daughters and daughter-in-law, had already moved to theresidence of Colonel Harvey Walter, which is to this day a show place, and is now the residence of Mr. And Mrs. Oscar Johnson of St. Louis--Mrs. Johnson being Colonel Walter's daughter. This house was selected by Grant as his headquarters, and he residedthere for a considerable period. ("It seemed a mighty long time, " saysMrs. Billups. ) With the general was Mrs. Grant and their son Jesse, aswell as Mrs. Grant's negro maid, Julia, who, Mrs. Grant told Mrs. Billups, had been given to her, as a slave, by her father, Colonel Dent. Mrs. Billups was under the impression that Julia was, at that time, still a slave. At all events, she was treated as a slave. "We all liked the Grants, " Mrs. Billups said. "He had very little tosay, but she was very sociable and used to come in and sit with us agreat deal. "One day the general took his family and part of his army and went toOxford, Mississippi, leaving Colonel Murphy in command at Holly Springs. While Grant was away our Confederate General Van Dorn made a raid onHolly Springs, capturing the town, tearing up the railroad, anddestroying the supplies of the Northern army. He just dashed in, did hiswork, and dashed out again. "Some of his men came to the house and, knowing that it was Grant'sheadquarters, wished to make a search. My mother was entirely willingthey should do so, but she knew that there were no papers in the house, and assured the soldiers that if they did search they would find nothingbut Mrs. Grant's personal apparel--which she was sure they would notwish to disturb. "That satisfied them and they went away. "Next morning back came Grant with his army. He rode up on horseback, preceded by his bodyguard, and I remember that he looked worn andworried. "As he dismounted he saw my sister-in-law, Mrs. Eaton Pugh Govan--theone who was Miss Hawkes--standing on the gallery above. "He called up to her and said: 'Mrs. Govan, I suppose my sword is gone?' "'What sword, General?' she asked him. "'The sword that was presented to me by the army. I left it in my wife'scloset. ' "Mrs. Govan was thunderstruck. "'I didn't know it was there, ' she said. 'Oh! I should have been temptedto send it to General Van Dorn if I had known that it was there!' "The next morning, as a reward to us for not having known that his swordwas there, the general gave us a protection paper explicitly forbiddingsoldiers to enter the house. " Of course the Govans, like all other citizens of invaded districts inthe South, buried their family plate before the "Yankees" came. Shortly after this had been accomplished--as they thought, secretly--theGovans were preparing to entertain friends at dinner when a negro boywho helped about the dining-room remarked innocently, in the presence ofMrs. Govan and several of her servants: "Missus ain't gwine to have no fine table to-night, caze all de silvuh'sdone buried in de strawbe'y patch. " He had seen the old gardener "planting" the plate. Thereafter it was quietly decided in the family that the negroes hadbetter know nothing about the location of buried treasure. That night, therefore, some gentlemen went out to the strawberry patch, disinterredthe silver, carried it to Colonel Walter's place, and there buried itunder the front walk. "And after Grant came, " said Mrs. Billups, "we used to laugh as wewatched the Union sentries marching up and down that walk, right overour plate. " * * * * * Among the items not already mentioned, of which Columbus is proud, arethe facts that she has supplied two cabinet members within the pastdecade--J. M. Dickinson, Taft's Secretary of War, and T. W. Gregory, Wilson's Attorney General--and that J. Gano Johnson, breeder of famousAmerican saddle horses, has recently come from Kentucky and establishedhis Emerald Chief Stock Farm in Lowndes County, a short distance fromthe town. But items like these, let me be frank to say, do not appeal to me as dothe picturesque old stories which cling about such a town. There is, for instance, the story of Alexander Keith McClung, famousabout the middle of the last century as a duellist and dandy. McClungwas a Virginian by birth, but while still a young man took up hisresidence in Columbus. His father studied law under Thomas Jefferson andwas later conspicuous in Kentucky politics, and his mother was a sisterof Chief Justice John Marshall. In 1828, at the age of seventeen, McClung became a midshipman in the navy, and though he remained in theservice but a year, he managed during that time to fight a duel withanother midshipman, who wounded him in the arm. At eighteen he fought aduel near Frankfort, Kentucky, with his cousin James W. Marshall. Histhird duel was with a lawyer named Allen, who resided in Jackson, Mississippi. Allen was the challenger--as it is said McClung took painsto see that his adversaries usually were, so that he might have thechoice of weapons, for he was very skillful with the pistol. In his duelwith Allen he specified that each was to be armed with four pistols anda bowie knife, that they were to start eighty paces apart, and uponsignal were to advance, firing at will. At about thirty paces he shotAllen through the brain. His fourth duel was with John Menifee, ofVicksburg, and was fought in 1839, on the river bank, near that city, with rifles at thirty yards. Some idea of the spirit in which duellingwas taken in those days may be gathered from the fact that the VicksburgRifles, of which Menifee was an officer, turned out in full uniform tosee the fight. However they were doubly disappointed, for it was Menifeeand not McClung who died. It is said that a short time after this, oneof Menifee's brothers challenged McClung, who killed this brother, andso on until he had killed all seven male members of the Menifee family. McClung fought gallantly in the Mexican War, as lieutenant-colonel ofthe First Mississippi Regiment, of which Jefferson Davis was colonel. Though he remained always a bachelor it is said that he had many loveaffairs. He was a hard drinker, a flowery speaker, and a writer ofsentimental verse. It is said that in his later life he was exceedinglyunhappy, brooding over the lives he had taken in duels--fourteen in all. His last poem was an "Invocation to Death, " ending with the line: "Oh, Death, come soon! Come soon!" Shortly after writing it he shaved, dressed himself with the mostscrupulous care, and shot himself. This occurred March 23, 1855, in theEagle Hotel, North Capitol Street, Jackson, Mississippi. "To preserve the neatness and cleanliness of his attire after deathshould have ensued, " says Colonel R. W. Banks, "it is said he poured alittle water upon the floor to ascertain the direction the blood wouldtake when it flowed from the wound. Then, placing himself in properposition, so that the gore would run from and not toward his body, heplaced the pistol to the right temple, pulled the trigger and deathquickly followed. " CHAPTER XLIV THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM On our second evening in Columbus my companion and I returned to thehouse, near our domicile, to which we had been sent by Mrs. Eichelbergerfor our meals; but owing to a misunderstanding as to the dinner hour wefound ourselves again too late. The family, and the teachers from theI. I. And C. Who took meals there, were already coming out from dinner tosit and chat on the steps in the twilight. We were disappointed, for we were tired of restaurants, and had countedon a home meal that night; nor was our disappointment softened by thefact that the lady whom we interviewed seemed to have no pity for us, but dismissed us in a chilling manner, which hinted that, even had webeen in time for dinner, we should have been none too welcome at herexclusive board. Crestfallen, we turned away and started once more in the direction ofthe Belle Café. In the half light the street held for us a melancholyloveliness. Above, the great trees made a dark, soft canopy; the air wasbalmy and sweet with the scent of lilacs and roses; lights werebeginning to appear in windows along the way. Yet none of it was forus. We were wanderers, condemned forever to walk through strange streetswhose homes we might not enter, and whose inhabitants we might not know. When we had proceeded in silence for a block or two, we perceived awoman strolling toward us on the walk ahead. Nor was it yet so dark thatwe could fail to notice, as we neared her, that she was very pretty inher soft black dress and her corsage of narcissus--that, in short, shewas the young lady whom, though we were indebted to her for our rooms atMrs. Eichelberger's, we had not been able to thank. Now, of course, we stopped and told her of our gratitude. First mycompanion told her of his. Then I told her of mine. Then we both toldher of our combined gratitude. And after each telling she assured ussweetly that it was nothing--nothing at all. All this made quite a little conversation. She hoped that we werecomfortable. We assured her that we were. Then, because it seemed sopleasant to be talking, on a balmy, flower-scented evening, with apretty girl wearing a soft black dress and a corsage of narcissus, webranched out, telling her of our successive disappointments as to mealsin the house up the street. "Which house?" she asked. We described it. "That's where I live, " said she. And to think we had twice been late! "_You_ live there?" "Yes. It was my elder sister whom you saw. " Then we all smiled, for wehad spoken of the chill which had accompanied the rebuff. "Do you think your sister will let us come to-morrow for breakfast?"ventured my companion. "If you're there by eight. " "Because, " he added, "breakfast is our last meal here. " "You're going away?" "Yes. About noon. " "Oh, " she said. And we hoped the way she said it meant that she was justthe least bit sorry we were going. With that she started to move on again. "We'll see you at breakfast, then?" "Perhaps, " she said in a casual tone, continuing on her way. "Not surely?" "Why not come and see?" The words were wafted back to us provocativelyupon the evening air. "We will! Good night. " "Good night. " We walked some little way in silence. "Eight o'clock!" murmured my companion presently in a reflective, ruefultone. "We must turn in early. " We did turn in early, and we should have been asleep early was it notfor the fact that among the chief wonders of Columbus must be ranked itsroosters--birds of a ghastly habit of nocturnal vocalism. But though these creatures interfered somewhat with our slumbers, andthough eight is an early hour for us, we reached the neighboring housenext morning five minutes ahead of time. And though the manner of theelder sister was, as before, austere, that made no difference, for theyounger sister was there. After breakfast we dallied, chatting with her for a time; then a bellbegan to toll, and my companion reminded me that I had an engagement tovisit the Industrial Institute and College before leaving. It was quite true. I had made the engagement the day before, but it hadbeen my distinct understanding that he was to accompany me; for ifanything disconcerts me it is to go alone to such a place. However sweetgirls may be as individuals, or in small groups, they are in the massdiabolically cruel, and their cruelty is directed especially againstmen. I know. I have walked up to a college building to pay a call, whilethirty girls, seated on the steps, played, sang, and whistled an inanemarching tune, with the rhythm of which my steps could not but keeptime. I have been the only man in a dining-room full of college girls. Ahundred of them put down their knives and forks with a clatter as Ientered, and a hundred pairs of mischievously solemn eyes followed myevery movement. Voluntarily to go through such experiences alone a manmust be in love. And certainly I was not in love with any girl at theIndustrial Institute. "We both have an engagement, " I said. "I can't go, " he returned. "Why not?" "I have two sketches to make before train time. " "You're going to make me go over there _alone_?" "I don't care whether you go or not, " he replied mercilessly. "You madethe engagement. I had nothing to do with it. But I am responsible forthe pictures. " Perceiving that it was useless to argue with him, I reluctantly departedand, not without misgivings, made my way to the Industrial Institute. I am thankful to say that there matters did not turn out so badly for meas I had anticipated. I refused to visit classrooms, and contentedmyself with gathering information. And since the going to gather thisinformation cost me such uneasiness, I do not propose to waste entirelythe fruits of my effort, but shall here record some of the facts that Icollected. The Industrial Institute and College is for girls of sixteen years orover who are graduates of high schools. There are about 800 studentstaking either the collegiate, normal, industrial, or musical courses, orcombination courses. This college, I was informed, was the first in thecountry to offer industrial education to women. Most of the students come from families in modest circumstances, andattend the college with the definite purpose of fitting themselves tobecome self-supporting. The cost is very slight, the only regularcharge, aside from board and general living expenses, being a nominalmatriculation fee of $5. There is no charge for rooms in the largedormitories connected with the college. Board, light, fuel, and laundryare paid for coöperatively, the average cost per student, for all these, being about ten dollars a month--which sum also includes payment for alyceum ticket and for two hats per annum. Uniforms are worn by all, these being very simple navy-blue suits with sailor hats. Seniors andjuniors wear cap and gown. All uniform requirements may be covered at acost of twenty dollars a year, and a girl who practices economy may getthrough her college year at a total cost of about $125, though of coursesome spend considerably more. Many students work their way, either wholly or in part. Thirty or fortyof them serve in the dining room, for which work they are allowedsixty-five dollars a year. Others, who clean classrooms are allowedfifty dollars a year, and still others earn various sums by assisting inthe library or reading room or by doing secretarial work. Unlike the other departments of the college, the musical department isnot a tax upon the State, but is entirely self-sustaining, each girlpaying for her own lessons. This department is under the direction ofMiss Weenonah Poindexter, to whose enthusiasm much if not all of itssuccess is due. Miss Poindexter began her work in 1894, as the college'sonly piano teacher, giving lessons in the dormitories. Now she not onlyhas a splendid music hall and a number of assistants, but has succeededin making Columbus one of the recognized musical centers of the South, by bringing there a series of the most distinguished artists:Paderewski, Nordica, Schumann-Heinck, Gadski, Sembrich, Bispham, AlbertSpaulding, Maud Powell, Damrosch's Orchestra, and Sousa's Band. So much I had learned of the I. I. And C. When it came time for me toflee to the train. My companion and I had already packed our suitcases, and it had been arranged between us that, instead of consuming time bytrying to meet and drive together to the station, we should workindependently, joining each other at the train. I left the college in an automobile, stopping at Mrs. Eichelberger'sonly long enough to get my suitcase. As I drove on past the next cornerI chanced to look up the intersecting street. There, by a lilac bush, stood my companion. He was not alone. With him was a very pretty girlwearing a soft black dress and a corsage of narcissus. But the corsagewas now smaller, by one flower, than it had been before, for, as Isighted them, she was in the act of placing one of the blooms from herbouquet in my companion's buttonhole. Her hands looked very white andsmall against his dark coat, and I recall that he was gazing down atthem, and that his features were distorted by a sentimental smile. "Come on!" I called to him. He looked up. His expression was vague. "Go along, " he returned. "Why don't you come with me now?" "I'll be there, " he replied. "You buy the tickets and check thebaggage. " And with that he turned his back. "Good-by, " I called to the young lady. But she was looking up at him anddidn't seem to hear me. * * * * * My companion arrived at the station in an old hack, with horses at thegallop. He was barely in time. When we were settled in the car, bowling along over the prairies towardthe little junction town of Artesia, I turned to him and inquired howhis work had gone that morning. But at that moment he caught sight, through the car window, of some negroes sitting at a cabin door, andexclaimed over their picturesqueness. I agreed. Then, as the train left them behind, I repeated my question:"How did your work go?" "This is very fertile-looking country, " said he. This time I did not reply, but asked: "Did you finish both sketches?" "No, " he answered. "Not both. There wasn't time. " "Let's see the one you did. " "As a matter of fact, " he returned, "I didn't do any. You know how itis. Sometimes a fellow feels like drawing--sometimes he doesn't. SomehowI didn't feel like it this morning. " With that he lifted the lapel of his coat and, bending his headdownward, sniffed in a romantic manner at the sickeningly sweet flowerin his buttonhole. CHAPTER XLV VICKSBURG OLD AND NEW I should advise the traveler who is interested in cities not to enterVicksburg by the Alabama & Vicksburg Railroad, which has a dingy littlestation in a sort of gulch, but by the Yazoo & Mississippi ValleyRailroad--a branch of the Illinois Central--which skirts the river bankand flashes a large first impression of the city before the eyes ofalighting passengers. The station itself is a pretty brick colonial building, backed by a neatif tiny park maintained by the railroad company, and facing the levee(pronounce "_lev_-vy"), along which the tracks are laid. Beyond thetracks untidy landing places are scattered along the water front, withhere and there a tall, awkward, stern-wheel river steamer tied up, looking rather like an old-fashioned New Jersey seacoast hotel, coveredwith porches and jimcrack carving, painted white, embellished with acupola and a pair of tall, thin smokestacks, and set adrift in its oldage to masquerade in maritime burlesque. At other points along the bank are moored a heterogeneous assortment ofshanty boats of an incredible and comic slouchiness. Some are nothingbut rafts made of water-soaked logs, bearing tiny shacks knockedtogether out of driftwood and old patches of tin and canvas, but thelarger ones have barges, or the hulks of old launches, as theirfoundation. These curious craft are moored in long lines to thehalf-submerged willow and cottonwood trees along the bank, or to stakesdriven into the levee, or to the railroad ties, or to whatever objects, ashore, may be made fast an old frayed rope or a piece of telephonewire. Long, narrow planks, precariously propped, connect them with theriver bank, so that the men, women, children, dogs, and barnyardcreatures who inhabit them may pass to and fro. Some of the boats arethe homes of negro families, some of whites. On some, negro fish marketsare conducted, advertised by large catfish dangling from their posts andrailings. Whether fishing for market, for personal use, or merely for the sake ofhaving an occupation involving a minimum of effort, the residents ofshanty boats--particularly the negroes--seem to spend most of their daysseated in drowsy attitudes, with fish poles in their hands. Their eyesfall shut, their heads nod in the sun, their lines lag in the muddywater; life is uneventful, pleasant, and warm. When Porter's mortar fleet lay in the river, off Vicksburg, bombardingthe town, that river was the Mississippi, but though it looks the sameto-day as it did then, it is not the Mississippi now, but the YazooRiver. This comes about through one of those freakish changes of coursefor which the great stream has always been famous. In the old days Vicksburg was situated upon one of the loops of a largeletter "S" formed by the Mississippi, but in 1876 the river cut througha section of land and eliminated the loop upon which the town stood. Fortunately, however, the Yazoo emptied into the Mississippi aboveVicksburg, and it was found possible, by digging a canal, to divert thelatter river from its course and lead its waters into the loop left dryby the whim of the greater stream. Thus the river life, out of whichVicksburg was born, and without which the place would lose itscharacter, was retained, and the wicked old Mississippi, which hasplayed rough pranks on men and cities since men and cities firstappeared upon its banks, was for once circumvented. This is but one itemfrom the record of grotesque tricks wrought by changes in the river'scourse: a record of farms located at night on one side of the stream, and in the morning on the other; of large tracts of land transferredfrom State to State by a sudden switch of this treacherous fluid line ofboundary; of river boats crashing by night into dry land where yesterdaya deep stream flowed; of towns built up on river trade, utterlydependent upon the river, yet finding themselves suddenly deserted byit, like wives whose husbands disappear, leaving them withering, helpless, and in want. Where the upper Mississippi, above St. Louis, flows between tall bluffsit attains a grandeur which one expects in mighty streams, but that isnot the part of the river which gets itself talked about in thenewspapers and in Congress, nor is it the part of the river oneinvoluntarily thinks of when the name Mississippi is mentioned. Thedrama, the wonder, the mystery of the Mississippi are in the lowerriver: the river of countless wooded islands, now standing high and dry, now buried to the tree tops in swirling torrents of muddy water; theriver of black gnarled snags carried downstream to the Gulf with thespeed of motor boats; the river whose craft sail on a level with theroofs of houses; the river of broken levees, of savage inundations. The upper river has a beauty which is like that of some lovely, stately, placid, well-behaved blond wife. She is conventional and correct. Youalways know where to find her. The lower river is a temperamentalmistress. At one moment she is all sweetness, smiles and playfulness; atthe next vivid and passionate. Even when she is at her loveliest thereis always the possibility of sudden fury: of her rising in a rage, breaking the furniture, wrecking the house--yes, and perhaps winding herwicked cold arms about you in a final destroying embrace. Being the "Gibraltar of the river" (albeit a Gibraltar of clay and notof rock), Vicksburg does not suffer when floods come. Turn your backupon the river, as you stand on the platform of the Yazoo & Mississippirailroad station, and you may gather at a glance an impression of thetown piling up the hillside to the eastward. The first buildings, occupying the narrow shelf of land at the water'sedge, are small warehouses, negro eating houses, dilapidated littlesteamship offices, and all manner of shacks in want of paint andrepairs. From the station Mulberry Street runs obliquely up the hillsideto the south. This street, which forms the main thoroughfare to thestation, used to be occupied by wholesale houses, but has more latelybeen given over largely to a frankly and prominently exposed district ofcommercialized vice--negro and white. Not only is it at the very door ofVicksburg, but it parallels, and is but one block distant from, thecity's main street. Other streets, so steep as hardly to be passable, directly assault theface of the hill, mounting abruptly to Washington Street, which runs ona flat terrace at about the height of the top of the station roof, andexposes to the view of the newly arrived traveler the unpainted woodenbacks of a number of frame buildings which, though they are but two orthree stories high in front, reach in some cases a height of five or sixstories at the rear, owing to the steepness of the hillside to whichthey cling. The roof lines, side walls, windows, chimneys, galleries, posts, and railings of these sad-looking structures are allpicturesquely out of plumb, and some idea of the general dilapidationmay be gathered from the fact that, one day, while my companion stood onthe station platform, drawing a picture of this scene, a brick chimney, a portrait of which he had just completed, softly collapsed before oureyes, for all the world like a sitter who, having held a pose too long, faints from exhaustion. A brief inspection of the life on the galleries of these foul old firetraps reveals them as negro tenements; and, though they front on themain street of Vicksburg, it should be explained that about here beginsthe "nigger end" of Washington Street--the more prosperous portion ofthe downtown section lying to the southward, where substantial brickoffice buildings may be seen. Between the ragged, bulging tenements above are occasional narrow gapsthrough which are revealed cinematographic glimpses of street traffic;and over the tenement roofs one catches sight of sundry other buildings, these being of brick, and, though old, and in no way imposing, yet of amore prosperous and self-respecting character than the nearerstructures. Altogether, the scene, though it is one to delight an etcher, is not ofa character to inspire hope in the heart of a humanitarian, or an experton sanitation or fire prevention. Nor, indeed, would it achievecompleteness, even on the artistic side, were it not for its crowningfeature. Far off, over the roofs and above them, making an apex to thecomposition, and giving to the whole picture a background of beauty andof ancient dignity, rises the graceful white-columned cupola ofVicksburg's old stone courthouse, partially obscured by a featherygreen tree top, hinting of space and foliage upon the summit of thehill. * * * * * Pamphlets on Vicksburg, issued by railroad companies for the enticementof tourists, give most of their space to the story of the campaignleading to Grant's siege of Vicksburg and to descriptions of the variousoperations in the siege--the battlefield, now a national military park, being considered the city's chief object of interest. Though I am not constitutionally enthusiastic about seeing battlefields, I must admit that I found the field of Vicksburg engrossing. The siegeof a small city presents a comparatively simple and compact militaryproblem which is, therefore, comprehensible to the civilian mind, and inaddition to this the Vicksburg battlefield is splendidly preserved andmarked, so that the visitor may easily reconstruct the conflict. The park, which covers the fighting area, forms a loose crescent-shapedstrip over the hills which surround the city, its points abutting on theriver above and below. The chief drives of the park parallel each other, the inner one, Confederate Avenue, following, as nearly as the hillspermit, the city's line of defense, while the other, Union Avenue, formsan outer semicircle and follows, in a similar manner, the trenches ofthe attacking forces. That the battlefield is so well preserved is due in part to man and inpart to Nature. Many of the hills of Warren County, in which Vicksburgis situated, are composed of a curious soft limy clay, called marl, which, normally, has not the solidity of soft chalk. Marse HarrisDickson, who knows more about Vicksburg--and also about negroes, commonlaw, floods, funny stories, geology, and rivers--than any other man inMississippi, tells me that this marl was deposited by the river, in theform of silt, centuries ago, and that it was later thrown up into hillsby volcanic action. He did not live in Vicksburg when this took place, but deduces his facts from the discovery of the remains of shellfish inthe soil of the hills. Whatever its geological origin, this soil has some very strangecharacteristics. In composition it is neither stone nor sand, but across between the two--brown and brittle. One can easily crush it todust in one's hand, in which form it has about the consistency of talcumpowder, and it may be added that when this brown powder is seized by thewinds and whirled about, Vicksburg becomes one of the most mercilesslydusty cities on this earth. On exposed slopes the marl washes very badly, forming great cavinggullies, but, curiously enough, where it is exposed perpendicularly itdoes not wash, but slicks over on the outside, and stands almost as wellas soft sandstone, although you can readily dig into it with yourfingers. Many of the highways leading in and out of the city pass between tallwalls of this peculiar soil, through deep cuts which a visitor mightnaturally take for the result of careful grading by the road builders;but Marse Harris Dickson tells me that the cuts are entirely the resultof erosion wrought by a hundred years of wheeled traffic. So far as I know there is but one man who has witnessed this phenomenonwithout being impressed. That man is Samuel Merwin. Merwin went down andvisited Marse Harris in Vicksburg, and saw all the sights. He was politeabout the battlefield, and the river, and the negro stories, andeverything else, until Marse Harris showed him how the highways haderoded through the hills. That did not seem to impress him at all. Moreover, instead of being tactful, he started telling about his trip toChina. In China, he said, there were similar formations, but, as thecivilization of China was much older than that of Vicksburg (fancy hishaving said a thing like that!) the gorges over there had eroded to amuch greater extent. He said he had seen them three hundred feet deep. The more Marse Harris tried to get him to say something a little bitcomplimentary about the Vicksburg erosions, the more Merwin boastedabout China. He declared that the Vicksburg erosions didn't amount to ahill of beans compared with what he could show Marse Harris if MarseHarris would go with him to a certain point on the banks of the Wa Choo, in the province of Lang Pang Si. Evidently he harped on this until he touched not only his host's localpride, but his pride of discovery. Before that, Marse Harris had beencontent to stick around in Mississippi, with perhaps a little run downto New Orleans for Mardi Gras, or up to Dogtail to see a break in thelevee, but after Merwin's talk about China he began to grow restless, and it is generally said in Vicksburg that it was purely in order tohave something to tell Merwin about, the next time he saw him, that hemade his celebrated trip to the source of the Nile. As for Merwin, hehas never been invited back to Vicksburg, and it is to be observed that, even to this day, Marse Harris, by nature of a sunny disposition, showssigns of erosion of the spirit when China is mentioned. It is apropos the battlefield that I mention the peculiarities of thesoil. Had the bare ground been exposed to the rains of a few years, thedetails of redoubts, trenches, gun positions, saps, and all othermilitary works would have melted away. Fortunately, however, there is akind of tough, strong-rooted grass, called Bermuda grass, indigenous tothat part of the country, and this grass quickly covered thebattlefield, holding the soil together so effectually that all outlinesare practically embalmed. So, although those in charge of the park havecontributed not a little to its preservation--putting old guns in theirformer places, perpetuating saps with concrete work, and placing whitemarkers on the hillsides, to show how far up those hillsides theassaulting Union troops made their way in various historic charges--itis due most of all to Nature that the Vicksburg battlefield so wellexplains itself. Could Grant and Pemberton look to-day upon the hills and valleys wheresurged their six weeks' struggle for possession of the city, I doubtthat they would find any important landmark wanting, and it is certainthat they could not say, as Wellington did when he revisited Waterloo:"They have spoiled my battlefield!" Besides the old guns and the markers, the field is dotted over withobservation towers and all manner of memorials. Of the latter, themarble pantheon erected by the State of Illinois, and the beautifulmarble and bronze memorial structure of the State of Iowa, are probablythe finest. The marble column erected by Wisconsin carries at its summita great bronze effigy of "Old Abe, " the famous eagle, mascot of theWisconsin troops. Guides to the battlefield are prone to relate tovisitors--especially, I suspect, those whose accents betray a Northernorigin--how "Old Abe, " the bird of battle, went home and disgracedhimself, after the war, by his ungentlemanly action in laying a settingof eggs. The handsomest monument to an individual which I saw upon thebattlefield was the admirable bronze bust of Major General Martin L. Smith, C. S. A. , and the one which appealed most to my imagination wasalso a memorial to a Confederate soldier: Brigadier-General StatesRights Gist. Is there not something Roman in the thought that, thirty ormore years before the war, a southern father gave his new-born son thatname, dedicating him, as it were, to the cause of States Rights, andthat the son so dedicated gave his life in battle for that cause? Thename upon that stone made me better understand the depth of feeling thatexisted in the South long years before the War, and gave me a clearercomprehension of at least one reason why the South made such a gallantfight. * * * * * Of more than fourscore national cemeteries in the United States, thatwhich stands among the hills and trees, overlooking the river, at thenortherly end of the military park, is one of the most beautiful, andis, with the single exception of Arlington, the largest. It contains thegraves of nearly 17, 000 Union soldiers lost in thiscampaign--three-fourths of them "unknown"! It is interesting to note that, because the surrender of Pemberton toGrant occurred on July 4, that date has, in this region, associationsless happy than attach to it elsewhere, and that the Fourth has not beencelebrated in Vicksburg since the Civil War, except by the negroes, whohave taken it for their especial holiday. This reminds me, also, of thefact that, throughout the South, Christmas, instead of the Fourth ofJuly, is celebrated with fireworks. CHAPTER XLVI SHREDS AND PATCHES It was Marse Harris Dickson who showed us the battlefield. As we weredriving along in the motor we overtook an old trudging negro, verypicturesque in his ragged clothing and battered soft hat. My companionsaid that he would like to take a picture of this wayfarer, and askedMarse Harris, who, as author of the "Old Reliable" stories, seemed bestfitted for the task, to arrange the matter. The automobile, havingpassed the negro, was stopped to wait for him to catch up. Presently, ashe came by, Marse Harris addressed him in that friendly way Southernershave with negroes. "Want your picture taken, old man?" he asked. To which the negro, still shuffling along, replied: "I ain't got no money. " Marse Harris, knowing the workings of the negro mind, got the fullimport of this reply at once, but I must confess that a moment passedbefore I realized that the negro took us for itinerant photographerslooking for trade. With the possible exception of Irvin S. Cobb, I suppose Marse Harris hasthe largest collection of negro character stories of any individual inthis country. And let me say, in this connection, that I know of nobetter place than Vicksburg for the study of southern negro types. One day Marse Harris was passing by the jail. It was hot weather, andthe jail windows were open. Behind the bars of one window, looking downupon the street, stood a negro prisoner. As Marse Harris passed thiswindow a negro wearing a large watch chain came by in the otherdirection. His watch chain evidently caught the eye of the prisoner, whospoke in a wistful tone, demanding: "What tahme is it, brotha?" "What foh you want t' know what tahme it is?" returned the othersternly, as he continued upon his way. "You ain't goin' nowhere. " Through Marse Harris I obtained a copy of a letter written by a negronamed Walter to Mr. W. H. Reeve of Vicksburg. Walter had looked out forMr. Reeve's live stock during a flood, and had certain ideas about whatshould be done for him in consequence. I give the letter exactly as itwas written, merely inserting, parenthetically, a few explanatory words: _Mr. H W Reeve an bos dear sir I like to git me a par [pair] second hand pance dont a fail or elce I will be dout [without] a pare to go eny where so send me something. Dont a fail an send me a par of youre pance [or] i will hafter go to work for somebody to git some. I don't think you all is treating me right at all I stayed with youre hogs in the water till the last tening [attending] to them and I dont think that youre oder [ought to] fail me bout a pare old pance_ WALTER Though I cannot see just why it should be so, it seemed to us that theVicksburg negroes were happier than those of any other place we visited. Whether drowsing in the sun, walking the streets, doing a little strokeof work, fishing, or sitting gabbling on the curbstone, they were uponthe whole as cheerful and as comical a lot of people as I ever saw. "Wha' you-all goin' to?" I heard a negro ask a group of mulatto women, in clean starched gingham dresses, who went flouncing by him on thestreet one Saturday afternoon. "Oh, " returned one of the women, with the elaborate superiority of amember of the class of idle rich, "we're just serenadin' 'round. " "Serenading, " as she used the word, meant a promenade about the town. Perhaps the happiness of the negro, here, has to do with the lazy lifeof the river. The succulent catfish is easily obtainable for food, andthe wages of the roustabout--or "rouster, " as he is called forshort--are good. The rouster, in his red undershirt, with a bale hook hung in his belt, is a figure to fascinate the eye. When he works--which is to say, whenhe is out of funds--he works hard. He will swing a two-hundred-poundsack to his back and do fancy steps as he marches with it up the springygangplank to the river steamer's deck, uttering now and then a strange, barbaric snatch of song. He has no home, no family, no responsibilities. An ignorant deck hand can earn from forty to one hundred dollars amonth. Pay him off at the end of the trip, let him get ashore with hismoney, and he is gone. Without deck hands the steamer cannot move. Formany years there has been known to river captains a simple way out ofthis difficulty. Pay the rousters off a few hours before the end of thetrip. Say there are twenty of them, and that each is given twentydollars. They clear a space on deck and begin shooting craps. No oneinterferes. By the time the trip ends most of the money has passed intothe hands of four or five; the rest are "broke" and therefore remain atwork. Yet despite the ingenuity of those who have the negro laborproblem to contend with, Marse Harris tells me that there have beentimes when the levee was lined with steamers, full-loaded, but unable todepart for want of a crew. Not that there was any lack of roustabouts intown, but that, money being plentiful, they would not work. In suchtimes perishable freight rots and is thrown overboard. I am conscious of a tendency, in writing of Vicksburg, to dwellcontinually upon the negro and the river for the reason that the twoform an enchanting background for the whole life of the place. Thisshould not, however, be taken to indicate that Vicksburg is not a cityof agreeable homes and pleasant society, or that its onlypicturesqueness is to be found in the river and negro life. The point is that Vicksburg is a patchwork city. The National ParkHotel, its chief hostelry, is an unusually good hotel for a city ofthis size, and Washington Street, in the neighborhood of the hotel, hasthe look of a busy city street; yet on the same square with the hotel, on the street below, nearer the river, is an unwholesome negrosettlement. So it is all over the city; the "white folks" live on thehills, while the "niggers" inhabit the adjacent bottoms. Nor is that theonly sense in which the town is patched together. Some of the mostcharming of the city's old homes are tucked away where the visitor isnot likely to see them without deliberate search. Such a place, forexample, is the old Klein house, standing amid lawns and old-fashionedgardens, on the bluff overlooking the Mississippi. This house was builtlong before the railroad came to Vicksburg, cutting off its grounds fromthe river. A patch in the paneling of the front door shows where acannon ball passed through at the time of the bombardment, and the ballitself may still be seen embedded in the woodwork of one of the roomswithin. And there are other patches. Near the old courthouse, which rears itselfso handsomely at the summit of a series of terraces leading up from thestreet, are a number of old sand roads which must be to-day almost asthey were in the heyday of the river's glory, when the region in whichthe courthouse stands was the principal part of the city--the days ofheavy drinking and gambling, dueling, slave markets, and steamboatraces. These streets are not the streets of a city, but of a small town. So, too, where Adams Street crosses Grove, it has the appearance of acountry lane, the road represented by a pair of wheel tracks runningthrough the grass; but Cherry Street, only a block distant, is built upwith city houses and has a good asphalt pavement and a trolley line. CHAPTER XLVII THE BAFFLING MISSISSIPPI As inevitably as water flows down the hills of Vicksburg to the river, the visitor's thoughts flow down always to the great spectacular, historic, mischievous, dominating stream. Mark Twain, in that glorious book, "Life on the Mississippi, " declared, in speaking of the eternal problems of the Mississippi, that as thereare not enough citizens of Louisiana to take care of all the theoriesabout the river at the rate of one theory per individual, each citizenhas two theories. That is the case to-day as it was when Mark Twain wasa pilot. I have heard half a dozen prominent men, some of themengineers, state their views as to what should be done. Each view seemedsound, yet all were at variance. Consider, for example, that part of the river lying between Vicksburgand the mouth. Here, quite aside from the problem as to the hands inwhich river-control work should be vested--a very great problem initself--three separate and distinct physical problems are presented. From Vicksburg to Red River Landing there are swift currents whichdeposit silt only at the edge of the bank, or on sand bars. From RedRiver Landing to New Orleans the problem is different; here the channelis much improved, and slow currents at the sides of the river, betweenthe natural river bank and the levee, deposit silt in the old "borrowpits"--pits from which the earth was dug for the building of thelevees--filling them up, whereas, farther up the river, the borrow pits, instead of filling up, are likely to scour, undermining the levee. FromNew Orleans to the head of the Passes--these being the three mainchannels by which the river empties into the Gulf--the banks between thenatural river bed and the levees build up with silt much more rapidlythan at any other point on the entire stream; here there are no sandbars, and the banks cave very little. In this part of the river it isnot current, but wind, which forms the great problem, for the winds areterrific at certain times of year, and when they blow violently againstthe current, waves are formed which wash out the levees. This is the barest outline of three chief physical problems with whichriver engineers must contend. There are countless others which have tobe met in various ways. In some places the water seeps through, underthe levee, and bubbles up, like a spring, from the ground outside. This, if allowed to continue, soon undermines the levee and causes a break. The method of fighting such a seepage is interesting. When the waterbegins to bubble up, a hollow tower of sand-filled sacks is built upabout the place where it comes from the ground, and when this tower hasraised the level of the water within it to that of the river, thepressure is of course removed, on the siphon principle. As river-control work is at present handled, there is no centralizationof authority, and friction, waste, and politics consequently play alarge part. Consider, for example, the situation in the State of Louisiana. Herecontrol is, broadly speaking, in the hands of three separate bodies: (1)the United States army engineer, who disburses the money appropriated byCongress for levees and bank revetment, working under direction of theMississippi River Commission; (2) the State Board of Engineers, whichdisburses Louisiana State funds wherever it sees fit, and which, incidentally, does not use, in its work, the same specifications as areused by the Government; and (3) the local levee boards, of which thereare eight in Louisiana, one to each river parish--a parish being what iselsewhere called a county. Each of these eight boards has authority asto where parish money shall be spent within its district, and it may beadded that this last group (considering the eight boards as a unit) hasthe largest sum to spend on river work. The result of this division of authority creates chaos, and has built upa situation infinitely worse than was faced by General Goethals whenCongress attempted to divide control in the building of the PanamaCanal. It will be remembered that, in that case, a commission wasappointed, but that Roosevelt circumvented Congress by making GeneralGoethals head of the commission with full powers. While the canal was in course of construction, General Goethals appearedbefore the Senate Committee on Commerce. When asked what he knew oflevee building and work on the Mississippi, he replied: "I don't know a single, solitary thing about the work on the Mississippiexcept that it is being carried on under the annual appropriationsystem. If we had that system to hamper us, the Panama Canal would notbe completed on time and within the estimate, as it will be. That systemleaves engineers in uncertainty as to how much they may plan to do inthe year ahead of them. Big works cannot be completed economically, either as to time or money, unless the man who is making the plan canproceed upon the theory that the money will be forthcoming as fast as hecan economically spend it. " In view of the foregoing, I cannot myself claim to be free from rivertheory. It seems to me clear that the Mississippi should be underexclusive Federal control from source to mouth; that the variouscommissions should be abolished, and that the whole matter should be inthe hands of the chief of United States Engineers, who would have amplefunds with which to carry on work of a permanent character. As one among countless items pointing to the need of Federal control, consider the case of the Tensas Levee Board, one of the eight localboards in Louisiana. This board does not build any levees whatsoever inthe State of Louisiana, but does all its work with Louisiana money, inthe State of Arkansas, where it has constructed, and maintains, eighty-two miles of levees, protecting the northeastern corner ofLouisiana from floods which would originate in Arkansas. These samelevees, however, also protect large tracts of land in Arkansas, forwhich protection the inhabitants of Arkansas do not pay one cent, knowing that their Louisiana neighbors are forced, for their own safety, to do the work. Cairo, Illinois, is the barometer of the river's rise and fall, the gageat that point being used as the basis for estimates for the entire riverbelow Cairo. These estimates are made by computations which are soaccurate that Vicksburg, Baton Rouge, and New Orleans know, days or evenweeks in advance, when to expect high water, and within a few inches ofthe precise height the floods will reach. Some years since, the United States engineer in charge of a riverdistrict embracing a part of Louisiana, notified the local levee boardsthat unusually high water might be expected on a certain date and thatseveral hundred miles of levees would have to be "capped" in order toprevent overflow. The local boards in turn notified the planters, insections where capping was necessary. One of the planters so notified was an old Cajun--Cajun being acorruption of the word "Acadian, " denoting those persons of Frenchdescent driven from Acadia, in Canada, by the British many years ago. This old man did not believe that the river would rise as high aspredicted and was not disposed to cap his levee. "But, " said the member of the local levee board, who interviewed him, "the United States engineer says you will have to put two twelve-inchplanks, one above the other, on top of your levee, and back them withearth, or else the water will come over. " At last the old fellow consented. Presently the floods came. The water mounted, mounted, mounted. Soon itwas halfway up the lower plank; then it rose to the upper one. When itreached the middle of that plank the Cajun became alarmed and calledupon the local levee board for help to raise the capping higher still. "No, " said the local board member who had given him the originalwarning, "that will not be necessary. I have just talked to the UnitedStates engineer. He says the water will drop to-morrow. " The old man was skeptical, however, and was not satisfied until theboard member agreed that in case the flood failed to abate next day, aspredicted, the board should do the extra capping. This settled, a nailwas driven into the upper plank to mark the water's height. Sure enough, on the following morning the river had dropped away fromthe nail, and thereafter it continued to fall. After watching the decline for several days, the Cajun, very muchpuzzled, called on his friend, the local levee board member, to talk thematter over. "Say, " he demanded, "what kinda man dis United States engineer is, anyhow? Firs' he tell when de water comes. Den he tell jus' how high shecomes. Den he tell jus' when she's agoin' to fall. What kinda man isdat, anyhow? Is he been one Voodoo?" * * * * * The spirit of the people of Arkansas, Mississippi, and Louisiana, wholive, in flood time, in the precarious safety afforded by the levees, ischaracterized by the same optimistic fatalism that is to be found amongthe inhabitants of the slopes of Vesuvius in time of eruption. One night, a good many years ago, I ascended Vesuvius at such a time, and I remember well a talk I had with a man who gave me wine and sausagein his house, far up on the mountain side, at about two o'clock thatmorning. Seventeen streams of lava were already flowing down, and signs ofimminent disaster were at hand. "Aren't you afraid to stay here with your family?" I asked the man. "No, " he replied. "Three times I have seen it worse than this. I havelived here always, and"--with a good Italian smile--"it is evident, signore, that I am still alive. " Less than a week later I read in a newspaper that this man's house, which was known as Casa Bianca, together with his vineyards and hisprecious wine cellars, tunneled into the mountain side, had beenobliterated by a stream of lava. Precisely as he went about his affairs when destruction threatened, sodo the planters along the Mississippi. But there is this difference:against Vesuvius no precaution can avail; whereas, in the case of aMississippi flood, foresight may save life and property. For instance, many planters build mounds large enough to accommodate their barns, andall their live stock. Likewise, when floods are coming, they constructfalse floors in their houses, elevating their furniture above high-watermark, so that, if the whole house is not carried away, they may returnto something less than utter ruin. It is the custom, also, to placeladders against trees, in the branches of which provisions are kept intime of danger, and to have skiffs, containing food and water, ready onthe galleries of the houses. CHAPTER XLVIII OLD RIVER DAYS Among the honored citizens of Vicksburg, at the time of our visit, werea number of old steamboat men who knew the river in its golden days;among them, Captain "Mose" Smith, Captain Tom Young, Captain W. S. ("Billy") Jones, and Captain S. H. Parisot--the latter probably theoldest surviving Mississippi River captain. We were sent to see Captain Parisot at his house, where he received uskindly, entertained us for an hour or more with reminiscences, andshowed us a most interesting collection of souvenirs of the river, including photographs of famous boats, famous deck loads of cotton, andfamous characters: among the latter the celebrated rivals, Captain JohnW. Cannon of the _Robert E. Lee_ and Captain Thomas P. Leathers of the_Natchez_. Captain Parisot knew both these men well, and was himselfaboard the _Lee_ at the time of her famous race with the _Natchez_ fromNew Orleans to St. Louis. "We left New Orleans 3½ minutes ahead of the _Natchez_, " said CaptainParisot, "made the run to Vicksburg in 24 hours and 28 minutes, beat herto Cairo by 1 hour and 12 minutes, and to St. Louis by more than 3hours. " Captain Parisot's father was a soldier under Napoleon I, and moved toWarren County, Mississippi, after having been wounded at Moscow. Hebuilt, at the foot of Main Street, Vicksburg, the first brick house thatcity had. "There was a law in France, " said the captain, "that any citizen absentfrom the country for thirty-five years lost all claim to property. Myfather's people were pretty well off, so in '42 he started back, but hewas taken ill and died in New Orleans. " Captain Parisot was born in 1828, and in 1847 began "learning theriver. " In 1854 he became part owner of a boat, and three years laterpurchased one of his own. "I bought her in Cincinnati, " he said. Then, reflectively, he added:"There was a good deal of drinking in those days. When I brought herdown on her first trip I had 183 tons of freight, and 500 barrels ofwhisky, from Cincinnati, for one little country store--Barksdale &McFarland's, at Yazoo City. " "There was a good deal of gambling, too, wasn't there?" one of ussuggested. "There was indeed, " smiled the old captain. "Every steamboat was agambling house, and there used to be big games before the war. " "How big?" "Well, " he returned, "as Captain Leathers once put it, it used to be'nigger ante and plantation limit. ' And that's no joke about playing forniggers either. Those old planters would play for anything. I've knownpeople to get on a boat at Yazoo City to come to Vicksburg, and get in agame, and never get off at Vicksburg at all--just go back to Yazoo; yes, and come down again, to keep the game going. "There was a saloon called the Exchange near our house in Yazoo, and Iremember once my father got into a game, there, with a gambler namedSpence Thrift. That was before the war. Thrift was a terrible stiffbluffer. When he got ready to clean up, he'd shove up his whole pile. Well, he did that to my father. Thrift's pile was twenty-two hundreddollars, and all my father had in front of him was eight hundred. But heowned a young negro named Calvin, so he called Calvin, and told him:'Here, boy! Jump up on the table. ' That equalled the gambler's pile; andit finished him--he threw down his hand, beaten. "Business in those times was done largely on friendship. It used to besaid that I 'owned' the Yazoo River when I was running my line. I kneweverybody up there. They were my friends, and they gave me theirbusiness for that reason, and also because I brought the cotton downhere to Vicksburg, and reshipped it from here on, down the river. It wasconsidered an advantage to reship cotton because moving it from one boatto another knocked the mud off the bales. "There used to be some enormous cargoes of cotton carried. The largestboat on the river was the _Henry Frank_, owned by Frank Hicks ofMemphis. She ran between Memphis and New Orleans, and on one tripcarried 9226 bales. Those were the old-style bales, of course. Theyweighed 425 to 450 pounds each, as against 550 to 600 pounds, which isthe weight of a bale to-day, now that powerful machinery is used to makethem. The heavy bale came into use partly to beat transportationcharges, as rates were not made by weight, but at so much per bale. "The land up the Yazoo belonged to the State, and the State sold it for$1. 25 per acre. The fellows that got up there first weren't any tooanxious to see new folks coming in and entering land. Used to try allkinds of schemes to get them out. "There were two brothers up there named Parker. One of them was asurveyor--we called him 'Baldy'--and the other was lumbering, gettingtimber out of the cypress breaks and rafting it down. Almost all thetimber used from Vicksburg to New Orleans came out of there. "One time a man came up the Yazoo to take up land and went to stop withBaldy Parker. When they sat down to dinner Baldy took some flour andsprinkled it all over his meat. "'What's that?' asked the stranger. "'Quinine, ' says Baldy. 'Haven't you got any?' "'No, ' says the fellow; 'what would I want it for?' "'You'll find out if you go out there in the swamps, ' Baldy tells him. 'It's full of malaria. We eat quinine on everything. ' "The fellow was quiet through the rest of the meal. "Pretty soon they got up to go out, and Baldy took up a pair ofstovepipes. "'What do you do with them pipes?' asks the stranger. "'Wear 'em, of course, ' says Baldy. 'Haven't you got any?' "'No, ' says the fellow. 'What for?' "'Why, ' says Baldy, 'the rattlesnakes out there will bite the legs rightoff of you. ' "With that the fellow had enough. He didn't go any farther, but turnedaround and took the boat down the river. " In all his years as captain and line owner on the river, Captain Parisotnever lost a vessel. "I never insured against sinking, " he told us. "Just against fire. But I got the best pilots I could hire. In all Ibuilt twenty-seven steamboats. I had $150, 000 worth of boats when I soldmy line in 1880. After I sold they did lose some boats. " Later we saw Captain "Billy" Jones, a much younger man than CaptainParisot, yet old enough to have known the river in its prime. CaptainJones deserted the river years ago, and is now a golfer with aprosperous banking business on the side. "Captain Parisot was right when he said business on the river was donelargely on friendship, " said Captain Jones. "Also business used to beturned down for the opposite reason. There was a historic case of thatin this town. "Captain Tom Leathers was in the habit of refusing to take freight onthe _Natchez_ if he didn't like the shipper or the consignee. For somereason or other he had it in for the firm of Lamkin & Eggleston, wholesale grocers here in Vicksburg, and declined their freight. Theysued him in the Circuit Court and got judgment. Leathers carried thecase to the Supreme Court, but the verdict was sustained and he had topay $2500 damages. He was furious. "'What's the use, ' he said, 'of being a steamboat captain if you can'ttell people to go to hell?'" It is the lamentable fact, and I must face it, and so must you if youintend to read on, that the language of the river was rough. At leastninety-nine out of every hundred river stories are, therefore, notprintable in full. Either they must be vitiated by deletions, orinterpreted at certain points by blanks and "blanketys. " As for me, Iprefer the blankety-blanks and I consider that this method of avoidingthe complete truth relieves me of all responsibility. And of course, ifthat is so, it absolves, at the same time, good Captain "Billy" Jones, or any one else who may have happened to tell me the stories. Both Leathers and Cannon were large, powerful men, and they always hatedeach other. Leathers was never popular, for he was very arrogant, but hehad a great reputation for pushing the _Natchez_ through on time. Also, such friends as he did have always stuck by him. Something of the feeling between the two old river characters isrevealed in the following story related by Captain Jones: "Ed Snodgrass, who lived in St. Joseph, La. , was a friend of both Cannonand Leathers. When the _Natchez_ would arrive at St. Joseph, he would goand give Leathers news about Cannon, and when the _Lee_ came in he wouldsee Cannon and tell him about Leathers. "Well, one time Leathers was laid up with a carbuncle on his back, andbrought a doctor up on the boat with him. So, of course, Ed Snodgrasstold Cannon about it when he came along. "'A carbuncle, eh?' said Cannon. "'Yes, ' said Ed. "'Well, ' said Cannon, 'you tell the old blankety-blank-blank that I hada brother--a bigger, stronger man than I am--and he had one o' themthings and died in two weeks. ' "Soon after that Cannon made a misstep when backing the _Natchez_ out, at Natchez, and fell, breaking his collar bone. Of course Ed Snodgrassgave the news to Leathers when he came along. "'Huh!' said Leathers. 'His collar bone, eh? You tell the oldblankety-blank-blank that I wish it had been his blankety-blank neck!'" I asked Captain Jones for stories about gambling. "After the war, " he said, "there weren't the big poker games there usedto be. Mostly we had sucker games then. There was a gambler named GeorgeDuval who wrote a book--or, rather, he had somebody write it for him, for he was a very ignorant fellow, and began his life calking the seamsof boats in a shipyard. He had a partner who was known as 'Jew Mose, 'who used to dress like a rich planter. He wore a broad-brimmed hat and avery elegant tail coat, and was a big, handsome man. "After the boat left New Orleans, this 'Jew Mose' would disguise himselfwith whiskers and goggles, go to the barber shop and lay out his game. George Duval and a fellow called 'Canada Bill' were the cappers. Theywould bring in suckers, get their money, and generally get off the boatabout Baton Rouge. "Once when I was a clerk on the _Robert E. Lee_, Duval got a youngfellow in tow, and the young fellow wanted to bet on the game, but hehad a friend with him, and his friend kept pulling him away. "Later, when Duval had given up the idea of getting this young fellow'smoney, and closed up his game, he appeared in the social hall of theboat with a small bag held up to his face. "Somebody asked him what was in the bag. "'It's hot salt, ' he said. 'I've got a toothache, and a bag of hot saltis the best thing in the world for toothache. ' "Presently, when he went to his stateroom to get something, he left thebag of salt on the stove to heat it up. While he was gone somebodysuggested, as a joke, that they dump out the salt and fill the bag withashes, instead. So they did it. And when Duval came back he held it upto his face again, and seemed perfectly satisfied. "'How does it feel now?' one of the fellows asked. "'Fine, ' said Duval. 'Hot salt is the best thing going. ' "At that, the man who had prevented the young fellow from betting, downin the barber shop, earlier in the day, offered to bet Duval a hundreddollars that the bag didn't contain salt. "Duval took the bet and raised him back another hundred. But the man hadonly fifty dollars left. However, another fellow, standing in the crowd, put in the extra fifty to make two hundred dollars a side. "Then Duval opened the bag, and it _was_ salt. He had changed the bags, and the fellows who worked up the trick were his cappers. " One of the old-time river gamblers was an individual, blind in one eye, known as "One-eyed Murphy. " Murphy was an extremely artful manipulatorof cards, and made a business of cheating. One day, shortly after the_Natchez_ had backed out from New Orleans and got under way, MarionKnowles, a picturesque gentleman of the period, and one who had thereputation of being polite even in the most trying circumstances, and nomatter how well he had dined, came in and stood for a time as aspectator beside a table at which Murphy was playing poker with someguileless planters. Mr. Knowles was not himself guileless, and veryshortly he perceived that the one-eyed gambler was dealing himself cardsfrom the bottom of the pack. Thereupon he drew his revolver from hispocket and rapping with it on the table addressed the assembly: "Gentlemen, " he said, speaking in courtly fashion, "I regret to say thatthere is something wrong here. I will not call any names, neither will Imake any personal allusions. _But if it doesn't stop, damn me if I don'tshoot his other eye out!_" I cannot drop the river, and stories of river gambling, withoutreferring to one more tale which is a classic. It is a long story abouta big poker game, and to tell it properly one must know the exact words. I do not know them, and therefore shall not attempt to tell the wholestory, but shall give you only the beginning. It is supposed to be told by a Virginian. "There was me, " he says, "and another very distinguished gentleman fromVirginia and a gentleman from Kentucky, and a man from Ohio, and afellow from New York, and a blankety-blank from Boston--" That is all I know of the story, but I can guess who got the money inthat game. Can't you? CHAPTER XLIX WHAT MEMPHIS HAS ENDURED An article on Memphis, published in the year 1855, gives the populationof the place as about 13, 000 (one quarter of the number slaves), andcalls Memphis "the most promising town in the Southwest. " It predictsthat a railroad will some day connect Memphis with Little Rock, Arkansas, and that a direct line between Memphis and Cincinnati may evenbe constructed. This article begins the history of Memphis in the year1820, when the place had 50 inhabitants. In 1840 the settlement hadgrown to 1, 700, and fifteen years thereafter it was almost eight timesthat size. Your Memphian, however, is not at all content to date from 1820. Hebegins the history of Memphis with the date May 8, 1541--a time whenHenry VIII was establishing new matrimonial records in England, whenQueen Elizabeth was a little girl, and Shakespeare, Bacon, Galileo andCromwell were yet unborn. For that was the date when a Spanish gentlemanbearing some personal resemblance to "Uncle Joe" Cannon--though he wasyounger, had black hair and beard, was differently dressed and did notchew long black cigars--arrived at the lower Chickasaw Bluffs, fromwhich the city of Memphis now overlooks the Mississippi River. Thisgentleman was Hernando De Soto, and with his soldiers and horses he hadmarched from Tampa Bay, Florida, hunting for El Dorado, but findinginstead, a lot of poor villages peopled by savages whom he killed inlarge numbers, having been brought up to that sort of work by Pizarro, under whom he served in the conquest of Peru. It seems to be wellestablished, through records left by De Soto's secretary, and other menwho were with him, and through landmarks mentioned by them, that De Sotoand his command camped where Memphis stands, crossed the Mississippi atthis point in boats which they built for the purpose, and marched on toan Indian village situated on the mound, a few miles distant, which nowgives Mound City, Arkansas, its name. One hundred and thirty-two yearslater Marquette passed by on his way down the river, and nine yearsafter him La Salle, but so far as is known, neither stopped at the siteof Memphis, though they must have noticed as they passed, that the riveris narrower here than at any point within hundreds of miles, and thatthe Chickasaw Bluffs afford about as good a place for a settlement asmay be found along the reaches of the lower river, being high enough forsafety, and flat on top. The first white man known to have visited theactual site of Memphis after De Soto, was De Bienville, the FrenchGovernor of Louisiana, who came in 1739. De Bienville found theChickasaw village where De Soto had found it two centuries earlier; butwhereas De Soto managed to avoid battle with the inhabitants of thisparticular village, De Bienville came to attack them. He fought themnear their village, was defeated, and retired to Mobile. Thus this part of the United States belonged first to Spain, and then toFrance; but in 1762 France ceded it back to Spain, and in the yearfollowing, Spain and France together ceded their territory in theeastern part of the continent to England. The next change came with theRevolution, when the United States came into being. The Spanish were, however, still in possession of the vast territory of Louisiana, to thewest of the Mississippi. In 1795, Gayoso, Spanish Governor of Louisiana, came across and built a fort on the east side of the river, but waspresently ousted by the United States. In 1820, as has been said, thesettlement of Memphis had begun, one of the early proprietors havingbeen Andrew Jackson. Some of the first settlers wished to name the placeJackson, in honor of the general, but Jackson himself, it is said, decided on the name Memphis, because the position of the town suggestedthat of ancient Memphis, on the Nile. In 1857 Memphis got her first railroad--the Memphis &Charleston--connecting her with Charleston, South Carolina. About thetime the road was completed there were severe financial panics whichheld the city back; also there was trouble, as in so many other rivertowns, with hordes of gamblers and desperadoes. Judge J. P. Young, inhis "History of Memphis, " tells of an interesting episode of thosetimes. There were two professional gamblers, father and son, of the nameof Able. The father shot a man in a saloon brawl, and soon after, theson committed a similar crime of violence. A great mob started to takethe younger Able out of jail and lynch him, but one firm citizen, addressing them from the balcony of a hotel, persuaded them to desist. Next day, however, there was a mass meeting to discuss the case of Able. At this meeting the hotheads prevailed, and Able was taken from the jailby a mob of three thousand men. When the noose was around his neck, andhe and his mother and sister were pleading that his life be spared, thesame man who had previously prevented mob action, stepped boldly up, cutthe rope from Abel's neck, and assisted him to fly, standing between himand the mob, fighting the mob off, and finally getting Able back intothe jail. When the mob stormed the jail, furious at having beencircumvented by a single man, the same powerful figure appeared at thejail door with a pistol, and, incredible though it seems, actually heldthe mob at bay until it finally dispersed. This man was Nathan BedfordForrest, later the brilliant Confederate cavalry leader. Forrest and hiswife are buried in Memphis, in a square called Forrest Park, under afine equestrian monument, by C. H. Niehaus. Before the war Forrest was a member of the slave-dealing firm of Forrest& Maples, of Memphis. Subjoined is a photographic reproduction of anadvertisement of this firm, which appeared in the Memphis CityDirectory for 1855-6. [Illustration: CITY DIRECTORY. 251 -------------------- #FORREST & MAPLES, # #SLAVE DEALERS, # #87 Adams Street#, Between Second and Third, #MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE#, Have constantly on hand the best selected assortment of #FIELD HANDS, HOUSE SERVANTS & MECHANICS#, at their Negro Mart, to be found in the city. They are daily receiving from Virginia, Kentucky and Missouri, fresh supplies of likely Young Negroes. #Negroes Sold on Commission#, and the highest market price always paid for good stock. Their Jail is capable of containing Three Hundred, and for comfort, neatness and safety, is the best arranged of any in the Union. Persons wishing to purchase, are invited to examine their stock before purchasing elsewhere. They have on hand at present, Fifty likely young Negroes, comprising Field hands, Mechanics, House and Body Servants, &c. ] When the Civil War loomed close, sentiment in Memphis was divided, butat a call for troops for the Union, the State of Tennessee balked, andsoon after it seceded from the Union and joined the Confederacy. Manypeople believed, at that time, that if the entire South united, theNorth would not dare fight. When the war came, however, Memphis knewwhere she stood; it is said that no city of the same size (22, 600)furnished so many men to the Confederate armies. In 1862, when the Unionforces got control of the river to the north and the south of the city, it became evident that Memphis was likely to be taken. A fleet of Uniongunboats came down and defeated the Confederate fleet in the riverbefore the city, while the populace lined the banks and looked on. Thecity, being without military protection, then surrendered, and wasoccupied by troops under Sherman. Nor, with the exception of one periodof a few hours' duration, did it ever again come under Confederatecontrol. That was when Forrest made his famous raid in 1864, an eventwhich exhibited not only the dash and hardihood of that intrepid leader, but also his strategy and his sardonic humor. General A. J. Smith, with 13, 000 Union soldiers was marching on the greatgrain district of central Mississippi, and was forcing Forrest, who hadbut 3, 500 men, to the southward. Unable to meet Smith's force onanything like equal terms, Forrest conceived the idea of making a "runaround the end" and striking at Memphis, which was Smith's base. Taking1, 500 picked men and horses, he executed a flanking movement over night, and before Smith knew he was gone, came careering into Memphis at dawnat the head of 500 galloping, yelling men--many of them Memphis boys. There were some 7, 000 Union troops in and about Memphis at this time, but they were surprised out of their slumbers, and made no effectiveresistance. The only part of Forrest's plan which miscarried was hisscheme to capture three leading Union officers, who were then stationedin Memphis: Generals C. C. Washburn, S. A. Hurlbut and R. P. Buckland. General Hurlbut's escape occurred by reason of the fact that instead ofhaving passed the night at the old Gayoso Hotel, where he made hisheadquarters, he happened to be visiting a brother officer, elsewhere. General Washburn was warned by a courier and made his escape in hisnightclothes and bare feet from the residence he occupied asheadquarters, running down alleys to the river, and thence along underthe bluff to the Union fortifications. Forrest's men found the general'spapers, uniform, hat, boots and sword in his bedroom, and also foundthere Mrs. Washburn. The only things they failed to find were thegeneral's nightshirt and the general himself, who was inside it. GeneralBuckland also avoided capture by the narrowest margin. The soldiersfirst went to the wrong house to look for him. That gave him time toescape. It is recorded that, later in the day, under a flag of truce, Forrestsent General Washburn his sword and clothing with a humorous message, informing him, at the same time, that he had 600 Federal prisonerswithout shoes or clothing, and that he would like supplies for them. The supplies, we are told, were promptly forthcoming. Forrest waited until he was sure that news of the raid had beentelegraphed to General Smith in the field. Then he cut the wires. Smithimmediately came back toward Memphis with his army, which was whatForrest desired him to do. The Confederates then retired from theimmediate vicinity of the city. Judge Young, in his history, reports that when General Hurlbut heard ofthe raid he exclaimed, "There it goes again! They superseded me withWashburn because I could not keep Forrest out of West Tennessee, andWashburn cannot keep him out of his own bedroom!" * * * * * After the War there was corruption and carpet-bag rule in Memphis, andForrest was again to the fore, becoming "Grand Wizard" of the famous KuKlux Klan, the mysterious secret organization designed to intimidateScalawags, Carpet-baggers and negroes, whose arrogance had becomeintolerable. General George W. Gordon prepared the oath and ritual forthe Klan, which was founded in the town of Pulaski, Giles County, Tennessee. General Forrest took the oath in 1866, in Room 10 of the oldMaxwell House, at Nashville. It is my belief that the Ku Klux Klan has been a good deal maligned. Many of its members were men of high type. I have been told, forinstance, that one southern gentleman who has since been in the cabinetof a President of the United States, was active in the Ku Klux. Iwithhold his name because the purposes of the Ku Klux Klan, and theurgent need which called it into being, are not yet fully understood inthe North, and for the further reason that depredations committed byother bodies were frequently charged to the Ku Klux, giving it a badname. So far as I can discover the Ku Klux endeavored to avoid violencewhere it could be avoided. Its aim seems to have been to frightennegroes and bad whites into behaving themselves or going away; thoughsometimes, of course, bad characters had to be killed. It must beremembered that the ballot was denied former Confederate soldiers forquite a period after the War, that they were not allowed to possessfirearms, and that, at the same time, negro troops were quartered in theSouth. In many parts of the South the government and the courts were inthe hands of third-rate Northerners (carpet-baggers) who had come downto dominate the defeated section, and who used the Scalawags (disloyalsouthern whites) and negroes for their own purposes. Obviously this wasoutrageous, and equally obviously, a proud people, even though defeated, could not endure it. The service performed by the Ku Klux Klan seems tohave been comparable with that rendered by the Vigilantes of earlywestern days. Something had to be done and the Klan did it. In 1869 General Forrest ordered the Klan to disband, which it did; butowing to the fact that it was a secret organization, and that disguiseshad been used, it was an easy matter for mobs, not actually associatedwith the Ku Klux, to assume its costume and commit outrages in its name. * * * * * In writing of Raleigh I referred to the post-bellum activities of theConfederate cruiser _Shenandoah_. Captain Dabney M. Scales, adistinguished citizen of Memphis, was on the _Shenandoah_. Born inOrange County, Virginia, in 1842, Captain Scales was appointed to theNaval Academy by L. Q. C. Lamar. He was a classmate of Captain Clark, later of the _Oregon_. When the war broke out, young Scales was in hissecond year at the Academy, but like most of the other southern cadetshe resigned and offered his services to the South. When commissioned hewas the youngest naval officer in the Confederate service. Eight monthsafter the War was over, the _Shenandoah_ was still cruising in the SouthSeas, looking for Federal merchantmen. In January 1866, somewhere southof Australia, she overhauled the British bark _Baracouta_, taking herfor a Yankee man-o'-war flying the British flag as a ruse. Young Scaleswas sent in command of a boarding party, and was informed by the skipperof the _Baracouta_ that the Civil War had terminated months and monthsago. The _Shenandoah_ then made for Liverpool. In the meantime a Federalcourt had ruled that her officers were guilty of piracy--a hangingoffense. Naturally, they did not dare return to the United States. YoungScales went to Mexico and remained there two years before coming home. When the Spanish War came, Captain Scales volunteered and was madenavigating officer of a naval vessel. At the time of our visit he was apractising lawyer in Memphis, and was in command of Company A of theUniform Confederate Veterans, a body of old heroes who go out every nowand then and win the first prize for the best drilled organizationoperating Hardee's tactics. Another distinguished citizen of Memphis who has lively recollections ofthe Civil War, is the Right Reverend Thomas F. Gailor, Episcopal Bishopof Tennessee. Bishop Gailor, who succeeded the famous Bishop Quintard, is my ideal of everything an Episcopal bishop--or I might even say aChurch of England bishop--ought to be. The Episcopal Church seems to meto have about it more "style" than most other churches, and an Episcopalbishop ought not to look the ascetic. He ought to be well filled out, well dressed, well fed. He ought to have a distinguished appearance, aruddy complexion, a good voice, and a lot of what we call"humanness"--including humor. All these qualities Bishop Gailor has. In the bishop's study, in Memphis, hangs the sword of his father, MajorFrank M. Gailor, who commanded the 33rd Mississippi Regiment. MajorGailor was killed while giving a drink of water to a wounded brotherofficer, and that officer, though dying, directed a soldier to take theMajor's sword and see that it reached Mrs. Gailor, in Memphis, withinthe Union lines. A young woman, a Confederate spy, took the sword, andwearing it next her body, brought it through to Mrs. Gailor. Somehow orother it became known that the widow had her husband's sword, and as thepossession of arms was prohibited to citizens, a corporal and guard weresent to the house to search for it. They found it between the mattressesof Mrs. Gailor's bed, and confiscated it. Mrs. Gailor then went withanother lady to see General Washburn. Her friend started a long harangueupon the injustice which had been done, but Mrs. Gailor, seeing that theGeneral was becoming impatient, broke in saying: "General, soldiers cameto my house and took away my dead husband's sword. I can't use it, norcan my little son. I want it back. You would want your boy to have yoursword, wouldn't you?" "Of course I would!" cried Washburn. "Thank God for a woman who can saywhat she has to say, and be done with it!" The sword was returned. In the Spring of 1863, when Bishop Gailor was a child of about sevenyears, he accompanied his mother on a journey by wagon from Memphis toJackson, Mississippi. The only other member of the party was a lady whohad driven in the same wagon from Jackson to Kentucky, to get the bodyof her brother, a Confederate soldier who had been killed there. Thecoffin containing the remains was carried in the wagon. When it wasknown in Memphis that Mrs. Gailor was going through the lines, a greatmany people came to her with letters which they wished to send tofriends. Mrs. Gailor sewed many of the letters into the clothing of thelittle boy. ("I remember it well, " said the bishop. "I felt like amummy. ") Also one of Forrest's spies came with important papers, askingif she would undertake to deliver them. Only by very clever manipulationdid Mrs. Gailor get the papers through, for everything was carefullysearched. After they had passed out of the northern lines they met oneof Forrest's pickets. Mrs. Gailor told him that she had papers for thegeneral, and before long Forrest rode up with his staff and receivedthem. Then the two women and the little boy, with their tragic burden inthe wagon, drove along on their two-hundred mile journey. And later, when Jackson was bombarded, they were there. Before the war Major Gailor had been editor of the Memphis "Avalanche, "a paper which was suppressed when the Union troops took the town. Afterthe War the "Avalanche" was started up again, and had a stormy time ofit, because it criticized a Carpet-bag judge who had come to Memphis. In1889 the "Avalanche" was consolidated with the "Appeal, " another famousante-bellum journal, surviving to-day in the "Commercial-Appeal, " astrong newspaper, edited by one of the ablest journalists in the South, Mr. C. P. J. Mooney. When Memphis was captured the "Appeal" would have been suppressed, asthe "Avalanche" was, had it been there. But when it became evident thatMemphis would fall, Mr. S. C. Toof (later a well-known book publisher)who was then connected with the "Appeal, " packed up the press and otherequipment and shipped them to Grenada, Mississippi, where Mr. B. F. Dill, editor of the paper, continued to bring it out. When Grenada wasthreatened, a few months later, Mr. Dill moved with his newspaperequipment to Birmingham, where for a second time he resumed publication. His next move was to Atlanta. There, when he could not get news-print, he used wallpaper, or any sort of paper he could lay his hands on. WhenSherman took Atlanta the "Appeal" moved again, this time to Columbus, Georgia, where, at last, it was captured, and its press destroyed. Wherever it went it remained the "Memphis Daily Appeal, " withcorrespondents in all southern armies. No wonder a paper with suchvitality as that, has survived and become great! Poor Memphis! After the War she had Reconstruction to contend with;after Reconstruction, financial difficulties; after that, pestilence. In1873, when the population of the city was about 40, 000, and there hadbeen a long period of hard times, yellow fever broke out. The conditionof the city was exceedingly unsanitary, and after the pestilence hadpassed, was allowed to remain so, though at that time the origin ofyellow fever was, of course, not known, and it was assumed that thedisease resulted from lack of proper sanitation. In 1878 there was another yellow fever epidemic. The first casedeveloped August 2, but the news was suppressed until the middle of themonth, by which time a number of cases had come down. The day after thenews became known 22 new cases were reported. Terror spread through thetown. Hordes of people tried to flee at once. Families left their houseswith the doors wide open and silver standing on the sideboards. Peopleflocked to the trains; when they could not get seats they stood in theaisles or clambered onto the roofs of the cars; if they could not get inat car doors they climbed in through the windows, and sometimes, whenthe father of a family was refused admittance to a crowded car, he wouldforce a way in for his wife and children at the pistol's point. In the first week of the panic there were 1, 500 cases, with an averageof ten deaths daily; in the next week, 3, 000 cases with fifty deathsdaily, and so on into September during which month there was an averageof 8, 000 to 10, 000 cases with about two hundred deaths a day. Not every one fled, however. Leading citizens remained, forming a reliefcommittee, and some brave helpers came from outside. Thus the sick andneedy were attended to, though of course many of the volunteerscontracted the disease and perished. Added to the epidemic there was, as so often happens in suchcircumstances, an outbreak of thievery and other crime, which had to beput down. It is related that in the height of the epidemic hardly anyone was seen upon the streets save an occasional nurse, doctor, orother member of the relief committee; household pets starved to deathor fled the city; among the newspapers the staffs were so reduced thatonly two or three men were left in each office, and in the case of the"Appeal, " but one, that one Colonel J. M. Keating, the proprietor, whostuck to Memphis and for a time wrote, set up and printed the paperwithout assistance, feeling that refugees must have news from the city. The next year the epidemic came again, but in less violent form, therebeing, this time, but 2, 000 cases. However the effect was cumulative. Memphis dropped from a city of nearly 50, 000 to one of 20, 000 and thereputation of the place was such that a bill was proposed in Congress topurchase the ground on which the city stood and utterly destroy it asunfit for human habitation. Stricken as she was, however, Memphis "came back. " A great campaign forsanitation was begun; city sewage-disposal was installed, and after afew years, artesian wells were bored for a new water supply. And though, as we now know, yellow fever does not come from the same sources astyphoid, nevertheless the new sanitary measures did greatly reduce thecity's death rate. Memphis, like all other cities, has her troubles now and then, but sincethe great pestilence there has never been a real disaster. The city hasgrown and thriven. Indeed, she had become so used to growing fast thatwhen, in 1910, the Federal census gave her but 131, 000, she indignantlydemanded a recount, for she had been talking to herself, and hadconvinced herself that she had a great many more than that number ofinhabitants. However, the census was taken again, and the first countproved accurate. CHAPTER L MODERN MEMPHIS To be charmed by the social side of a city, yet to find little to admirein its physical aspect, is like knowing a brilliant and beautiful womanwhose housekeeping is not of the neatest. If one were compelled todiscuss such a woman, and wished to do so sympathetically but withtruth, one might avoid brutal comment on the condition of her rooms bylikening them to other rooms elsewhere: rooms which one knew to beuntidy, but which the innocent listener might not understand to be so. By this device one may even appear to pay a compliment, while, inreality, indicating the grim truth. In such a case, I, for example, might say that this supposititious lady's rooms reminded me of those Ioccupied on the second floor of the famous restaurant called Antoine's, in New Orleans; whereupon the reader, knowing the high reputation ofAntoine's cuisine, and never having seen the apartments to which Irefer, might assume an implication very favorable. Let me say, then, that Memphis reminds me of St. Louis. Like St. Louis, Memphis has charming society. Like St. Louis she has pretty girls. LikeSt. Louis she is hospitable. And without particularizing too much, Imay say that her streets remind me of St. Louis streets, that many ofher houses remind me of St. Louis houses, and that her levee, with itscobbled surface sloping down to the yellow, muddy Mississippi, thebridges in the distance, the strange looking river steamers loading andunloading below, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, is much like the St. Louis levee. So, if the reader happens to be unfamiliar with thephysical appearance of St. Louis, he may, at all events, perceive that Ihave likened Memphis to a much larger city--thus, (it seems fair tosuppose) paying Memphis a handsome tribute. Memphis has a definite self-given advantage over St. Louis in possessinga pretty little park at the heart of the city, overlooking the river;also she has the advantage of lying to the east of the great stream, instead of to the west, so that, in late afternoon, when the sunsplashes down into the mysterious deserted reaches of the Arkansasflats, across the way, sending splatterings of furious color across thesky, one may seat oneself on a bench in the park and witness astupendous natural masterpiece. A sunset over the sea can be no morewonderful than a sunset over this terrible, beautiful, inspiring, enigmatic domineering flood. Or one may see the sunset from thereadingroom of the Cossitt Library, with its fine bay window commandingthe river almost as though it were the window of a pilot-house. The Cossitt Library is only one of several free libraries in the city. There is, for example, a free library in connection with the GoodwynInstitute, an establishment having an endowment of half a milliondollars, left to Memphis by the late William A. Goodwyn. The GoodwynInstitute provides courses of free lectures, by well-known persons, on agreat variety of subjects. The library is designed to add to theeducational work. Books are not, however, loaned, as they are from theCossitt Library, an institution to which I found myself returning morethan once; now for a book, now to look at the interesting collection ofmound-builder relics contained in an upper room, now merely because itis a place of such reposeful hospitality that I liked to make excuses togo back. The library, a romanesque building of Michigan red sandstone, is by asouthern architect, but is in the style of Richardson, and is one of thefew buildings in that style which I have ever liked. It was given toMemphis as a memorial to Frederick H. Cossitt, by his three daughters, Mrs. A. D. Juilliard, Mrs. Thomas Stokes, and Mrs. George E. Dodge, allof New York. Mr. Cossitt was born in Granby, Connecticut, but as a youngman moved South and in 1842 adopted Memphis as his home, residing thereuntil 1861. At the outbreak of the Civil War he made an amicabledivision of his business with his partner, and removed to New York, where he resided until the time of his death. Finding among his papers amemorandum indicating that he had intended to endow a library inMemphis, his daughters carried out his wish. Having already spoken of a number of Memphis' interesting citizens, Ifind myself left with an ill-assorted trio of names yet to be mentioned, because, different as they are, each of the three supplies a definitepart of the character of the city. First, then, Memphis has the honor ofpossessing what not many of our cities possess: a man who stands highamong the world's artist-bookbinders. This gentleman is Mr. Otto Zahn, executive head of the publishing house of S. C. Toof & Co. Mr. Zahnhimself has done some famous bindings, and books bound by him are to befound in some of the finest private libraries in the land. Until a fewyears ago he conducted an art-bindery in connection with the Toofcompany's business, but it was unprofitable and finally had to be givenup. Second, to descend to a more popular form of art, but one from which therevenue is far more certain, Memphis has, in W. C. Handy, a negro ragtimecomposer whose dance tunes are widely known. Among his compositions maybe mentioned the "Memphis Blues, " the "St. Louis Blues, " "Mr. Crump, "and "Joe Turner. " "Mr. Crump" is named in honor of a former mayor ofMemphis who was ousted for refusing to enforce the prohibition law; "JoeTurner" is the name of a negro pianist who plays for Memphis todance--as Handy also does. Most of Handy's tunes are negro "rags" infox-trot time, and they are so effective that Memphis dances themgenerally in preference to the one step. My third celebrity is of a more astounding type. While in Memphis Icalled aboard the river steamer _Grand_, and had a talk with Mrs. NettieJohnson, who is captain of that craft. Some one told me that Mrs. Johnson was the only woman steamboat captain in the world, but sheinformed me that at Helena, Arkansas, there lives another Mrs. Johnson--no relative of hers--who follows the same calling. The steamer _Grand_ is almost entirely a Johnson family affair. Mrs. Johnson is captain; her husband, I. S. Johnson is pilot (though Mrs. Johnson has, in addition to her master's license, a pilot's license, andoften takes the wheel); her elder son, Emery, is clerk; Emery's wife isassistant clerk, while Arthur, the captain's younger son, is engineer. Russell Johnson, Mrs. Johnson's grandson, is the only member of thefamily I saw aboard the boat who does not take part in running it. Russell was five years old when I met him, but that was nearly a yearago, and by now he is probably chief steward, boatswain, or ship'scarpenter. The regular route of the _Grand_ is from Memphis to Mhoon's Landing, onthe Arkansas River, a round trip of 120 miles, with thirty landings. I asked Mrs. Johnson if she had ever been shipwrecked. Indeed she had!Her former ship, the _Nettie Johnson_, struck thin ice one night in theArkansas River and went down. "What did you do?" I asked. "I reached after an iron ring, " she replied, "and clumb on up into therigging. She went down about four-thirty A. M. And we stayed on her tilldaylight; then we all swum ashore. I tell you it was cold! There wasicicles on my dress; my son Emery put his arms around me to keep mewarm, and his clothes froze onto mine. " "How long a swim was it to shore?" I asked. "Oh, " put in her husband, "it didn't amount to nothing. She was onlyswimming about two minutes. " This statement, however, was repudiated by the captain. "Two minutes, myfoot!" she flung back at her spouse. "It was more than that, all right!" Mrs. Johnson has done flood rescue work for the Government, with the_Grand_. In the spring previous to our visit she rescued sixty familiesfrom one plantation, besides towing barge-loads of provisions to variouspoints on the Mississippi and Arkansas rivers. Captaining and piloting a river boat are clearly good for the health. Mrs. Johnson looks too young to be a grandmother. Her skin is clear, hercheeks are rosy, her brown eyes flash and twinkle, her voice, somewhathoarse from shouting commands, is deep and strong, and her laugh is likethe hearty laugh of a big man. "Are you a suffragist?" I asked her. "Not on your life!" was her reply. "Now, what do you want to talk like that for?" objected her husband. "You know women ought to be allowed to vote. " "I don't think so, " she returned firmly. At that her daughter-in-law, the assistant clerk of the _Grand_, took upthe cudgels. "Of course they ought to vote!" she insisted. "You know _you_ can dojust as good as a man can do!" "No, " asseverated Captain Nettie. "Women ought to stay home and tend totheir families. " "As you do?" I suggested, mischievously. "That's all right!" she flung back. "I stayed home and raised my familyuntil it was big enough to do its own navigating. Then I started insteamboating. I had to have _something_ to do. " But the daughter-in-law did not intend to let the woman suffrage issuedrop. "Do you mean to say, " she demanded of Captain Nettie, "that you thinkwomen haven't got as much sense as men?" "Sure I do!" the captain tossed back. "There never was a woman on earththat had as much sense as the men. Take it from me, that's so. I knowwhat I'm talking about--and that's more than a half of these other womendo!" Then, as it was about time for the _Grand_ to cast off, Captain Nettieterminated the interview by blowing the whistle; whereupon my companionand I went ashore. One of the best boats on the river is the _Kate Adams_ and one of themost delightful two-days' outings I can imagine would be to make theround trip with her from Memphis to Arkansas City. But if I were seekingrest I should not take the trip at the time when it is taken by a scoreor more of Memphis young men and women, who, with their chaperones, andwith Handy to play their dance-music, make the _Kate Adams_ an extremelylively craft on one round trip each year. Apropos of Arkansas, I am reminded that Memphis is not only themetropolis of Tennessee, but is the big city of Arkansas andMississippi, as well. The Peabody Hotel in Memphis, a somewhatold-fashioned hostelry, is a sort of Arkansas political headquarters, and is sometimes humorously referred to as "Peabody township, Arkansas. "It is also used to a considerable extent by Mississippi politicians, aswell as by the local breed. The Peabody grill has a considerablereputation for good cookery, and the Peabody bar, though it still lookslike a bar, serves only soft drinks, which are dispensed by female"bartenders. " The Gayoso hotel, named for the Spanish governor whointruded upon Memphis territory for a time, stands where stood the oldGayoso, which figured in Forrest's raid. The Gayoso made me think alittle of the old Victoria, in New York, torn down some years ago. Thenewest hotel in town, at the time of our visit, was the Chicsa, anestablishment having a large and rather flamboyant office, andconsiderably used, we were told, as a place for conventions. If I wereto go again to Memphis I should have a room at the Gayoso and go to thePeabody for meals. The axis of the earth, which Oliver Wendell Holmes declared, "sticks outvisibly through the center of each and every town or city, " sticks outin Memphis at Court Square, which the good red Baedeker dismissesbriefly with the remark that it "contains a bust of General AndrewJackson and innumerable squirrels. " This is not meant to indicate thatthe squirrels are a part of the bust of Jackson. The two are separateand distinct. So are the pigeons which alight on friendly hands andshoulders as do other confident pigeons on Boston Common, and in thePiazza San Marco, in Venice. I am always disposed to like the people of a city in which pigeons andsquirrels are tame. Every day, at noon, an old policeman, a formerConfederate soldier I believe he is, comes into the square with a basketof corn. When he arrives all the pigeons see him and rush toward him ina great flapping cloud, brushing past your face if you happen to bewalking across the square at the time. Nor is he the only one to feedthem. Numbers of citizens go at midday to the square, where they buypopcorn and peanuts for the squirrels and pigeons--which, by the way, are all members of old Memphis families, being descendants of othersquirrels and pigeons which lived in this same place before the CivilWar. One might suppose that the pigeons, being able to fly up to theseventeenth floor windowsills of the Merchants' Exchange Building, wheremen of the grain and hay bureau of the exchange are in the habit ofleaving corn for them, would prosper more than the squirrels, but thatis not the case for--and I regret to have to report such immorality--thesquirrels are in the habit of adding to the stores of peanuts which arethrown to them, by thievery. Like rascally urchins they will watch thepeanut venders, and when their backs are turned, will make swift dashesat the peanut stands, seizing nuts and scampering away again. Sometimesthe venders detect them, and give chase for a few steps, but that isdangerous, for the minute the vender goes after one squirrel, othersrush up and steal more. It is saddening to find that even squirrels arecorrupted by metropolitan life! In reviewing my visit to Memphis I find myself, for once, kindlydisposed toward a Chamber of Commerce and Business Men's Club. I likethe Business Men's Club because, besides issuing pamphlets shrieking theglory of the city, it has found time to do things much more worthwhile--notably to bring to Memphis some of the great Americanorchestras. A pamphlet issued by these organizations tells me that Memphis is thelargest cotton market in the country, the largest hardwood producingmarket, the third largest grocery and jobbing market. Cotton is, indeed, much in evidence in the city. The streets in somesections are full of strange little two-wheel drays, upon which threebales are carried, and which display, in combination, those threesouthern things having such perfect artistic affinity: the negro, themule, and the cotton bale. The vast modern cotton warehouses on theoutskirts of the city cover many acres of ground, and with their gravitysystem of distribution for cotton bales, and their hydraulic compressesin which the bales are squeezed to minimum size, to the accompaniment ofnegro chants, are exceedingly interesting. The same pamphlet speaks also of the unusually large proportion of thecity's area which is given over to parks and playgrounds, and it seemsworth adding that though Memphis follows the general southern custom ofbarring negroes--excepting, of course, nursemaids in charge ofchildren--from her parks, she has been so just as to provide a park fornegroes only. In this she stands ahead of most other southern cities. Memphis has the only bridge crossing the Mississippi below the mouth ofthe Ohio. At the time of our visit a new bridge was being built verynear the old one, and an interesting experience of our trip was ourvisit to this bridge, under the guidance of Mr. M. B. Case, a youngengineer in charge. On a great undertaking, such as this one, where the total cost mountsinto millions, the first work done is not on the proposed bridge itself, but on the plant and equipment to be used in construction--derricks, barges, concrete-mixers, air compressors for the caissons, smallengines, dump-cars and all manner of like things. This preparatory workconsumes some months. Caissons are then sunk far down beneath the riverbed. Caisson work is dangerous, and the insurance rate on "sandhogs"--the men who work in the caissons--is very high. The scale ofwages, and of time, varies in proportion to the risk, which is accordingto the depth at which work is being done. On this enterprise, forexample, men working from mean level to a depth of 50 feet received $3for an eight-hour day. From 50 to 70 feet they worked but six hours andreceived $3. 75. From 90 to 105 feet they worked in three shifts of onehour each, and received $4. 25. And while they were placing concrete toseal the working chamber there was an additional allowance of fiftycents a day. The chief danger of caisson work is the "bends, " or "caisson disease. "In the caisson a man works under high air pressure. When he comes out, the pressure on the fluids of the body is reduced, and this sometimescauses the formation of a gas bubble in the vascular system. If thisbubble reaches a nerve-center it causes severe pain, similar toneuralgia; if it gets to the brain it causes paralysis. Day after daymen will go into the caisson and come out without trouble, but sooner orlater from 2 to 8 per cent. Of caisson workers are affected. Of 320"sand-hogs" who labored in the caissons of this bridge, three died ofparalysis, and of course a number of others had slight attacks of the"bends, " in one form or another. The bridge, when we visited it, was more than half completed. On theMemphis side the approaches were almost ready, and the steel frameworkof the bridge reached from the shore across the front pier, and wasbeing built out far beyond the pier, on the cantilever principle, hanging in the air above the middle of the stream. By walking out on theold bridge we could survey the extreme end of the new one, which wasbeing extended farther and farther, daily, by the addition of new steelsections. There were then about 100 journeymen bridgemen on thework--these being workmen of the class that erects steel skyscraperframes--with some fifty apprentices and carpenters, and about twentycommon laborers. Bridgemen are among the highest paid of all workmen. InNew York, at that time, their wage was $6 for eight hours' work. Here itwas $4. 50. Very few of the men had families with them in Memphis. Theyare the soldiers of fortune among wage-earners, a wild, reckless, finelooking lot of fellows, with good complexions like those of men intraining, and eyes like the eyes of aviators. No class of men in theworld, I suppose, have steadier nerves, think quicker, or react morerapidly from stimulus to action, whether through sight or sound. Theyhave to be like that. For where other workmen pay for a mistake by lossof a job, these men pay with life. Yet they will tell you that theirwork is not dangerous. It is "just as safe as any other kind ofjob"--that, although four of their number had already been lost fromthis bridge alone. One went off the end of the structure with a derrick, the boom of which he lowered before the anchor-bolts had been placed. Two others fell. A fourth was struck by a falling timber. Once, while we were watching the men scrambling about upon the steelmembers of the uncompleted cantilever arm, one of them thought somethingwas about to fall, and ran swiftly in, over a steel beam, toward thebody of the structure; whereafter, as nothing did fall, he wasunmercifully twitted by his fellow workers for having shown timidity. Many of the men working on this bridge had worked on the older structureparalleling it. This was true not only of the laboring men, but of theengineers. Ralph Modjeski, the consulting engineer at the head of thework (he is, by the way, a son of Madame Modjeska), was chiefdraughtsman when the earlier structure was designed; W. E. Angier, assistant chief engineer in the present work, was a field engineer onthe first bridge, and it is interesting to know that, in constructingthe approach to the old bridge he unearthed a Spanish halbert which, itis thought, may date from the time of De Soto. These bridge engineersand bridgebuilders move in a large orbit. Their last job may have beenin Mexico, in the far West, or in India; their next may be in France. Many of the men here, worked on the Blackwell's Island bridge, on theQuebec bridge (which fell), on the Thebes bridge over the Mississippi, twenty miles above Cairo, on the Vancouver and Portland bridges over theColumbia and Willamette rivers, and on the great Oregon Trunk Railwaybridges. After standing for a time on the old bridge watching work on the new, and shuddering, often enough, at the squirrel-like way in which the menscampered about up there, so far above the water, we walked in and movedout again upon the partially completed floor of the new bridge. Here itwas necessary to walk on railroad ties, with gaps, six or eight incheswide, between them. Even had one tried, one could hardly have managed tosqueeze one's body through these chinks; to fall through was impossible;nevertheless it gave me an uncomfortable feeling in the region of thestomach to walk out there, seeing the river all the time between theinterstices. When we had progressed for some distance we came to a gapwhere, for perhaps a yard, there were no ties--just open space, with themuddy water shining cold and cruel below. The opening was only about aswide as the hall of a small New York flat, and heaven knows that to stepacross such a hall is easy enough. But this was not so easy. When wecame to the gap I stopped. Mr. Case, the young engineer, who loved allbridges with a sort of holy passion, and loved this bridge inparticular, was talking as we went along. I liked to hear him talk. Hehad been telling us how a thing that is to _be_ strong ought to _look_strong, too, and from that had got somehow to the topic of expansion andcontraction in bridges, with variations of temperature. "It isn't onlythe steel bridges that do it, " he said. "Stone arch bridges do it, too. The crown of the arch rises and falls. The Greeks and Romans andEgyptians knew that expansion and contraction occurred. They--" While talking he had gone across the gap, stepping lightly upon astringpiece probably a foot wide, and proceeding over the ties. Now, however, he ceased speaking and looked back, for I was no longer besidehim. At the gap I had stopped. I intended to step across, but I did notpropose to do so without giving the matter the attention it seemed to meto deserve. Mr. Case did not laugh at me. He came back and stood on the string-piecewhere it crossed the opening, telling me to put my hand on his shoulder. But I did not want to do that. I wanted to cross alone--when I gotready. It took me perhaps two minutes to get ready. Then I stepped over. It was, of course, absurdly easy. I had known it would be. But as wewalked along I kept thinking to myself: "I shall have to cross thatbeastly place again when we come back, " and I marveled the more at theamazing steadiness of eye and mind and nerve that enables some men to gocontinually prancing about over emptiness infinitely more engulfing thanthat which had troubled and was troubling me. Returning I stepped across without physical hesitation. But after I hadcrossed I continued to hate that gap. I hated it as I drove back to thehotel, that afternoon, as I ate dinner that night, as I went to bed, andin my dreams I continued to cross it, and to see the river waiting forme, seeming to look up and leer and beckon. I woke up hating the gap inthe bridge as much as ever; I hated it down into the State ofMississippi, and over into Georgia; and wherever I have gone since, Ihave continued to hate it. Of course there isn't any gap there now. Itwas covered long ago. Yet for me it still exists, like some obnoxiousperson who, though actually dead, lives on in the minds of those whoknew him. FARTHEST SOUTH CHAPTER LI BEAUTIFUL SAVANNAH How often it occurs that the great work a man set out originally toaccomplish, is lost sight of, by future generations, in contemplation ofother achievements of that man, which he himself regarded as ofsecondary importance. In 1733, the year in which General Oglethorpe started his Georgiacolony, there were more than a hundred offenses for which a person mightbe hanged in England; Oglethorpe's primary idea in founding the colonywas to provide a means of freeing debtors from prison, and giving them afresh start in life; yet it is as the man responsible for the laying outof the beautiful city of Savannah, that Oglethorpe is probably mostwidely remembered to-day. Oglethorpe was a first-rate soldier. He defeated a superior Spanishforce from Florida, and successfully resisted attacks from the Indians. Also, he was a man whose ethical sense was in advance of his period. Hedid not permit slavery in Georgia, and it was not adopted there until hewent back to England. In planning Savannah he was assisted by aCharleston engineer named Bull, for whom the chief street of Savannahis named. The place is laid out very simply; it has rectangular blocksand wide roads, with small parks, or squares, at regular intervals. There are some two dozen of these small parks, aside from one or twolarger parks, a parade ground, and numerous boulevards with doubleroadways and parked centers, and the abundance of semi-tropical foliageand of airy spaces, in Savannah, gives the city its most distinctive andcharming quality--the quality which differentiates it from all otherAmerican cities. Originally these parks were used as market-places andrallying points in case of Indian attack; now they serve the equallyutilitarian purposes of this age, having become charming public gardensand playgrounds. One of them--not the most important one--is namedOglethorpe Square; but the monument to Oglethorpe is placed elsewhere. Madison Square, Savannah, is relatively about as important as MadisonSquare, New York, and though smaller than the latter, is much prettier. It contains a monument to Sergeant Jasper, the Revolutionary hero who, when the flag was shot down from Fort Moultrie, off Charleston, by theBritish, flung it to the breeze again, under fire. Jasper was laterkilled with the flag in his arms, in the French-American attempt to takeSavannah from the British. Monterey Square has a statue of CountPulaski, who also fell at the siege of Savannah. Another Revolutionaryhero remembered with a monument is General Nathanael Greene who, thoughborn in Rhode Island, moved after the war to Georgia where, inrecognition of his services, he was given an estate not far fromSavannah. "Mad" Anthony Wayne, a Pennsylvanian by birth, also acceptedan estate in Georgia and resided there after the Revolution. An interesting story attaches to Greene's settlement in Georgia. Theestate given to him was that known as Mulberry Grove, above the city, onthe Savannah River. The property had previously belonged toLieutenant-governor John Graham, but was confiscated because Graham wasa loyalist. Along with the property, Greene apparently took over theGraham vault in Colonial Cemetery--now a city park, and a veryinteresting one because of the old tombs and gravestones--and there hewas himself buried. After a while people forgot where Greene's remainslay, and later, when it was decided to erect a monument to his memory inJohnson Square, they couldn't find any Greene to put under it. However, they went ahead and made the monument, and Lafayette laid thecornerstone, when he visited Savannah in March, 1825. Greene's remainswere lost for 114 years. They did not come to light until 1902, whensome one thought of opening the Graham vault. Thereupon they wereremoved and reinterred in their proper resting place beneath themonument which had so long awaited them. That monument, by the way, wasnot erected by Savannah people, or even by Southerners, but was paid forby the legislature of the general's native Rhode Island. When theremains were discovered, Rhode Island asked for them, but Savannah, which had lost them, also wanted them. The matter was settled by a voteof Greene's known descendants, who decided almost unanimously to leavehis remains in Savannah. The foundation of the general's former home at Mulberry Grove may stillbe seen. It was in this house that Eli Whitney invented the cotton-gin. Whitney was a tutor in the Greene family after the general's death, andit was at the suggestion of Mrs. Greene that he started to try and make"a machine to pick the seed out of cotton. " It is said that Whitney'sfirst machine would do, in five hours, work which, if done by hand, would take one man two years. This was, of course, an epoch-makinginvention and caused enormous commercial growth in the South, wherecotton-gins are as common things as restaurants in the city of New York. Which reminds me of a story. A northern man was visiting Mr. W. D. Pender, at Tarboro, North Carolina. On the day of the guest's arrival Mr. Pender spoke to his cook, a negrowoman of the old order, telling her to hurry up the dinner, because hewished to take his friend down to see the cotton-gin. "You know, " heexplained, "this gentleman has never seen a cotton-gin. " The cook looked at him in amazement. "Lor'! Mistuh Penduh, " she exclaimed. "An' dat man _look_ like he wasedjacated!" * * * * * Another item in Savannah history is that John Wesley came over aboutthe middle of the eighteenth century to convert the Indians toChristianity. It was not until after this attempt, when he returned toEngland, that he began the great religious movement which led to thefounding of the Methodist Church. George Whitfield also preached inSavannah. Evidently Wesley did not get very far with the savages who, itmay be imagined, were more responsive to the kind of "conversion"attempted in South Carolina, by a French dancing-master, who went outfrom Charleston in the early days and taught them the steps of thestately minuet. Another great event in Savannah history was the departure from thatport, in 1819, of the _City of Savannah_, the first steamship to crossthe Atlantic. If I may make a suggestion to the city, it is that thecentennial of this event be celebrated, and that a memorial be erected. Inspiration for such a memorial might perhaps be found in the simple andcharming monument, crowned by a galleon in bronze, which has beenerected in San Francisco, in memory of Robert Louis Stevenson. A ship inbronze can be a glorious thing--which is more than can be said of abronze statesman in modern pantaloons. * * * * * More lately Savannah initiated another world-improvement: she was thefirst city to abolish horses entirely from her fire department, replacing them with automobile engines, hook-and-ladders, andhose-carts. That is in line with what one would expect of Savannah, forshe is not only a progressive city, but is a great automobile city, having several times been the scene of important internationalautomobile road races, including the Grand Prize and the Vanderbilt Cup. Nor is there want of other history. The Savannah Theater, though guttedby fire and rebuilt, is the same theater that Joseph Jefferson owned andmanaged for a time, in the fifties; in the house on Lafayette Square, now occupied by Judge W. W. Lambdin, Robert E. Lee once stayed, andThackeray is said to have written there a part of "The Virginians. " A sad thing was happening in Savannah when we were there. The Habershamhouse, one of the loveliest old mansions of the city, was being torndown to make room for a municipal auditorium. The first Habersham in America was a Royal Governor of Georgia. He hadthree sons one of whom, Joseph, had, by the outbreak of the Revolution, become a good enough American to join a band of young patriots who tookprisoner the British governor, Sir James Wright. The governor's housewas situated where the Telfair Academy now is. He was placed underparole, but nevertheless fled to Bonaventure, the Tabnall estate, notfar from the city, where he was protected by friends until he couldescape to the British fleet, which then lay off Tybee Island at themouth of the Savannah River, some eighteen miles below the city. Thissame Joseph Habersham, it is said, led a party which went out in 1775in skiffs--called _bateaux_ along this part of the coast--boarded theBritish ship _Hinchenbroke_, lying at anchor in the river, and capturedher in a hand-to-hand conflict. Mr. Neyle Colquitt of Savannah, adescendant of the Habershams, tells me that the powder taken from the_Hinchenbroke_ was used at the Battle of Bunker Hill. After the war, inwhich Joseph Habersham commanded a regiment of regulars, he was madePostmaster General of the United States. The old house itself was builtby Archibald Bulloch, a progenitor of that Miss "Mittie" Bulloch wholater became Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt, Sr. , mother of the President. Itwas designed by an English architect named Jay, who did a number of thefine old houses of Savannah, which are almost without exception of theGeorgian period. Archibald Bulloch bought the lot on which he built thehouse from Matthew McAllister, great-grandfather of Ward McAllister. When sold by Bulloch it passed through several hands and finally cameinto the possession of Robert Habersham, a son of Joseph. The old house was spacious and its interiors had a fine formality aboutthem. The staircase, fireplace and chandeliers were handsome, and therewas at the rear a charming oval room, the heavy mahogany doors of whichwere curved to conform to the shape of the walls. To tear down such ahouse was sacrilege--also it was a sacrilege hard to commit, for some ofthe basement walls were fifteen feet thick, and of solid brick straightthrough. Sherman's headquarters were on the Square, just south of the De SotoHotel, in the battlemented brick mansion which is the residence ofGeneral Peter W. Meldrim, ex-president of the American Bar Association, and former Mayor of Savannah. Among other old houses characteristic of Savannah, are the Scarboroughhouse, the Mackay house, the Thomas house in Franklin Square (also knownas the Owens house), in which Lafayette was entertained, and the Telfairhouse, now the Telfair Academy. The Telfair and Thomas houses were builtby the architect who built the Habersham house, and it is to be hopedthat they will never go the way of the latter mansion. In 1810, about the time these houses were built, Savannah had 5, 000inhabitants; by 1850 the population had trebled, and 1890 found it aplace of more than 40, 000. Since then the city has grown with wholesomerapidity, and attractive suburban districts have been developed. The1910 census gives the population as 65, 000, but the city talksexuberantly of 90, 000. Well, perhaps that is not an exaggerated claim. Certainly it is a city to attract those who are free to live where theyplease. In fall, winter and spring it leaves little to be desired. Ihave been there three times, and I have never walked up Bull Streetwithout looking forward to the day when I could go there, rent an oldhouse full of beautiful mahogany, and pass a winter. Not even NewOrleans made me feel like that. I feel about New Orleans that it is aplace to visit rather than to settle down in. I want to go back to NewOrleans, but I do not want to stay more than a few weeks. I want to seesome people that I know, prowl about the French quarter, and have JulesAlciatore turn me out a dinner; then I want to go away. So, too, I wantto go back to Atlanta--just to see some people. I want to stay there aweek or two. Also I want to go to St. Augustine when cold weather comes, and bask in the warm sun, and breathe the soft air full of gold dust, and feel indolent and happy as I watch the activities about theexcellent Ponce de Leon Hotel; but there are two cities in the Souththat I dream of going to for a quiet happy winter of domesticity andwork, in a rented house--it must be the right house, too--and thosecities are, first Charleston; then Savannah. The Telfair Academy in the old Telfair mansion was left, by a member ofthe family, to the city, to be used as a museum. Being somewhatskeptical about museums in cities of the size of Savannah, not to saymuch larger cities, especially when they are art museums, I very nearlyomitted a visit to this one. Had I done so I would have missed seeingnot only a number of exceedingly interesting historic treasures, butwhat I believe to be the best public art collection contained in anysouthern city. The museum does, to be sure, contain a number of old "tight" paintingsof the kind with which the country was deluged at the time of theChicago World's Fair, but upstairs there is a surprise in shape of anexhibition of modern American paintings (the best paintings beingproduced in the world to-day) showing brilliant selection. I was utterlyamazed when I found this collection. There were excellent canvases byChilde Hassam, Ernest Lawson, George Bellows, and other living Americanpainters whose work, while it is becoming more and more widelyappreciated each year, is still beyond all but the most advanced anddiscriminating buyers of paintings. I went into ecstasies over thiscollection, and I said to myself: "Away down here in Savannah there issome one buying better paintings for a little museum than the heads ofmany of the big museums in the country have had sense enough or courageenough to buy. This man ought to be 'discovered' and taken to some bigmuseum where his appreciation will be put to the greatest use. " Withthat I rushed downstairs, sought out the curator, and asked who hadpurchased the modern American pictures. And then my bubble was pricked, for who had they had, down there, buying their pictures for them, butGari Melchers! Naturally the pictures were good! In one room of the building, on the ground floor, is a collection offine old furniture, etc. , which belonged to the Telfair family, including two beautiful mantelpieces of black and white marble, somecabinets, and a very curious and fascinating extension dining-table, built of mahogany. The table is perfectly round, and the leaves, insteadof being added in the middle, are curved pieces, fitting around theouter edge in two series, so that when extended to its full capacity thetable is still round. I have never seen another such table. Also I found many interesting old books and papers passed down from theTelfairs. One of these was a ledger with records of slave sales. In a sale held Friday, October 14, 1774, Sir James Wright, the sameBritish governor who was presently put to flight, purchased four men, five women, nine boys, and one girl, at a total cost of £820, or about$3, 280. Sir Patrick Houston bought two women at £90, or $450. The wholeday's sale disposed of thirty-five men, seventeen women, twenty-sevenboys and ten girls, at a grand total of £3206, or roughly between nineand ten thousand dollars. The Telfairs were great planters. Among the papers was one headed "Rulesand Directions to be strictly attended to by all overseers at ThornIsland Plantation. " This plantation was on the North Carolina side ofthe river, and was owned by Alexander Telfair, a brother of Miss MaryTelfair who gave the Academy to the city. Dates which occur in thepapers stamp them as having been issued some time prior to 1837. Hereare some of the regulations: The allowance for every grown negro, let him or her be old and good for nothing, and every young one that works in the field, is a peck of corn a week and a pint of salt and a piece of meat not exceeding fourteen pounds per month. No negro to have more than forty lashes, no matter what his crime. The suckling children and all small ones who do not work in the field draw a half allowance of corn and salt. Any negro can have a ticket to go about the neighborhood, but cannot leave it without a pass. No strangers allowed to come on the place without a pass. The negroes to be tasked when the work allows it. I require a reasonable day's work well done. The task to be regulated by the state of the ground and the strength of the negro. All visiting between the Georgia plantation to be refused. [The Telfairs owned another plantation on the Georgia side of the river. ] No one to get husbands or wives across the river. No night meeting or preaching allowed on the place except on Saturday or Sunday morning. If there is any fighting on the place whip all engaged in it, no matter what may be the cause it may be covered with. In extreme cases of sickness employ a physician. After a dose of castor oil is given, a dose of calomel, and blister applied, if no relief, then send. My negroes are not allowed to plant cotton for themselves. Everything else they may plant. Give them ticket to sell what they make. I have no Driver (slave-driver). You are to task the negroes yourself. They are responsible to you alone for work. Certain negroes are mentioned by name: Many persons are indebted to Elsey for attending upon their negroes. I wish you to see them or send to them for the money. If Dolly is unable to return to cooking she must take charge of all the little negroes. Pay Free Moses two dollars and a half for taking care of things left at his landing. Bull Street, the fashionable street of the city, is a gem of a street, despite the incursions made at not infrequent intervals, bycomparatively new, and often very ugly buildings. Every few blocks BullStreet has to turn out of its course and make the circuit of one of thesmall parks of which I have spoken, and this gives it charm and variety. On this street stands the De Soto Hotel, which, when I first went toSavannah, years ago, was by all odds the leading hostelry of the city. It is one of those great rambling buildings with a big porch out infront, an open court in back, and everything about it, including thebedchambers, very spacious and rather old fashioned. Lately the SavannahHotel has been erected down at the business end of Bull Street. It is amodern hotel of the more conventional commercial type. But even downthere, near the business part of town, it is not confronted by congestedcobbled streets and clanging trolley cars, but looks out upon one of thesquares, filled with magnolias, oaks and palms. But another time Ithink I shall go back to the De Soto. The building of the Independent Presbyterian Church, on Bull Street, isone of the most beautiful of its kind in the country, inside and out. Itreminds one of the old churches in Charleston, and it is gratifying toknow that though the old church which stood on this site (dedicated in1819) burned in 1889, the congregation did not seize the opportunity toreplace it with a hideosity in lemon-yellow brick, but had the rare goodsense to duplicate the old church exactly, with the result that, thougha new building, it has all the dignity and simple beauty of an old one. Broughton Street, the shopping street, crosses Bull Street in thedowntown section, and looks ashamed of itself as it does so, for it isabout as commonplace a looking street as one may see. There is simplynothing about it of distinction save its rather handsome name. Elsewhere, however, there are several skyscrapers, most of them goodlooking buildings. It seemed to me also that I had never seen so manybanks as in Savannah, and I am told that it is, indeed, a great bankingcity, and that the record of the Savannah banks for weathering financialstorms is very fine. On a good many corners where there are not banksthere are clubs, and some of these clubs are delightful and thoroughlymetropolitan in character. I know of no city in the North, having apopulation corresponding to that of Charleston or of Savannah, which hasclubs comparable with the best clubs of these cities, or of NewOrleans. When it is considered that of the population of these southerncities approximately one half, representing negroes, must be deducted inconsidering the population from which eligibles must be drawn, theexcellence of southern clubs becomes remarkable in the extreme. Savannah, by the way, holds one national record in the matter of clubs. It had the first golf club founded in America. Exactly when the club wasfounded I cannot say, but Mr. H. H. Bruen, of Savannah, has in hispossession an invitation to a golf club ball held in the old City Hallin the year 1811. The commercial ascendancy of Savannah over Charleston is due largely tonatural causes. The port of Savannah drains exports from a larger andricher territory than is tapped by Charleston, though new railroads aregreatly improving Charleston's situation in this respect. Savannah is ashipping port for cotton from a vast part of the lower and centralSouth, and is also a great port for lumber, and the greatest port in theworld for "naval stores. " I did not know what naval stores were when Iwent to Savannah. The term conjured up in my mind pictures of piles ofrope, pulleys and anchors. But those are not naval stores. Naval storesare gum products, such as resin and turpentine, which are obtained fromthe long-leafed pines of South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama and Florida. The traveler through these States cannot have failed to notice gashes onthe tree-trunks along the way. From these the resinous sap exudes andis caught in cups, after which it is boiled, there in the woods, andthus separated into turpentine, resin and pitch. Vast quantities ofthese materials are stored on the great modern docks of Savannah. It issaid that owing to wasteful methods, the long-leafed pine forests arebeing rapidly destroyed, and that this industry will die out before verylong because the eager grabbers of to-day's dollars, having no thoughtfor the future, fail to practise scientific forestry. All about Savannah, within easy reach by trolley, motor or boat, liepleasant retreats and interesting things to see. The roads of theregion, built by convict labor, are of the finest, and the convictprison camps are worth a visit. In the Brown Farm camp, livingconditions are certainly more sanitary than in ninety nine out of ahundred negro homes. The place fairly shines with cleanliness, and thereare many cases in which "regulars" at this camp are no sooner releasedthan they offend again with the deliberate purpose of carrying out whatmay be termed a "back to the farm" movement. The color line is drawn insouthern jails and convict camps as elsewhere. White prisoners occupyone barracks; negroes another. The food and accommodations for both isthe same. The only race discrimination I could discover was that whenwhite prisoners are punished by flogging, they are flogged with theirclothes on, whereas, with negroes, the back is exposed. The men in thiscamp are minor offenders and wear khaki overalls in place of the stripesin which the worse criminals, quartered in another camp, are dressed. Strict discipline is maintained, but the life is wholesome. The men aremarched to work in the morning and back at night escorted by guards whocarry loaded shotguns, and who always have with them a pack of uglybloodhounds to be used in case escape is attempted. * * * * * All the drives in this region are extremely picturesque, for thelive-oak grows here at its best, and is to be seen everywhere, its trunkoften twenty or more feet in circumference, its wide-spreading branchesreaching out their tips to meet those of other trees of the samespecies, so that sometimes the whole world seems to have a groinedceiling of foliage, a ceiling which inevitably suggests a great shadowycathedral from whose airy arches hang long gray pennons of Spanish moss, like faded, tattered battle-flags. On country roads you will come, now and then, upon a negro burial groundof very curious character. There may be such negro cemeteries in theupper Southern States, but if so I have never seen them. In this portionof Georgia they are numerous, and their distinguishing mark consists inthe little piles of household effects with which every grave is covered. I do not know whether this is done to propitiate ghosts and devils(generally believed to "hant" these graveyards), or whether it is theidea that the deceased can still find use for the assortment ofpitchers, bowls, cups, saucers, knives, forks, spoons, statuettes, alarm-clocks, and heaven only knows what else, which were his treasuredearthly possessions. In Savannah, I have heard Commodore Tatnall, who used to live atBonaventure, credited with having originated the saying "Blood isthicker than water, " but I am inclined to believe that the Commodoremerely made apposite use of an old formula. The story is told of one ofthe old Tatnalls that in the midst of a large dinner-party which he wasgiving at his mansion at Bonaventure plantation, a servant entered andinformed him that the house was on fire. Whereupon the old thoroughbred, instead of turning fireman, persisted in his rôle of host, ordering thefull dining-room equipment to be moved out upon the lawn, where thecompany remained at dinner while the house burned down. Most of the old houses of the plantations on the river have long sincebeen destroyed. That at Whitehall was burned by the negroes whenSherman's army came by, but the old trees and gardens still endure, including a tall hedge of holly which is remarkable even in thisflorescent region. The old plantation house at the Hermitage, approachedby a handsome avenue of live-oaks, is, I believe, the only one of thoseancient mansions which still stands, and it does not stand verystrongly, for, beautiful though it is in its abandonment and decay, itis like some noble old gentleman dying alone in an attic, of age, poverty and starvation--dying proudly as poor Charles Gayarré did in NewOrleans. The Hermitage has, I believe, no great history save what is written inits old chipped walls of stucco-covered brick, and the slave-cabinswhich still form a background for it. It is a story of baronial decay, resulting, doubtless, from the termination of slavery. Hordes of negroesof the "new issue" infest the old slave-cabins and on sight of visitorsrush out with almost violent demands for money, in return for which theywish to sing. Their singing is, however, the poorest negro singing Ihave ever heard. All the spontaneity, all the relish, all the vividnesswhich makes negro singing wonderful, has been removed, here, by thefixed idea that singing is not a form of expression but a mere noise tobe given vent to for the purpose of extracting backsheesh. It issaddening to witness the degradation, through what may be calledprofessionalism, of any great racial quality. These negroes, halfmendicant, half traders on the reputation of their race, expressprofessionalism in its lowest form. They are more pitiful than theprofessional tarantella dancers who await the arrival of tourists, incertain parts of southern Italy, as spiders await flies. CHAPTER LII MISS "JAX" AND SOME FLORIDA GOSSIP "Or mebbe you 're intendin' of Investments? Orange-plantin'? Pine? Hotel? or Sanitarium? What above This yea'th _can_ be your line?... " SIDNEY LANIER ("A FLORIDA GHOST. ") It is the boast of Jacksonville (known locally by the convenientabbreviation "Jax") that it stands as the "Gate to Florida. " But thefact that a gate is something through which people pass--usually withoutstopping--causes some anguish to an active Chamber of Commerce, whichhas been known to send bands to the railway station to serenade touristsin the hope of enticing them to alight. If I were to personify Jacksonville, it would be, I think, as an amiableyoung woman, member of a domestic family, whose papa and mama had movedto Florida from somewhere else--for it is as hard to find a native ofJacksonville in that city as to find a native New Yorker in New York. Miss Jacksonville's papa, as I conceive it, has prospered while daughterhas been growing up, and has bought for her a fine large house on a maincorner, where many people pass. Having reached maturity MissJacksonville wishes to be in Florida society--to give, as it were, house parties, like those of her neighbors, the other winter resorts. She sees people passing her doors all winter long, and she says toherself: "I must get some of these people to come in. " To this end she brushes off the walk, lays a carpet on the steps, putsflowers in the vases, orders up a lot of fancy food and drink (from thevery admirable Hotel Mason), turns on the lights and the Victor, leavesthe front door invitingly open, and hopes for the best. Soon peoplebegin to come in, but as she meets them she discovers that most of themhave come to see papa on business; only a few have come on her account. They help themselves to sandwiches, look about the room, and listen towhat Miss Jacksonville has to say. Time passes. Nothing happens. She asks how they like the chairs. "Very comfortable, " they assure her. "Do have some more to eat and drink, " says she. "What is your history?" a guest asks her presently. "I haven't much history to speak of, " she replies. "They tell me AndrewJackson had his territorial government about where my house stands, butI don't know much about it. We don't care much about history in ourfamily. " "What do you do with yourself?" "Oh, I keep house, and go occasionally to the Woman's Club, and in theevenings father tells me about his business. " "Very nice, " says one guest, whom we shall picture as a desirable andwealthy young man from the North. "Now let's do something. Do you playor sing? Are you athletic? Do you go boating on the St. John's River? Doyou gamble? Can you make love?" "I dance a little and play a little golf out at the Florida CountryClub, " she says, with but small signs of enthusiasm. "The thing I'mreally most interested in, though, is father's business. He lost a lotof money in the fire of 1901, but he's made it all back and a lot morebesides. " "What about surf-bathing?" asks the pleasure-seeking visitor, stifling ayawn. "There's Atlantic Beach only eighteen miles from here. It's a wonderfulbeach. Father's putting a million in improvements out there, but there'sno time to go there just now. However, if you'd like to, I can take youdown and show you the new docks he has built. " "Oh, no, thanks, " says the guest. "I don't care for docks--not, that is, unless we can go boating. " "I'm afraid we can't do that, " says Miss Jacksonville. "We don't use theriver much for pleasure. I can't say just why, unless it is that everyone is too busy.... But please eat something more, and do have somethingto drink. There's plenty for every one. " "I must be running along, " says the visitor. "I've been invited to callat some other houses down the block. By the way, what is the name ofyour neighbor next door?" "St. Augustine, " says Jacksonville, with a little reluctance. "She is ofSpanish descent and sets great store by it. If you call there she'llshow you a lot of interesting old relics she has, but I assure you thatwhen it comes to commercial success her family isn't one-two-three withpapa. " "Thanks, " says the visitor, "but just at the moment commerce doesn'tappeal to me. Who lives beyond her?" Miss Jacksonville sighs. "There are some pleasant, rather attractivepeople named Ormonde, beyond, " she says, "and a lively family namedDaytona next door to them. Neither family is in business, like papa. They just play all the time. Then come a number of modest places, andafter them, in the big yellow and white house with the palm trees allaround it--but I'd advise you to keep away from there! Yes, you'd bettergo by that house. On the other side of it, in another lovely house, livesome nicer, simpler people named Miami. Or if you like fishing, youmight drop in on Mrs. Long-Key--she's wholesome and sweet, and goes outevery day to catch tarpon. Or, again, you might--" "What's the matter with the people in the big yellow and white housesurrounded by palm trees? Why shouldn't I go there?" asks the guest. "A young widow lives there, " says Miss Jacksonville primly. "I don'tknow much about her history, but she looks to me as though she had beenon the stage. She's frightfully frivolous--not at all one of ourrepresentative people. " "Ah!" says the visitor. "Is she pretty?" "Well, " admits Miss Jacksonville, "I suppose she _is_--in a fast way. But she's all rouged and she overdresses. Her bathing suits are tooshort at the bottom and her evening gowns are too short at the top. Yes, and even at that, she has a trick of letting the shoulder straps slipoff and pretending she doesn't know it has happened. " "What's her name?" "Mrs. Palm-Beach. " "Oh, " says the visitor. "I've heard of her. She's always getting intothe papers. Tell me more. " Miss Jacksonville purses her lips and raises her eyebrows. "Really, " shesays, "I don't like to talk scandal. " "Oh, come on! Do!" pleads the visitor. "Is she bad--bad and beautifuland alluring?" "Judge for yourself, " says Miss Jacksonville sharply. "She keeps thatenormous place of hers shut up except for about two months or so in thewinter, when she comes down gorgeously dressed, with more jewelry thanis worn by the rest of the neighborhood put together. Few Southerners goto her house. It's full of rich people from all over the North. " "Is she rich?" "You'd think so to look at her--especially if you didn't know where shegot her money. But she really hasn't much of her own. She's a grafter. " "How does she manage it?" "Men give her money. " "But why?" "Because she knows how to please the rich. She understands them. Shemakes herself beautiful for them. She plays, and drinks, and gambles, and dances with them, and goes riding with them in wheel chairs bymoonlight, and sits with them by the sea, and holds their hands, andgets them sentimental. There's some scent she uses that is veryseductive--none of the rest of us have been able to find out exactlywhat it is. " "But how does she get their money?" "She never tells a hard-luck story--you can't get money out of the kindshe goes with, that way. She takes the other tack. She whispers to them, and laughs with them, and fondles them, and makes them love her, andwhen they love her she says: 'But dearie, be reasonable! Think how manypeople love me! I like to have you here, you fat old darling with thegold jingling in your pockets! but I can't let you sit with me unlessyou pay. Yes, I'm expensive, I admit. But don't you love this scent Iwear? Don't you adore my tropical winter sea, my gardens, my palm trees, my moonlight, and my music? They are all for you, dearie--so whyshouldn't you pay? Don't I take you from the northern cold and slush?Haven't I built a siding for your private car, and made an anchorage foryour yacht? Don't I let you do as you please? Don't I keep you amused?Don't you love to look at me? Don't I put my warm red lips to yours?Well, then, dearie, what is all your money for?' ... That is her way oftalking to them! That is the sort of creature that she is!" "Shocking!" says the visitor, rising and looking for his hat "You sayhers is the third large house from here?" "Yes. Remember, she's as mercenary as can be!" "Thanks. I can take care of myself. If she's amusing that suits me. Good-by. " In the vestibule he pauses to count his money. "Jacksonville seems to be a nice girl, " he says to himself as he hastensdown the block. "I imagine she might make a good wife and mother, andthat she'd help her husband on in business. However, I'm not thinking ofgetting married and settling down in Florida. I'm out for some fun. Ithink I'll run in and call upon Mrs. Palm-Beach. " CHAPTER LIII PASSIONATE PALM BEACH A very merry, dancing, drinking, Laughing, quaffing and unthinking time. --DRYDEN. Like all places in which idlers try to avoid finding out that they areidle, Palm Beach has very definite customs as to where to go, and atwhat time to go there. Excepting in its hours for going to bed andgetting up, it runs on schedule. The official day begins with thebathing hour--half past eleven to half past twelve--when the two orthree thousand people from the pair of vast hotels assemble before thecasino on the beach. Golfers will, of course, be upon the links beforethis hour; fishermen will be casting from the pier or will be out inboats searching the sail fish--that being the "fashionable" fish at thepresent time; ladies of excessive circumference will be panting rapidlyalong the walks, their eyes holding that look of dreamy determinationwhich painters put into the eyes of martyrs, and which a fixed intentionto lose twenty pounds puts into the eyes of banting women. So, too, certain gentlemen of swarthy skin make their way to the casino sunparlor, where they disrobe and bake until the bathing hour. The objectof this practice is to acquire, as nearly as a white man may, thecomplexion of a mulatto, and it is surprising to see how closely theskins of some more ardent members of the "Browning Club, " as this groupis called, match those of their chair boys. The underlying theory of the"Browning Club" is that a triple-plated coat of tan, taken north inMarch, advertises the wearer as having been at Palm Beach during theentire winter, thus establishing him as a man not merely of means, butof great endurance. The women of Palm Beach seem to be divided into two distinct schools ofthought on the subject of tanning. While none of them compete with theradicals of the "Browning Club, " one may nevertheless observe that, inevening dress, many young ladies reveal upon their necks, shoulders, andarms, stenciled outlines of the upper margins of their bathing suits. Ladies of the opposing school, upon the contrary, guard the whiteness oftheir skins as jealously as the men of the "Browning Club" guard theirblackness. Rather than be touched with tan, many ladies of the lattergroup deny themselves the pleasures of the surf. The parasols beneathwhich they arrive upon the sands are not lowered until they are safelyseated beneath the green and blue striped canvas tops of their beachchairs, and it may be observed that even then they are additionallyfortified against the light, by wide black hats and thick dark veilsdraped to mask their faces up to the eyes; "harem" veils, they callthem--the name, however, signifying nothing polygamous. A pleasant diversion at the beginning of the bathing hour occurs whensome mere one-horse millionaire from a Middle-Western town appears onthe beach with his family. He is newly arrived and is under the fonddelusion that he is as good as anybody else and that his money is asgood as any other person's money. Seeing the inviting rows of beachchairs, he and his family plump into several of them. They are hardlysettled, however, when the man who attends to the beach chairs comes andasks them to get out, saying that the chairs are reserved. The other thinks the man is lying like a head waiter, and demands toknow for whom the chairs are reserved. In reply the beach-chair man mentions, with suitable deference, the nameof Mrs. Hopkinson Skipkinson Jumpkinson-Jones. "Well, " cries the Middle-Westerner, "Mrs. Jones isn't here yet, is she?She can't use the chairs _now_, can she, if she isn't here?" Even without this evidence that he does not grasp at all, theseriousness of the beach-chair situation, the fact that the uncouthstranger has referred to Mrs. H. S. Jumpkinson-Jones merely as "Mrs. Jones, " brands him among the Palm Beach "regulars" who have overheardhim, as a barbarian of the barbarians. People in neighboring chairs atonce turn their backs upon him and glance at each other knowingly withraised eyebrows. At this juncture, let us hope, the daughter of theintruder manages to pry him loose; let us hope also that she takes himaside and tells him what everybody ought to know: namely, that Mrs. H. S. Jumpkinson-Jones has been a society leader ever since the "Journal"published the full-page Sunday story about her having gold fillings putin her Boston terrier's teeth. That was away back in 1913, just beforeshe was allowed to get her divorce from Royal Tewksbury Johnson III ofParis, Newport, and New York. The day after the divorce she married herpresent husband, and up to last year, when the respective wives of amunitions millionaire and a moving-picture millionaire began to cut inon her, no one thought of denying her claim to be the most wastefulwoman in Palm Beach. True, she may not come down to the beach to-day, but in that case it isobviously proper that her chairs--including those of her dog and herhusband--remain magnificently vacant throughout the bathing hour. The lady is, however, likely to appear. She will be wearing one of theseventy hats which, we have learned by the papers, she brought with her, and a pint or so of her lesser pearls. Her dog--which is sometimesserved beside her at table at the Beach Club, and whose diet is the sameas her own, even to strawberries and cream followed by a demitasse--will be in attendance; and her husband, whose diet is evenricher, may also appear if he has recovered from his matutinal headache. Here she will sit through the hour, gossiping with her friends, watching the antics of several beautiful, dubious women, camp followersof the rich, who add undoubted interest to the place; calling languidlyto her dog: "_Viens, Tou-tou! Viens vite!_" above all waiting patiently, with crossed knees, for news-service photographers to come and take herpicture--a picture which, when we see it presently in "Vogue, " "VanityFair, " or a Sunday newspaper, will present indisputable proof that Mrs. H. S. Jumpkinson-Jones and the ladies sitting near her (also with legscrossed) refrained from wearing bathing suits neither through excessivemodesty nor for fear of revealing deformity of limb. Many a Mrs. H. S. Jumpkinson-Jones has beaten her way to glory by thePalm Beach route. Many of the names which sound vaguely familiar whenyou read them in connection with the story of a jewel robbery, in listsof "those present, " or in an insinuating paragraph in the tattered copyof "Town Topics" which you pick up, in lieu of reading matter, from thetable in your dentist's waiting room, first broke into the paradise ofthe society column by way of this resort. For a woman with money and thepress-agent type of mind it is not a difficult thing to accomplish. Onemust think of sensational things to do--invent a new fad in dress, orsend one's dog riding each day in a special wheel chair, or bring downone's own private dancing instructor or golf instructor at $5, 000 forthe season. Above all, one must be nice to the correspondents ofnewspapers. Never must one forget to do that. Never must one imagineoneself so securely placed in society columns that one may forget thereporters who gave one that place. One lady who, for several seasons, figured extensively in the news fromPalm Beach, fell into this error. She thought herself safe, and alteredher manner toward newspaper folk. But, alas! thereupon they alteredtheir manner toward her. The press clippings sent by the bureau to whichshe subscribed became fewer and fewer. Her sensational feats wentunnoticed. At last came a ball--one of the three big balls of theseason; a New York paper printed a list of names of persons who went tothe ball; a column of names in very small type. Lying in bed a fewmornings later she read through the names and came to the end withoutfinding her own. Thinking that she must have skipped it, she read thenames over again with great care. Then she sent for her husband, and heread them. When it was clear to them both that her name was actually notthere, it is said she went into hysterics. At all events, her husbandcame down in a rage and complained to the hotel management. But whatcould the management do? What can they do? The woman is doomed. The PalmBeach correspondents who "made" her have been snubbed by her and haveunanimously declared "thumbs down. " It is theirs to give, but let noclimber be unmindful of the fact that it is also theirs to take away! As Mrs. H. S. Jumpkinson-Jones looks over the top of her harem veil shemay see a great glistening steam yacht, with rakish masts and funnel, lying off the pier-head; and down on the sand she may see the youngmaster and mistress of that yacht: a modest, attractive pair, possessorsof one of the world's great fortunes, yet not nearly so elaboratelydressed, nor so insistent upon their "position, " as theJumpkinson-Joneses. By raising the brim of her hat a trifle Mrs. H. S. Jumpkinson-Jones may see, sweeping in glorious circles above the yacht, the hydroplane which, when it left the edge of the beach a few minutessince, blew back with its propeller a stinging storm of sand, and causedskirts to snap like flags in a hundred-mile-an-hour hurricane; and inthat hydroplane she knows there is another multimillionaire. Near by, sitting disconsolately upon the sand, are the one-horseMiddle-Western millionaire with his wife and daughter--the three whowere ousted from her seats by the beach-chair man. Mrs. H. S. Jumpkinson-Jones, like every one who has spent a season, let alone halfa dozen seasons, at Palm Beach, immediately recognizes the type. Father is the leading merchant of his town; mother the social arbiter;daughter the regnant belle. Father definitely didn't wish to come here, nor was mother anxious to, but daughter made them. Often she has readthe lists of prominent arrivals at Palm Beach and seen alluring picturesof them taken on the sand. She has dreamed of the place, and in herdreams has seemed to hear the call of Destiny. Who knows? may it not beat Palm Beach that she will meet _him_?--the beautiful and wealthyscion of a noble house who (so the fortune teller at the Elks' Clubbazaar told her) will rescue her from the narrow life at home, andtransport her, as his bride, into a world of wonder and delight, andfootmen in knee-breeches. Daughter insisted on Palm Beach. So mother gota lot of pretty clothes for daughter, and father purchased several yardsof green and yellow railroad tickets, and off they went. They arrived atPalm Beach. They walked the miles of green carpeted corridor. They weredazed--as every one must be who sees them for the first time--at thestunning size of the hotels. They looked upon the endless promenade ofother visitors. They went to the beach at bathing hour, to the cocoanutgrove at the time for tea and dancing, in wheel chairs through thejungle trail and _Reve d'Eté_, to the waiters' cake walk in thePoinciana dining room, to the concert at the Breakers, to the palm room, and to the sea by moonlight; everywhere they went they saw people, people, people: richly dressed people, gay people, people who knewquantities of other people; yet among them all was not one single beingthat they had ever seen before. After several days of this, father met aman he knew--a business friend from Akron. A precious lot of good thatdid! Why didn't father know the two young men who sat last night at thenext table in the dining room? Even those two would have done just now. Clearly they had been mad to know her too, for they were likewisefeeling desolate. Perhaps mother can get father to scrape up anacquaintance with them. But alas, before this plan can be set in motion, the two young men have formed their own conclusions as to what PalmBeach is like when you do not know anybody in the place. They havedeparted. Next day, when mother enters daughter's room to say goodnight, she finds her weeping; and next day, to father's infinite relief, they start for home. So it has gone with many a bush-league belle. Even the Mrs. Jumpkinson-Joneses, satiated though they be with privatecars, press notices, and Palm Beach, can hardly fail to be sensible tothe almost delirious beauty of the scene at bathing hour. Nowhere is the sand more like a deep, warm dust of yellow gold; nowhereis there a margin of the earth so splashed with spots of brilliantcolor: sweaters, parasols, bathing suits, canvas shelters--blue, green, purple, pink, yellow, orange, scarlet--vibrating together in the sharpsunlight like brush marks on a high-keyed canvas by Sorolla; nowhere hasflesh such living, glittering beauty as the flesh of long, white, lovelyarms which flash out, cold and dripping, from the sea; nowhere doeswater appear less like water, more like a flowing waste of liquidemeralds and sapphires, held perpetually in cool solution and edged witha thousand gleaming, flouncing strings of pearls. Over the beach lies a layer of people, formed in groups, some of themcostumed for the water, some for the shore; some of them known to thegreat lady, many of them unknown to her. The groups are forevershifting as their members rise and run down to the sea, or come backshiny and dripping, to fling themselves again upon the warm sand, rollin it, or stretch out in lazy comfort while their friends shovel it overthem with their hands. Now one group, or another, will rise and form agrinning row while a snap-shot is taken; now they recline again; nowthey scamper down to see the hydroplane come in; now they return, dropto the sand, and idly watch women bathers tripping past them toward thewater. Here comes a girl in silken knickerbockers, with cuffs buttoningover her stockings like the cuffs of riding breeches. Heads turnsimultaneously as she goes by. Here is a tomboy in a jockey cap; heretwo women wearing over their bathing suits brilliant colored satin wrapswhich flutter revealingly in the warm, fresh fragrant breeze. And nowcomes the slender, aristocratic, foreign-looking beauty who wearshigh-heeled slippers with her bathing costume, and steps gracefully tothe water's edge under the shade of a bright colored Japanese parasol. It seems that every one must now be on the beach. But no! Here come thethree most wonderful of all: the three most watched, most talked about, most spoiled, most coveted young women at Palm Beach. Their bathingsuits are charming: very short, high waisted, and cut at the top likeEmpire evening gowns, showing lovely arms and shoulders. Hovering aboutthem, like flies about a box of sweets, yet also with something of thejealous guardianship of watchdogs, is their usual escort of youngmen--for though they know none of the fashionable women, their beautygives them a power of wide selection as to masculine society. One is a show girl, famous in the way such girls become famous in a NewYork season, vastly prosperous (if one may judge by appearances), yetwith a prosperity founded upon the capitalization of youth and amazingloveliness of person. The other two, less advertised, but hardly lessstriking in appearance, have been nicknamed, for the convenience of thegossips, "The Queen of Sheba, " and "The Queen of the May. " They toosuggest, somehow, association with the trivial stage, but it is saidthat one of them--the slender wonderfully rounded one--has never had thefootlights in her face, but has been (in some respects, at least), amodel. Like the climbers, like the bush league belle, these girls, we judge, brought definite ambitions with them to Palm Beach. Partly, no doubt, they came for pleasure, but also one hears stories of successfulventures made by men, on their behalf, at Beach Club tables, and ofcostly rings and brooches which they now possess, although they did notbring them with them. But after all, the sources from which come theirjeweled trinkets may only be surmised, whereas, to the success of theirdesire for fun, the eyes and ears of the entire smiling beach bearwitness. Watch them as they clasp hands and run down to the water'sedge; see them prancing playfully where the waves die on the sand, whiledevoted swains launch the floating mattress upon which it is theircustom to bask so picturesquely; see them now as they rush into thegreen waves and mount the softly rocking thing; observe the gleam oftheir white arms as, idly, they splash and paddle; note the languidgrace of their recumbence: chins on hands, heels waving lazily in air;hear them squeal in inharmonious unison, as a young member of the"Browning Club, " makes as though to splatter them, or mischievouslythreatens to overturn their unwieldy couchlike craft. Free from therestriction of ideas about "society, " about the "tradition" of PalmBeach, about "convention, " they seem to detect no difference betweenthis resort and certain summer beaches, more familiar to them, and atthe same time more used to boisterousness and cachinnation. They goeverywhere, these girls. You will see them having big cocktails, in alittle while, on the porch of the Breakers; you will see them havingtea, and dancing under the dry rustling palm fronds of the cocoanutgrove, when the colored electric lights begin to glow in the luminoussemi-tropical twilight; and you will see them, resplendent, at the BeachClub, dining, or playing at the green-topped tables. The Beach Club has been for some time, I suppose, the last redoubt heldin this country by the forces of open, or semi-open gambling. Every nowand then one hears a rumor that it is to be stormed and taken by thehosts of legislative piety, yet on it goes, upon its gilded way--aplace, it should be said, of orderly, spectacular distinction. The BeachClub occupies a plain white house, low-spreading and unpretentious, butfitted most agreeably within, and boasting a superb cuisine. Not everyone is admitted. Members have cards, and must be vouched for, formally, by persons known to those who operate the place. Many of the quietpleasant people who, leading their own lives regardless of the splurginggoing on about them, form the background of Palm Beach life--much as"walking ladies and gentlemen" form the crowd in a spectaculartheatrical production--have never seen the inside of the Beach Club; andI have little doubt that many visitors who drop in at Palm Beach for afew days never so much as hear of it. It is not run for them, nor forthe "piker, " nor for the needy clerk, but for the furious spenders. Let us therefore view the Beach Club only as an interesting adjunct toPalm Beach life, and let us admit that, as such, it is altogether in thepicture. Let us, in short, seek, upon this brief excursion, not only torecover from our case of grippe, but to recover also that sense of thepurely esthetic, without regard to moral issues, which we used to enjoysome years ago, before our legislatures legislated virtue into us. Letus soar, upon the wings of our checkbook, in one final flight to therealms of unalloyed beauty. Let us, in considering this mostextravagantly passionate and passionately extravagant of Americanresorts, be great artists, who are above morals. Let us refusepointblank to consider morals at all. For by so doing we may avoidgiving ourselves away. * * * * * The season wanes. Crowds on the beach grow thinner. Millionaires beginto move their private cars from Palm Beach sidings, and depart for otherfashionable places farther north. Croupiers at the Beach Club stand idlefor an hour at a time, though ready to spin the wheel, invitingly, forany one who saunters in. The shops hold cut-price sales. And we, regarding somewhat sadly our white trousers, perceive that there doesnot remain a single spotless pair. The girl in Mr. Foster's fruit storehas more leisure, now, and smiles agreeably as we pass upon our way tothe hotel dining-room. The waiter, likewise, is not pressed for time. "They was seven-hunduhd an' twe've folks heah yestahday, " he says. "On'ysix-fohty-three to-day. Ah reckon they a-goin' t' close the Breakuhs dayaftuh t'-mo'w. " Still the flowers bloom; still the place is beautiful; still the weatheris not uncomfortably warm. Nevertheless the season dies. And so it comesabout that we depart. The ride through Florida is tedious. The miles of palmettoes, withleaves glittering like racks of bared cutlasses in the sun, the miles ofdark swamp, in which the cypresses seem to wade like dismal club-footedmen, the miles of live-oak strung with their sad tattered curtains ofSpanish moss, the miles of sandy waste, of pineapple and orange groves, of pines with feathery palm-like tops, above all the sifting of fineFlorida dust, which covers everything inside the car as with a coat offlour--these make you wish that you were North again. The train stops at a station. You get off to walk upon the platform. Therow of hackmen and hotel porters stand there, in gloomy silent defianceof the rapidly approaching end of things, each holding a sign bearingthe name of some hotel. In another week the railway company may, if itwishes, lift the ban on shouting hotel runners. Let them shout. Therewill be nobody to hear. You buy a newspaper. Ah! What is this? "Great Blizzard in New York--Trains Late--Wires Down. " You know what New York blizzards are. You picture the scenes beingenacted there to-day. You see the icy streets with horses falling down. You see cyclonic clouds of snow whirl savagely around the corners ofhigh buildings, pelting the homegoing hoards, whirling them about, throwing women down upon street crossings. You have a vision of themuddy, slushy subway steps, and slimy platforms, packed with people, their clothing caked with wet white spangles. You see them wedged, crossand damp, into the trains, and hear them coughing into one another'snecks. You see emaciated tramps, pausing to gaze wanly into bakerywindows: men without overcoats, their collars turned up, their handsdeep in the pockets of their trousers, their heads bent against thestorm; you see them walk on to keep from freezing. You remember RoscoeConkling. That sort of thing can happen in a New York blizzard! Littletattered newsboys, thinly clad, will die to-night upon cold corners. Poor widows, lacking money to buy coal, are shuddering even now insqualid tenements, and covering their wailing little ones with shoddyblankets. "Horrible!" you say, sighing upon the balmy air. Then, with the sweetlyresigned philosophy of Palm Beach, you add: "Oh, well, what does it matter? _I'm_ in Florida anyhow. After all it isa pretty good old world!" CHAPTER LIV ASSORTED AND RESORTED FLORIDA "Some year or more ago, I s'pose, I roamed from Maine to Floridy, And, --see where them Palmettoes grows? I bought that little key.... " --SIDNEY LANIER ("A FLORIDA GHOST. ") Florida in winter comes near to being all things to all men. To all sheoffers amusement plus her climate, and in no one section is the contrastin what amusement constitutes, and costs, set forth more sharply thanwhere, on the west coast of the State, Belleair and St. Petersburg aresituated, side by side. The Hotel Belleview at Belleair compares favorably with any in theState, and is peopled, during the cold months, with affluent golfmaniacs, for whom two fine courses have been laid out. When the pipes supplying water for the greens of his home course, atBrook, Indiana, freeze, annually, George Ade, for instance, knows that, instead of hibernating, it is time for him to take his white flannelsuits, hang them on the clothesline in the back yard until the fragranceof the moth-ball has departed, pack them in his wardrobe trunk, and takehis winter flight to the Belleview. He knows that, at the Belleview, hewill meet hundreds of men and women who are suffering from the maladywith which he is afflicted. The conversation at Belleair is, so far as my companion and I couldlearn, confined entirely to comparisons between different courses, different kinds of clubs and balls, and different scores. Belleair turnsup its nose at Palm Beach. It considers the game of golf as played atPalm Beach a trifling game, and it feels that the winter population ofPalm Beach wastes a lot of time talking about clothes and the stockmarket when it might be discussing cleeks, midirons, and mashies. Thewoman who thinks it essential to be blond whether she is blond or not, and who regards Forty-second Street as the axle upon which the universeturns, would be likely to die of ennui in a week at Belleair, whereas, in Palm Beach, if she died in that time, it would probably be ofdelight--with a possibility of alcoholism as a contributing cause. Andlikewise, though Belleair has plutocrats in abundance, they are notstarred for their wealth, as are the Palm Beach millionaires, nor yetfor their social position, but are rated strictly according to theirclub handicap. Hence it happens that if, speaking of a Palm Beachmillionaire, you ask: "How did he make it?" you will be told the storyof some combine of trusts, some political grafting, or some widelyadvertised patent medicine; but if you ask in Belleair: "How did he makeit?" the answer is likely to be: "He made it in 4, with a cleek. " Consider on the other hand, St. Petersburg, with its cheap hotels, itsboarding houses, its lunch rooms and cafeterias, and its winterpopulation of farmers and their wives from the North. The people you seein St. Petersburg are identical with those you might see on market dayin a county town of Ohio or Indiana. Several thousands of them comeannually from several dozen States, and many a family of them livesthrough the winter comfortably on less than some other families spend atBelleair in a week, or at Palm Beach in a day. If I am any judge of the signs of happiness, there is plenty of it inthe hearts of those who winter at St. Petersburg. The city park is fullof contented people, most of them middle-aged or old. The women listento the band, and the men play checkers under the palmetto-thatchedshelter, or toss horseshoes on the greensward, at the sign of theSunshine Pleasure Club--an occupation which is St. Petersburg'sequivalent for Palm Beach's game of tossing chips on the green-toppedtables of a gambling house. And yet-- Is it always pleasant to be virtuous? Is it always delightful to bewhere pious people, naïve people, people who love simple pastimes, areenjoying themselves? I am reminded of a talk I had with a negro whosestrong legs turned the pedals of a wheel chair in which my companion andI rode one day through the Palm Beach jungle trail. It is a wonderfulplace, that jungle, with its tangled trunks and vines and its greenfoliage swimming in sifted sunlight; with its palms, palmettoes, ferns, and climbing morning-glories, its banana trees, gnarled rubber banyans, and wild mangoes--which are like trees growing upside down, diggingtheir spreading branches into the ground. For a time we forgot thepedaling negro behind us, but a faint puffing sound on a slight up-gradereminded us, presently, that our party was not of two, but three. Whenthe chair was running free again, one of us inquired of the chairman: "What would you do if you had a million dollars?" "Well, boss, " replied the negro seriously, "Ah knows one thing Ah'd do. No mattuh how much o' dis worl's goods Ah haid, Ah'd allus get mahexuhcize. " "That's wise, " my companion replied. "What kind of exercise would youtake?" "Ah ain't nevvuh jest stedied dat out, boss, " returned the man. "But itsho' would be some kind o' exuhcize besides pushin' one o' dese-heahchaihs. " "When you weren't exercising would you go and have a good time?" "No, boss. " "Why not?" "Well, boss, y' see Ah's a 'ligious man, Ah is. " "But can't people who are religious have a good time?" "Oh, " said the negro, "dey might have deh little pleasuhs now an' den, but dey cain't hev no sich good times like othah folks kin. A man 't 'sa 'ligious man, he cain't hev no sich good times like MistuhWahtuhbe'y's an' dem folks 'at was heah up to laist week. Ah was MistuhWahtuhbe'y's chaih boy. He gimme ninety-two dollahs an' fifty centstips one week! Yassuh! Dat might be _cha'ity_ but 't ain't 'ligion. Mistuh Dodge, his chaih boy's been a-wohkin' foh 'im six weeks. I 'spec'Mistuh Dodge give dat boy fahve hund'ud dollahs if he give 'im a cent!Mistuh Wahtuhbe'y's pahty, dey haid nineteen chaihs waitin' on 'em allde time, jest foh t' drive 'em f'om de _ho-_tel to de club, an' decasino. Dat cos' 'em nineteen hund'ud dollahs a week, and de boys, deyain't one o'em 'at git less'n hund'ud dolluhs fo' hisself. Dat's de kin'o' gen'men Mistuh Wahtuhbe'y an' his pahty is. Ah's haid sev'ul gen'mendis season dat ain't what you'd jes' say, 'ligious, but dey was, asfolks calls it, p'ofuse. Dey was one ol' gen'man heah two weeks, an' dehwas a young lady what he haid a attachment on, an' evvy evenin' 'e use't' take huh foh a wheel-chaih ride in de moonlight. Fuhst night Ah took'em out he tuhn to me, an' he says: 'Look-a-heah, boy! You sho you knowsyouah duties?' "'Yassuh, boss, ' Ah tell 'im. 'Deed Ah does!' "'Den what is youah duties den?' sez 'e. "Ah say: 'Boss, de chaih boy's duties, dey's to be dumb, an' deef, an'blin', an' dey cain't see nothin', an' dey cain't say nothin', an' deycain't heah nothin', and dey cain't--' "'Dass 'nuff, ' he say. 'Ah sees you knows youah business. Heah's fiffydollahs. '" "Well, " one of us asked presently, "what happened?" "Ah took 'em ridin' through de jungle trail, boss, " he returned, innocently. "What did they do?" "How does Ah know, boss? Di'n' Ah have ma eyes covuhed wi' dat fiffydollahs? Di'n' Ah have ma eahs stuff' wid it? Yassuh! An' Ah got ma_mouf_ full o' it _yit_!" The chair boys, bell boys, waiters, barbers, porters, bartenders, waitresses, chambermaids, manicures, and shop attendants one finds inPalm Beach, Belleair, Miami, and many other winter resorts, are, numerically, a not inconsiderable part of the season's population, andthe lives of these people who form a background of service, of whichmany an affluent visitor is hardly conscious, parallel the lives of therich in a manner that is not without a note of caricature. When the rich go South so do the hordes that serve them; when theFlorida season begins to close and the rich move northward, the servingpopulation likewise begins to melt away; if you are in Palm Beach nearthe season's end, and move up to St. Augustine, or Jacksonville, orAugusta, or any one of a dozen other places, you are likely torecognize, here and there, a waiter, a bell-boy, or a chambermaid whomyou tipped, some weeks earlier, preparatory to leaving a latitudeseveral degrees nearer the Equator. When you leave the Poinciana or theBreakers at the season's close, your waiter may, for all you know, be inthe Jim Crow car, ahead, and when you go in to dinner at the Ponce deLeon at St. Augustine, or the Mason at Jacksonville, you may discoverthat he too has stopped off there for a few days, to gather in thefinal tips. Nor must you fancy, when you depart for the North, that youhave seen the last of him. Next summer when you take a boat up theHudson, or go to Boston by the Fall River Line, or drop in at a hotel atSaratoga, there he will be, like an old friend. The bartender who mixesyou a pick-me-up on the morning that you leave the Breakers, will beready to start you on the downward path, at the beginning of the summer, at some Northern country club; the barber who cuts your hair at theRoyal Palm in Miami will be ready to perform a like service, later on, at some hotel in the Adirondacks or the White Mountains; the neatwaitress who serves you at the Belleview at Belleair will appear beforeyou three or four months hence at the Griswold near New London; theadept waiter from the Beach Club at Palm Beach will seem to you to looklike some one you have seen before when, presently, he places viandsbefore you at Sherry's, or the Ritz, or some fashionable restaurant inLondon or Paris. Likewise, when you enter the barber shop of a largehostelry just off the board walk in Atlantic City, next July, you willfind there, in the same generously ventilated shirt waist, themanicurist who caused your nails to glisten so superbly in the Floridasunlight; and if she has the memory for faces which is no small part ofa successful manicurist's stock in trade, she will remember you, andwhere she saw you last, and will tell you just which of the young womenfrom "The Follies" and the Century Theater are to be seen upon thebeach that day, and whether they are wearing, here on the Jersey coast, those same surprising bathing suits which, last February, caused blaségentlemen basking upon the Florida sands to sit up, arise, say it wastime for one last dip before luncheon, and then, without seeming toodeliberate about it, follow the amazing nymphs in the direction of amatchless sea--that sea which, as a background for these Broadway girlsin their long silken hosiery, takes on a tone of spectacular unreality, like some fantastic marine back drop devised by Mr. Dillingham or Mr. Ziegfeld. CHAPTER LV A DAY IN MONTGOMERY I have walk'd in Alabama My morning walk.... --WALT WHITMAN. As I have remarked before, it is a long haul from the peninsula ofFlorida to New Orleans. There are two ways to go. The route by way ofPensacola, following the Gulf Coast, looks shorter on the map but is, Ibelieve, in point of time consumed, the longer way. My companion and Iwere advised to go by way of Montgomery, Alabama--a long way around itlooked--where we were to change trains, catching a New Orleans-boundexpress from the North. It was nearly midnight when, after a long tiresome journey, we arrivedin Alabama's capital, and after midnight when we reached the comfortableif curiously called Hotel Gay-Teague, which is not named for an Indianchief or a kissing game, but for two men who had to do with building it. We had heard that Montgomery was a quiet, sleepy old town, and hadexpected to go immediately to bed on our arrival. What then was ouramazement at hearing, echoing through the wide street in front of thehotel, the sound of strident ragtime. Investigation disclosed a gaudilystriped tent of considerable size set up in the street and illuminatedby those flaring naphtha lamps they use in circuses. Going over to thetent, we learned that there was dancing within, whereupon we paid ourfifteen cents apiece and entered. I have forgotten what produced themusic--it may have been a mechanical piano or a hurdy-gurdy--but therewas music, and it was loud, and there was a platform laid over thecobble-stones of the street, and on that platform ten or more coupleswere "ragging, " their shoulders working like the walking beams ofside-wheelers. The men were of that nondescript type one would expect tosee in a fifteen-cent dancing place, but the women were of curiousappearance, for all were dressed alike, the costume being a fringedkhaki suit with knee-length skirt, a bandana at the neck, and asombrero. On inquiry I learned that this was called a "cowgirl" costume. The dances were very brief, and in the intervals between them most ofthe dancers went to a "bar" at the end of the tent where (Alabama beinga dry State) the beverage called "coca-cola"--a habit as much as adrink--was being served in whisky glasses. Unable to understand why this pageant of supposed western mining-camplife should confront us in the streets of Alabama's capital, I madeinquiry of an amiable policeman who was on duty in the tent, and learnedthat this was not a regular Montgomery institution, but one of theattractions of a street fair which had invaded the city--the main bodyof the fair being a block or two distant. These fairs, he said, travel about the country much as circuses do, making arrangements in advance with various organizations in differentplaces to stand sponsor for them. Long after we were in our beds that night we were kept awake by thesound of ragtime from the tent across the way. I arose next morning withthe feeling of one who has had insufficient sleep, and a glance at mycompanion, who was already at table when I reached the hotel diningroom, informed me that he was suffering from a like complaint. I took myseat opposite him in silence, and he acknowledged my presence with a nodwhich he accomplished without looking up from his newspaper. After breakfast there arrived a pleasant gentleman who announced himselfas secretary of one of the city's commercial organizations. "We have a motor here, " said the secretary, "and will show you points ofinterest. Is there anything in particular you wish to see?" "I think, " said my companion, "that it would be a good thing to see thestreet fair. " "Oh, no, " said the secretary earnestly. "You don't want to see that. There is nothing about it that is representative of Montgomery. It isjust a traveling show such as you might run into anywhere. " "Yes, " I said, "but we never _have_ run into one before, and here itis. " "I have said right along, " declared the secretary, somberly, "that itwas a great mistake to bring this fair here at all. I don't think youought to pay any attention to it in your book. It will give people awrong impression of our city. " "Do you think it will, if I explain that it is just a traveling fair?" "Yes. Wait until you see what we have to show you. We want you tounderstand that Montgomery is a thriving metropolis, sir!" "What is there to see?" "Montgomery, " he replied, "is known as 'The City of Sunshine. ' It isrich in history. It has superior hotels, picturesque highways, goodfishing and hunting, two golf courses, seven theaters, a number oftennis courts, and unsurpassed artesian water. It has free factorysites, the cheapest electric power rates in the United States, and isthe best-lighted city in the country. " "We have some pretty fair street lighting in New York, " interjected mycompanion, who takes much pride in his home town. "I said '_one_ of the best lighted, '" replied the secretary. "What is the population?" "Montgomery, " the other returned, "is typical of both the Old and theNew South. Though it may be called a modern model city, its wealth ofhistory and tradition are preserved with loving care by its myriadinhabitants. " "How many inhabitants?" "Roses and other flowers are in bloom here throughout the year, " saidhe. "Also there are six hundred miles of macadamized and picturesquehighways in Montgomery County. Indeed, this region is a motorist'sparadise. " "How many people did you say?" "Montgomery, " he answered, "is the trading center for a millionprosperous souls. " At this my companion, who had been reading up Montgomery in a guidebook, began to bristle with hidden knowledge. "You say there are a million people here?" he demanded. "Not right _here_, " admitted the secretary. "Well, how many do you claim?" "Fifty-five thousand four hundred and ten. " "Right _in_ the city?" "Well, in the trolley-car territory. " "But in the city itself?" my companion insisted. The secretary was fairly cornered. "The 1910 census, " he said, with asmile, "gave us about forty thousand. " "Thirty-eight thousand one hundred and thirty-six, " corrected mycompanion. He had not spent hours with the guidebook for nothing. When, presently, we got into the automobile, I gave another feeblechirp about the fair, but the secretary was adamant, so we yieldedtemporarily, and were whirled about the city. * * * * * Montgomery is a charming old town, not only by reason of the definitethings it has to show, but also because of a general rich suggestion ofold southern life. The day, by a fortunate chance, was Saturday, and everywhere we went weencountered negroes driving in from the country to market, in theirrickety old wagons. On some wagons there would be four or five men andwomen, and here and there one would be playing a musical instrument andthey would all be singing, while the creaking of the wagon came in withan orchestral quality which seemed grotesquely suitable. The mules, too, looked as though they ought to creak, and an inspection of the harnesssuggested that it was held together, not so much by the string and wirewith which it was mended, as by the fingers of that especial Providencewhich watches over all kinds of absurd repairs made by negroes, andmakes them hold for negroes, where they would not hold for white men. In an old buff-painted brick building standing on the corner of Commerceand Bibb Streets, the Confederate Government had its first offices, andfrom this building, if I mistake not, was sent the telegraphic order tofire on Fort Sumter. Another historical building is the dilapidatedframe residence at the corner of Bibb and Lee Streets, which was thefirst "White House of the Confederacy. " This building is now a boardinghouse, and is in a pathetic state of decay. But perhaps when Montgomerygets up the energy to build a fine tourist hotel, or when outsidecapital comes in and builds one, the old house will be furbished up toprovide a "sight" for visitors. There are several reasons why Montgomery would be a good place for alarge winter-resort hotel, and if I were a Montgomery "booster" I shouldgive less thought to free factory sites than to building up the town asa winter stopping place for tourists. The town itself is picturesque andattractive; as to railroads it is well situated (albeit the claim thatMontgomery is the "Gateway to Florida" strikes me as a little bitexaggerated); the climate is delightful, and the surrounding country isnot only beautiful but fertile. Furthermore, there are already two golfclubs--one for Jews and one for Gentiles--and the links are reputed tobe good. Unlike many southern cities of moderate size, Montgomery has well-pavedstreets, and the better residence streets, being wide, and lined withtrees and pleasant houses, each in its own lawn, give a suggestion of anagreeable home and social life--a suggestion which, by implication atleast, report substantiates: for it has been said that the chiefindustry of Montgomery is that of raising beautiful young women to makewives for the rich men of Birmingham. On such pleasant thoroughfares as South Perry Street, it may be noticedthat many of the newer houses have taken their architectural inspirationfrom old ones, with the result that, though "originality" does not jumpout at the passer-by, as it does on so many streets, North and South, which are lined with the heterogeneous homes of prosperous families, there is an agreeable architectural harmony over the town. This is not, of course, invariably true, but it is truer, I think, inMontgomery than in most other cities, and if Montgomery is defaced bythe funny little settlement called Bungalow City, that settlement is, atleast, upon the outskirts of the town. Bungalow City is withoutexception the queerest real-estate development I ever saw. It consistsof several blocks of tiny houses, standing on tiny lots, the scale ofeverything being so small as to suggest a play village for children. Thehouses are, however, homes, and I was told that in some of them allsorts of curious space-saving devices are installed--as, for instance, tables and beds which can be folded into the walls. Not far from thislittle settlement is an old house which used to be the home of Tweed, New York's notorious political boss, who, it is said, used to spend muchtime here. The chief lion of the city is the old State House, which stands on agraceful eminence in a small well-kept park. Just as the New York StateCapitol is probably the most shamefully expensive structure of the kindin the entire country, that of Alabama is, I fancy, the most creditablyinexpensive. Building and grounds cost $335, 000. Moreover, the Capitolof Alabama is a better-looking building than that of New York, for it iswithout gingerbread trimmings, and has about it the air of honestsimplicity that an American State House ought to have. Of course it hasa dome, and of course it has a columned portico, but both are plain, andthere is a large clock, in a quaint box-like tower, over the peak of theportico, which contributes to the building a curious touch ofindividuality. At the center of the portico floor, under this clock, abrass plate marks the spot where Jefferson Davis stood when he deliveredhis inaugural address, February 18, 1861, and in the State SenateChamber, within--a fine simple room with a gallery of peculiargrace--the Provisional Government of the Confederacy was organized. Theflag of the Confederacy was, I believe, adopted in this room, and wasfirst flung to the breeze from the Capitol building. It was past three in the afternoon when we left the State House, and wehad had no luncheon. "Now, " said my companion as we returned to the automobile, "I think wehad better have something to eat, and then go to the fair. " "But you were going to give up the fair, " put in the secretary. "Oh, no, " we said in chorus. "I have arranged about luncheon, " he returned. "We will have it servedat the hotel in a short time. But first there are some important sightsI wish you to see. " "Man shall not live by sights alone, " objected my companion. "What areyou going to show us?" "We have a beautiful woman's college. " "That, " said my companion, "is the one thing that could tempt me. Howmany beautiful women are there?" "It's not the women--it's the building, " the secretary explained. "Then, " said my companion firmly, "I think we'd better go and have ourlunch. " It seemed to me time to back him up in this demand. By dint ofconsiderable insistence we persuaded our enthusiastic cicerone to driveto the hotel, where we found a table already set for us. "I want to tell you, " said the secretary as we sat down, "about theagricultural progress this section has been making. Until recently ourfarmers raised nothing but cotton; they didn't even feed themselves, butlived largely on canned goods. But the boll weevil and the European War, affecting the cotton crop and the cotton market as they did, forced thefarmers to wake up. " The secretary talked interestingly on this subject for perhaps a quarterof an hour, during which time we waited for luncheon to be served. "You see, " he said, "our climate is such that it is possible to rotatecrops more than in most parts of the country. Cotton is now a surpluscrop with us, and our farmers are raising cattle, vegetables, and foodproducts. " "Speaking of food products, " said my companion, "I wonder if we couldhurry up the lunch?" "It will be along in a little while, " soothed the secretary. Then hereturned to agriculture. Ten minutes more passed. I saw that my companion was becoming nervous. "I'm sorry to trouble you, " he said at last, "but if we can't speed upthis luncheon, I don't see how I can wait. You see, we are leaving townthis evening, and I have an awful lot to do. " "I'll step back and investigate, " the secretary said, rising and movingtoward the kitchen door. When he was out of hearing, my companion leaned toward me. "I suspect this fellow!" he said. "What of?" "I think he's delaying us on purpose. He's a nice chap, but it's hisbusiness to boost this town, and he's artful. He doesn't want us to seethe street fair. That's why he's stalling like this!" Now, however, the secretary returned, followed by a waiter bearing soup. The soup was fine, but it was succeeded by another long interval, duringwhich the secretary said some very, very beautiful things about thecharm of Montgomery life. However, it was clear to me that my companionwas not interested. After he had looked at his watch several times, anddrummed a long tattoo upon the table, he arose, declaring: "I can't wait another minute. " "Sit down, my dear fellow, " said the secretary in his most genial tone. "I am having some special southern dishes prepared for you. " "You're very kind, " said my companion, "but I must get to work. It'shalf-past four now; we are leaving in a few hours. It will take me anhour to make my sketches, and the light will be failing pretty soon. " "What are you going to sketch?" It seemed to me that there wassuppressed emotion in the secretary's voice as he asked the question. "Why, the street fair. " "Surely, you're not going to _draw_ it?" "Why not?" "It's not representative of Montgomery. You ought to do somethingrepresentative! What pictures have you made here?" "I made one of those negroes driving in to market, " said my companion, "and one of the dancing cowgirls in the tent across the way--the oneswho kept us awake last night. " "My God!" cried the secretary, turning to me. "You intend to print suchpictures and say that they represent the normal life of this city?" "No, I won't say anything about it. " "But--" the secretary arose and looked wanly at the illustrator--"butyou haven't drawn any of our pretty homes! You didn't draw the golfclubs--not either one of them! You didn't draw the State House, or theConfederate Monument, or the Insane Asylum, or anything!" "I haven't had time. " "Well, you have time now! I tell you what: We'll let this luncheon go. I'll take you to the top of our tallest building, and you can draw apanoramic bird's-eye view of the entire city. That will be worth while. " My companion reached out, helped himself to a French roll, and put it inhis pocket. "No, " he said. "I will not go to the top of a high building with you. " "But why not?" "Because, " he replied, "I am afraid you would try to push me off theroof to prevent my drawing the street fair. " I do not remember that the secretary denied having harbored such a plan. At all events, he countermanded the remainder of the luncheon order anddeparted with us. At the entrance of an office building he made one final desperateappeal: "Just come up to the top floor and see the view!" But we stood firm, and he continued with us on our way. The fair was strung along both sides of a wide, cobbled street. It wasreally a very jolly fair, with the usual lot of barkers and the usualgaping crowd, plus many negroes, who stood fascinated before the highlycolored canvas signs outside the tents, with their bizarre pictures ofwild animals, snake charmers, "Nemo, the Malay Prince, " and "TheCigarette Fiend, " pictured as a ghastly emaciated object with a bluecomplexion, and billed as "Endorsed by the Anti-Cigarette League ofAmerica. " I wished to inquire why an anti-cigarette league shouldindorse a cigarette fiend, but lack of time compelled us to press on, leaving the apparent paradox unsolved. As we progressed between the tents and the booths with their catchpenny"wheels of fortune, " and ring-tossing enticements, the secretarymaintained a protesting silence. Near the end of the block we stopped to listen to a particularlyvociferous barker. I saw my companion take his pad from his pocket andplace it under his arm, while he sharpened a pencil. "Come!" cried the secretary. "Come across the square and let me show youour beautiful bronze fountain. Draw that!" But my companion was already beginning to sketch. He was drawing thebarker and the crowd. Meanwhile an expression of horror came into the secretary's face. Looking at him, I became conscience-stricken. "Come away, " I said gently, taking him by the arm. "Don't watch himdraw. He draws wonderfully, but Art for Art's sake doesn't appeal toyou just now. The better he draws the worse it will make you feel. Letme get your mind off all this. Let me take you over to the autodrome, where we can see Mr. O. K. Hager and his beautiful sister, Miss OliveHager, the 'Two Daredevil Motorcyclists, in the Thrilling Race againstDeath. ' That will make you forget. " "No, " said the secretary, shaking his head with a despondency the verysight of which made me sad; "I have letters to sign at the office. " "And we have taken up your whole day!" "It has been a pleasure, " he said kindly. "There is only one thing thatworries me. Those drawings are not going to represent what is typical ofMontgomery life. Not in the least!" There arose in me a sudden desire to comfort him. "How would it be, " I suggested, "if I were to print that statement in mybook?" He looked at me in surprise. "But you couldn't very well do that, could you?" "Certainly, " I replied. His face brightened. It was delightful to see the change come over him. "For that matter, " I went on, "I might say even more. I could say that, while I admire my companion as a man, and as an artist, he lacksingenuity in ordering breakfast. He always reads over the menu and thenorders a baked apple and scrambled eggs and bacon. Would you like me toattack him on that line also?" "Oh, no, " said the secretary. "Nothing of that kind. It's just aboutthese pictures. They aren't representative. If you'll say that, I'll bemore than satisfied. " Presently we parted. "Don't forget!" he said as we shook hands in farewell. And I have not forgotten. Moreover, to give full measure, I am going toask the printer to set the statement in italics: _The drawings accompanying this chapter are not representative of whatis typical of Montgomery life. _ With this statement my companion is in full accord. He admits that hewould have drawn the State House had there been no fair, to interfere. But, as with certain items on the breakfast bill, street fairs are apassion with him. And so they are with me. CHAPTER LVI THE CITY OF THE CREOLE When a poet, a painter, or a sculptor wishes to personify a city, whydoes he invariably give it the feminine gender? Why is this so, eventhough the city be named for a man, or for a masculine saint? And why isit so in the case of commonplace cities, commercial cities, and ugly, sordid cities? It is not difficult to understand why a beautiful, sparkling city, like Washington or Paris, suggests a handsome woman, richly gowned and bedecked with jewels, but it is hard to understand whysome other cities, far less pleasing, seem somehow to be stamped withthe qualities of woman-nature rather than man-nature. Is it perhapsbecause the nature of all cities is so complicated? Is it because theyare volatile, changeful, baffling? Or is it only that they are themothers of great families of men? When I arrive in a strange city I feel as though I were making theacquaintance of a woman of whom I have often heard. I am curious abouther. I am alert. I gaze at her eagerly, wondering if she is as I haveimagined her. I try to read her expression while listening to her voice. I consider her raiment, noticing whether it is fine, whether it is goodonly in spots, and whether it is well put together. I inspect theimportant buildings, boulevards, parks, and monuments with which she isjeweled, and judge by them not only of her prosperity, but of her senseof beauty. Before long I have a distinct impression of her. Sometimes, as with a woman, this first impression has to be revised; sometimes not. Sometimes, on acquaintance, a single feature, or trait, becomes soimportant in my eyes that all else seems inconsequential. A noble spiritmay cover physical defects; beauty may seem to compensate for weaknessesof character. The spell of a beautiful city which is bad resembles thespell of such a city's prototype among women. Some young growing cities are like young growing women of whom we think:"She is as yet unformed, but she will fill out and become more charmingas she grows older. " Or again we think: "She is somewhat dowdy and rundown at the heels but she is ambitious, and is replenishing her wardrobeas she can afford it. " One expects such failings in young cities, andreadily forgives them where there is wholesome promise for the future. But where old cities become slovenly, the affair is different, for thenit means physical decay, and physical decay should never come to acity--for a city is not only feminine, but should be immortal. Thesymbol for every city should be a goddess, forever in her prime. Among southern cities Richmond is the _grande dame_; she is gray anddistinguished, and wears handsome old brocades and brooches. Richmondis aquiline and crisp and has much "manner. " But though Charleston isactually the older, the wonderful beauty of the place, the softness ofthe ancient architectural lines, the sweet scents wafting from walledgardens, the warmth of color everywhere, gives the place that veryquality of immortal youth and loveliness which is so rare in cities, andis so much to be desired. Charleston I might allegorize in the person ofa young woman I met there. I was in the drawing-room of a fine oldhouse; a beautifully proportioned room, paneled to the ceiling, hungwith family portraits and other old paintings, and furnished withmahogany masterpieces a century and a half old. The girl lived in thishouse. She was not exactly pretty, nor was her figure beautiful in theusual sense; yet it was beautiful, all the same, with a sort oflong-limbed, supple, aristocratic aliveness. Most of all there was abouther a great fineness--the kind of fineness which seems to be theexpression of generations of fineness. She was the granddaughter of ageneral in the Civil War, the great-granddaughter of an ambassador, thegreat-great-granddaughter of a Revolutionary hero, and though one couldnot but be thankful that she failed of striking resemblance to theportraits of these admirable ancestors, nevertheless it seemed to methat, had I not known definitely of their place in her family history, Imight almost have sensed them hovering behind her: a background, nebulous and shadowy, out of which she had emerged. Memphis, upon the other hand, will always be to me a lively moderndébutante. I vision her as dancing--dancing to Handy's ragtimemusic--all shoulders, neck, and arms, and tulle, and twenty-dollar satinslippers. Atlanta, too, is young, vivid, affluent, altogether modern;while as for Birmingham, she is pretty, but a little strident, a littleoverdressed; touched a little with the amiability, and the otherqualities, of the _nouveau riche_. The beauty of New Orleans is of a different kind. She is a full-blown, black-eyed, dreamy, drawly creature, opulent of figure, white of skin, and red of lip. Like San Francisco she has Latin blood which makes herlove and preserve the carnival spirit; but she is more voluptuous thanSan Francisco, for not only is she touched with the languor and the fireof her climate, but she is without the virile blood of the forty-niner, or the invigorating contact of the fresh Pacific wind. In my imaginarypicture I see her yawning at eleven in the morning, when her negro maidbrings black coffee to her bedside--such wonderful blackcoffee!--whereas, at that hour, I conceive San Francisco as having longbeen up and about her affairs. Even in the afternoon I fancy my NewOrleans beauty as a little bit relaxed. But at dinner she becomes alive, and after dinner more alive, and by midnight she is like a flame. I must admit, however, that of late years New Orleans has developed aperfect case of dual personality, and that, as often happens where thereis dual personality, one side of her nature seems altogetherincompatible with the other. The very new New Orleans has noresemblance to the picture I have drawn; moreover, my picture is not herfavorite likeness of herself. She prefers more recent ones--picturesshowing the lines of determination which, within the last ten years havestamped themselves upon her features, as she has fought and overcome thedefects of character which logically accompanied her peculiar, temperamental type of charm. I, upon the other hand, am like some loverwho values most an older picture of the woman he adores. I admire herfor building character, but it is by her languorous beauty that I aminfatuated, and the portrait which most effectively displays that beautyis the one for which I care. Her very failings were so much a part of her that they made us the moresympathetic; she was too lovely to be greatly blamed for anything;gazing into her eyes, we hardly noticed that there was dust under thepiano and in the corners; dining at her sumptuous table, we gave butlittle thought to the fact that the cellar was damp, the house none toohealthy, and that there were mosquitoes and rats about the place; nordid it seem to matter, in face of her allurements, that she wasshiftless, extravagant, improvident in the management of her affairs. Ifthese things were brought to our attention, we excused them on thegrounds of Latin blood and enervating climate. But if we excused her, she did not excuse herself. Without being shakenawake by an earthquake, or forced to action by a devastating fire orflood, she set to work, calmly and of her own volition, to reform hercharacter. First she cleaned house, providing good surface drainage, an excellentfiltered water supply from the river in place of her oldmosquito-breeding cisterns, and modern sewers in place of cesspools. Shekilled rats by the hundreds of thousands, rat-proofed her buildings, andthus, at one stroke, eliminated all fear of bubonic plague. She began totake interest in the public schools, and soon trebled their advantages. She concerned herself with the revision of repressive tax laws. Shesecured one of the best street railway systems in the country. But, perhaps most striking of all, she set to work to build scientificallytoward the realization of a gigantic dream. This dream embodies theresumption by New Orleans of her old place as second seaport city. Tothis end she is doing more than any other city to revive the commerce ofthe Mississippi River, and is at the same time making a strong bid fortrade by way of the Panama Canal, as well as other sea traffic. She hasrestored her forty miles of water front to the people, has builtmunicipal docks and warehouses at a cost of millions, and has soperfectly coördinated her river-rail-sea traffic-handling agencies thatrates have been greatly reduced. Upon these, and related enterprises, upward of a hundred millions are being spent, and the vast plan isworking out with such promise that one almost begins to fear lest NewOrleans become too much enamored of her new-found materialism--lest theeasy-going, pleasure-loving, fascinating Creole belle be transformedinto the much-less-rare and much-less-desirable business type of woman:a woman whose letters, instead of being written in a fine French handand scented with the faint fragrance of vertivert, are typewritten uponcommercial paper; whose lips, instead of causing one to think of kisses, are laden with the deadly cant of commerce; whose skin, instead ofseeming to be made of milk and rose leaves, is dappled with industrialsoot. Lord Chesterfield in one of his letters to his son, intimated thatbeautiful women desire to be flattered upon their intelligence, whileintelligent women who are not altogether ugly like to be told that theyare beautiful. So with New Orleans. Speak of her individuality, herpicturesqueness, her gift of laughter, and she will listen with politeennui; but admire her commercial progress and she will hang upon yourwords. Gaiety and charm are so much a part of her that she not onlytakes them as a matter of course, but seems to doubt, sometimes, thatthey are virtues. She is like some unusual and fascinating woman who, instead of rejoicing because she is not like all other women, begins towonder if she ought not to be like them. Perhaps she is wrong to be gay?Perhaps her carnival proves her frivolous? Perhaps she ought not tocontinue to hold a carnival each year? Far to the north of New Orleans the city of St. Paul was afflicted, someyears since, by a similar agitation. It will be remembered that St. Paul used to build an ice palace each year. People used to go to see itas they go to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Then came some believer in thestandardization of cities, advancing the idea that ice palacesadvertised St. Paul as a cold place. As a result they ceased to bebuilt. St. Paul threw away something which drew attention to her andwhich gave her character. Moreover, I am told this mania went so farthat when folders were issued for the purpose of advertising the region, they were designed to suggest the warmth and brilliance of the tropics. Had St. Paul a bad climate, instead of a peculiarly fine one, we mightfeel sympathetic tolerance for these performances, but a city whichenjoys cool summers and dry, bracing winters has no apologies to makeupon the score of climate, and only need apologize if she tries to makeus think that bananas and cocoanuts grow on sugar-maple trees. However, in the last year or two, St. Paul has perceived the folly of her course, and has resumed her annual carnival. In the case of New Orleans I cannot believe there is real danger thatthe carnival will be given up. Instead, I believe that the businessenthusiasts will be appeased--as they were a year or two ago, for thefirst time in carnival history--by the inclusion of an industrialpageant glorifying the city's commercial renaissance. Also the NewOrleans newspapers soothe the spirit of the Association of Commerce, atcarnival time, by publishing items presumably furnished by that capableorganization, showing that business is going on as usual, that bankclearings have not diminished during the festivities, and that, despitethe air of happiness that pervades the town, New Orleans is not reallybeginning to have such a good time as a stranger might suppose fromsuperficial signs. With such concessions made to solemn visagedcommerce, is the carnival continued. * * * * * There are at least six cities on this continent which every one shouldsee. Every one should see New York because it is the largest city in theworld, and because it combines the magnificence, the wonder, the beauty, the sordidness, and the shame of a great metropolis; every one shouldsee San Francisco because it is so vivid, so alive, so golden; every oneshould see Washington, the clean, white splendor of which is like theembodiment of a national dream; every one should see the old graygranite city of Quebec, piled on its hill above the river like somefortified town in France; every one should see the sweet andaristocratic city of Charleston, which suggests a museum of traditionand early American elegance; and of course every one should see NewOrleans. As to whether it is best to see the city in everyday attire, or maskedfor the revels, that is a matter of taste, and perhaps of age as well. To any one who loves cities, New Orleans is always good to see, while tothe lover of spectacles and fêtes the carnival is also worthseeing--once. The two are, however, hardly to be seen to advantagesimultaneously. To visit New Orleans in carnival time is like visitingsome fine old historic mansion when it is all in a flurry over afancy-dress ball. The furniture is moved, master, mistress and servantsare excited, the cook is overworked and is perhaps complaining a little, and the brilliant costumes of the masquerade divert the eye of thevisitor so that he hardly knows what sort of house he is in. Attend theball if you like, but do not fail to revisit the house when normalconditions have been restored; see the festivities of Mardi Gras if youwill, but do not fail to browse about old New Orleans and sit down ather famous tables when her chefs have time to do their best. CHAPTER LVII HISTORY, THE CREOLE, AND HIS DUELS Canal Street is to New Orleans much more than Main Street is to Buffalo, much more than Broad Street is to Philadelphia, much more than Broadwayand Fifth Avenue are to New York, for Canal Street divides New Orleansas no other street divides an American city. It divides New Orleans asthe Seine divides Paris, and there is not more difference between theright bank of the Seine and the Latin Quarter than between American NewOrleans and Creole New Orleans: between the newer part of the city andthe _vieux carré_. The sixty squares ("islets" according to the Creoleidiom, because each block was literally an islet in time of flood) whichcomprise the old French town established in 1718 by the Sieur deBienville, are unlike the rest of the city not merely in architecture, but in all respects. The street names change at Canal Street, thehighways become narrower as you enter the French quarter, and thepavements are made of huge stone blocks brought over long ago as ballastin sailing ships. Nor is the difference purely physical. For though theywill tell you that this part of the city is not so French and Spanish asit used to be, that it has run down, that large parts of it have beengiven over to Italians of the lower class, and to negroes, it remainsnot only in appearance, but in custom, thought and character, the mostperfectly foreign little tract of land in the whole United States. Longago, under the French flag, it was a part of the Roman Catholicbishopric of Quebec; later under the Spanish flag, a part of that ofHavana; and it is charming to trace in old buildings, names, and customsthe signs of this blended French and Spanish ancestry. La Salle, searching out a supposed route to China by way of theMississippi River, seems to have perceived what the New OrleansAssociation of Commerce perceives to-day: that the control of the mouthof the river ought to mean also the control of a vast part of thecontinent. At all events, he took possession in 1682 in the name of theFrench King, calling the river St. Louis and the country Louisiana. Thelatter name persisted, but La Salle himself later rechristened theriver, giving it the name Colbert, thereby showing that in two attemptshe could not find a name one tenth as good as that already provided bythe savages. The "St. Louis River" might, from its name, be a fair-sizedstream, but "Colbert" sounds like the name of a river about twenty mileslong, forty feet wide at the mouth, and five feet deep at the verymiddle. La Salle intended to build a fort at a point sixty leagues above themouth of the river, but his expedition met with disaster upon disaster, until at last he was assassinated in Texas, when setting out on foot toseek help from Canada. In 1699 came Iberville, the Canadian, exploringthe river and fixing on the site for the future city. Ibervilleestablished settlements at old Biloxi (now Ocean Springs) and Mobile, but before he had time to make a town at New Orleans he caught yellowfever at Havana, and died there. It therefore remained for his brother, Bienville, actually to establish the town, and New Orleans isBienville's city, just as Detroit is Cadillac's, and Cleveland GeneralMoses Cleveland's. Bienville's settlers were hardy pioneers from Canada, and presently wefind him writing to France: "Send me wives for my Canadians. They arerunning in the woods after Indian girls. " The priests also urged thatunless white wives could be sent out for the settlers, marriages withIndians be sanctioned. Having now a considerable investment in Louisiana, France felt that arequest for wives for the colony was practical and legitimate. Louisianamust have population. A bonus of so much per head was offered forcolonists, and hideous things ensued: servants, children, and helplesswomen were kidnapped, and the occupants of hospitals, asylums, andhouses of correction were assembled and deported. Incidentally it willbe remembered that out of these black deeds flowered "the firstmasterpiece of French literature which can properly be called a novel, "the Abbé Prévost's "Manon Lescaut, " which has been dramatized andredramatized, and which is the theme of operas by both Massenet andPuccini. Though a grave alleged to be that of Manon used to be shown onthe outskirts of the city, there is doubt that such a person actuallyexisted, although those who wish to believe in a flesh-and-blood Manonmay perhaps take encouragement from the fact that the arrival in thecolony of a Chevalier des Grieux, in the year 1719, fourteen yearsbefore the book appeared, has been established, and, further, that thename of the Chevalier des Grieux may be seen upon a crumbling tomb inone of the river parishes. When the girls arrived they were on inspection in the daytime, but atnight were carefully guarded by soldiers, in the house where they werequartered together. Miss Grace King, in her delightful book, "NewOrleans, the Place and the People, " tells us that in these times therewere never enough girls to fill the demand for wives, and that in oneinstance two young bachelors proposed to fight over a very plaingirl--the last one left out of a shipload--but that the commandantobliged them to settle their dispute by the more pacific means ofdrawing lots. As the place became settled Ursuline sisters arrived andestablished schools. And at last, a quarter of a century after thelanding of the first shipment of girls, the curious history of femaleimportations ended with the arrival of that famous band of sixtydemoiselles of respectable family and "authenticated spotlessreputation, " who came to be taken as wives by only the more prosperousyoung colonists of the better class. The earlier, less reputable girlshave come down to us by the name of "correction girls, " but these laterarrivals--each furnished by the Company of the West with a casketcontaining a trousseau--are known to this day as _les filles à lacassette_, or "casket girls. " A curious feature of this bit of history, as it applies to present-dayNew Orleans, is that though one hears of many families that claimdescent from some nice, well-behaved "casket girl, " one never by anychance hears of a family claiming to be descended from a lady of theother stock. When it is considered that the "correction girls" faroutnumbered their virtuous sisters of the casket, and ought, therefore, by the law of averages, to have left a greater progeny, the matterbecomes stranger still, taking on a scientific interest. The explanationmust, however, be left to some mind more astute than mine--some mindcapable, perhaps, of unraveling also those other riddles of New Orleansnamely: Who was the mysterious chevalier who many years ago inventedthat most delectable of _sucreries_, the praline, and whither did hevanish? And how, although the refugee Duc d'Orleans (later LouisPhilippe of France) stayed but a short time in New Orleans, did hemanage to sleep in so many hundred beds, and in houses which were notbuilt until long after his departure? And why are so many of the signs, over bars, restaurants, and shops, of that blue and white enamel oneassociates with the signs of the Western Union Telegraph Company? Andwhy is the nickel as characteristic of New Orleans as is the silverdollar of the farther Middle West, and gold coin of the PacificSlope--why, when one pays for a ten-cent purchase with a half-dollar, does one receive eight nickels in change? Ah, but New Orleans is amysterious city! Once, when the French and English were fighting for the possession ofCanada and New Orleans was depending for protection on Swissmercenaries, the French officer in command of these troops disciplinedthem by stripping them and tying them to trees, where they were a preyto the terrible mosquitoes of the Gulf. One day they killed him andfled, but some of them were captured. These were taken back to NewOrleans, court-martialed, and punished according to the regulations:they were nailed alive to their coffins and sawed in two. Ceded to Spain by a secret clause in the Treaty of Paris, of which shedid not know until 1764, Louisiana could not believe the news. Even whenthe Acadians, appeared, after having been so cruelly ejected from theirlands in what is now New Brunswick, Louisiana could not believe thatLouis XV would coldly cast off his loyal colony. The fact that he haddone so was not credited until a Spanish governor arrived. For threeyears after, there was confusion. Then a strong force was sent fromSpain under Count O'Reilly, a man of Irish birth, but Spanishallegiance, and the flag of Spain was raised. O'Reilly maintainedviceregal splendor; he invited leading citizens to a levee; here in hisown house he caused his soldiers to seize the group of prominent men whohad attempted to prevent the accomplishment of Spanish rule, and fiveof these he presently caused to be shot as rebels. Spanish governors came and went. The people settled down. At one timePadre Antonio de Sedella, a Spanish Capuchin, arrived with a commissionto establish in the city the Holy office of the Inquisition, but he wasdiscouraged and shipped back to Cadiz. Miss King tells us that when, half a century later, the calaboose was demolished, secret dungeonscontaining instruments of torture were discovered. On Good Friday, 1788, fire broke out, and as the priests refused to letthe bells be rung in warning, saying that all bells must be dumb on GoodFriday, the conflagration gained such headway that it could not bechecked, and a large part of the old French town was reduced to ashes. Six years later another fire equally destructive, completed the work ofblotting out the French town, and the old New Orleans we now know is theSpanish city which arose in its place: a city not of wood but of adobeor brick, stuccoed and tinted, of arcaded walks, galleries, jalousies, ponderous doors, and inner courts with carriage entrances from thestreet, and, behind, the most charming and secluded gardens. Also, owingto premiums offered by Baron Carondelet, the governor, tile roofs cameinto vogue, so that the city became comparatively fireproof. Much of thepresent-day charm of the old city is due also to the noble Andalusian, Don Andreas Almonaster y Roxas, who having immigrated and made a greatfortune in the city, became its benefactor, building schools and otherpublic institutions, the picturesque old Cabildo, or town hall, which isnow a most fascinating museum, the cathedral, which adjoins the Cabildo, and which, like it, faces Jackson Square, formerly the Place d'Armes. Infront of the altar of his cathedral Don Andreas is buried, and massesare said, in perpetuity, for his soul. When the Don's young widowremarried, she and her husband were pursued by a charivari lasting threedays and three nights--the most famous charivari in the history of acity widely noted for these detestable functions. The Don's daughter, agreat heiress, became the Baronne Poñtalba and resided in magnificencein Paris, where she died, a very old woman, in 1874. In the Place d'Armes much of the early history of New Orleans, andindeed, of Louisiana, was written. Here, and in the Cabildo, thetransfers from flag to flag took place, ending with the ceding ofLouisiana by Spain to France, and by France to the United States. Atthis time New Orleans had about ten thousand inhabitants, most of thewhites being Creoles. Harris Dickson, who knows a great deal about New Orleans, declared in anarticle published some years ago, that outside lower Louisiana the word"Creole" is still misunderstood, and added this definition of the term:"A person of mixed French and Spanish blood, born in Louisiana. " As Iunderstand it, however, the blood need not necessarily be mixed, but maybe pure Spanish or pure French, or again, there may be some admixtureof English blood. The word itself was, I am informed, originallySpanish, and signified an American descended from Spaniards; later itgot into the language of the French West Indies, whence it was imported, to Louisiana, about the end of the eighteenth century, by refugees whoarrived in considerable numbers from San Domingo, after the revolutionof the blacks there. Thus, the early French settlers did not use theword. If any misapprehension as to whether a Creole is a white person doesstill exist, that misunderstanding is, I believe, to be traced to thedoors of an old-time cheap burlesque theater in Chicago, where the lateimpresario, Sam T. Jack, put on a show in which mulatto women werebilled as "a galaxy of Creole beauties. " This show traveled about thecountry libeling the Creoles and doubtless causing many persons of thatclass which attended Sam T. Jack's shows, to believe that "Creole" meanssomething like "quadroon. " But when the show got to Baton Rouge themanager was waited upon by a committee of citizens who said certainthings to him which caused him to give up his engagement there andcancel any other engagements he had in the Creole country. True, one frequently hears references in New Orleans to "Creolemammies, " and "Creole negroes, " but the word used in that sense merelyindicates a negro who has been the servant of Creoles, and who speaksFrench--"gombo French" the curious dialect is called. Similarly onehears of "Creole ponies"--these being ponies of the small, strong typeused by the Cajan farmers. According to the Louisiana dialectLongfellow's "Evangeline" was a Cajan, the word being a corruption of"Acadian. " About a thousand of these unfortunate expatriates arrived inNew Orleans between 1765 and 1768. Within a century they had multipliedto forty times that number, spreading over the entire western part ofthe State. Much of the temperament, the gaiety, the sensitiveness of New Orleanscomes from the Creole. He was Latin enough to be a good deal of agambler, to love beautiful women, and on slight provocation to draw hissword. The street names of New Orleans--not only those of the French Quarter, but of the whole city--reflect his various tastes. Many of the streetsbear the names of historic figures of the French and Spanish régimes;Rampart Street, formerly the rue des Ramparts marks, like the outerboulevards of Paris, the line of the old city wall. Other streets weregiven pretty feminine names by the old Creole gallants: Suzette, Celeste, Estelle, Angelie, and the like. The devout doubtless had theirshare in the naming of Religious Street, Nuns Street, Piety Street, Assumption Street, and Amen Street. The taste for Greek and Romanclassicism which developed in France at the time of the Revolution, found its way to Louisiana, and is reflected in New Orleans by streetsbearing the names of gods, demi gods, the muses and the graces. Thepronunciation given to some of these names is curious: Melpomene, instead of being given four syllables is called Melpomeen; Calliope issimilarly Callioap; Euterpe, Euterp, and so on. This, however, is theresult not of ignorance, but of a slight corruption of the correctFrench pronunciations, the Americans having taken their way ofpronouncing the names from the French. The Napoleonic wars arecommemorated in the names of Napoleon Avenue, and Austerlitz and JenaStreets, and the visit of Lafayette in the naming for him of both astreet and an avenue. But perhaps the most striking names of all the oldones were Mystery Street, Madman's Street, Love Street (Rue de l'Amour), Goodchildren Street (Rue des Bons Enfants), and above all those twostreets in the Faubourg Marigny which old Bernard Marigny amused himselfby naming for two games of chance at which, it is said, he had lost afortune--namely Bagatelle and Craps--the latter not the game played withdice, but an old-time game of cards. The French spoken by cultivated Creoles bears to the French of modernFrance about the same relation as the current English of Virginia doesto that of England. Creole French is founded largely upon the French ofthe seventeenth and early eighteenth century, just as many of theso-called "Americanisms" of older parts of the country, includingVirginia and New England, are Elizabethan. The early English and Frenchcolonists, coming to this country with the language of their times, dropped, over here, into a linguistic backwater. In the mothercountries language continued to renew itself as it flowed along, byelisions, by the adoption and legitimatizing of slang words (as forinstance the word "cab, " to which Dean Swift objected on the ground thatit was slang for "cabriolet"), and by all the other means through whichour vocabularies are forever changing. But to the colonies these changeswere not carried, and such changes as occurred in the French and Englishof America were, for the most part, separate and distinct (as exampledby such Creole words as "banquette" for "sidewalk, " in place of theFrench word _trottoir_, and the word "baire, " whence comes the Americanterm "mosquito bar. ") The influence of colloquial French from Canada mayalso be traced in New Orleans, and the language there was furtheraffected by the strange jargon spoken by the Creole negro--precisely asthe English dialect of negroes in other parts of the South may be saidto have affected the speech of all the Southern States. Between the dialect of the Louisiana Cajan and that of the FrenchCanadian of Quebec and northern New York there is a strong resemblance;but the Creole negro language is a thing entirely apart, being made up, it is said, partly from French and partly from African word sounds, justas the "gulla" of the South Carolina coast is made up from African andEnglish. The one is no more intelligible to a Frenchman than the otherto a Londoner. The ignorant Creole negro wishing to say "I do notunderstand, " would not say "moi je ne comprends pas, " but "mo pasconnais"; similarly for "I am going away, " he does not say, "je m'envais, " but "ma pe couri"; while for "I have a horse, " instead of "j'aiun cheval, " he will put the statement, "me ganyé choue. " It is a dialectlacking mood, tense, and grammar. To this day one may occasionally see in New Orleans and in other lowerriver towns an old "mammy" wearing the bandanna headdress called a_tignon_, which, toward the end of the eighteenth century, was madecompulsory for colored women in Louisiana. The need for some suchdistinguishing racial badge was, it is said, twofold. Yellow sirens fromthe French West Indies, flocking to New Orleans, were becomingexceedingly conspicuous in dress and adornment; furthermore one hearsstories of wealthy white men, fathers of octoroon or quadroon girls, whosent these illegitimate daughters abroad to be educated. The latter, onelearns from many sources, were very often beautiful in the extreme, aswere also the Domingan girls, and history is full of the tales of thecurious, wild, fashionably caparisoned, declassé circle of society, which came to exist in New Orleans through the presence there of so manyalluring women of light color and equally light character. Some of thesewomen, it is said, could hardly be distinguished from brunette whites, and it was largely for this reason that the _tignon_ was placed by lawupon the heads of all women having negro blood. No morsels from the history of old New Orleans are more suggestive tothe imagination than the hints we get from many sources of wildlydissipated life centering around the notorious quadroon balls--or asthey were called in their day, _cordon bleu_ balls. An old guide bookinforms me that the women who were the great attraction at thesefunctions were "probably the handsomest race of women in the world, andwere, besides, splendid dancers and finished dressers. " Authorities seemto agree that these balls were exceedingly popular among the youngCreole gentlemen, as well as with men visiting the city, and that duels, resulting from quarrels over the women, were of common occurrence. If aCreole had the choice of weapons slender swords called _colichemardes_were used, whereas pistols were almost invariably selected by Americans. Duels with swords were often fought indoors, but when firearms were tobe employed the combatants repaired to one of the customary duelinggrounds. Under the fine old live oaks of the City Park--then out in thecountry--it is said that as many as ten duels have been fought in asingle day. Duels having their beginnings at the quadroon balls were, however, often fought in St. Anthony's Garden, for the ballroom was in abuilding (now occupied by a sisterhood of colored nuns) which stands onOrleans Street, near where it abuts against the Garden. This garden, bearing the name of the saint whose temptations have been of suchconspicuous interest to painters of the nude, is not named for him somuch in his own right, as because he was the patron of that same PadreAntonio de Sedella, already mentioned, who came to New Orleans toinstitute the Inquisition, but who, after having been sent away byGovernor Miro, returned as a secular priest and became much beloved forhis good works. Padre Antonio lived in a hut near the garden, and it ishe who figures in Thomas Bailey Aldrich's story "Père Antoine's DatePalm. " To the Creole, more than to any other source, may be traced the originof dueling in the United States, and no city in the country has such adueling history as New Orleans. The American took the practice from theLatin and by the adoption of pistols made the duel a much more seriousthing than it had previously been, when swords were employed and firstblood usually constituted "satisfaction. " Up to the time of the CivilWar the man who refused a challenge became a sort of outcast, and I havebeen told that even to this day a duel is occasionally fought. GovernorClaiborne, first American governor of Louisiana, was a duelist, and hismonument--a family monument in the annex of the old Basin Streetdivision of St. Louis cemetery--bears upon one side an inscription inmemory of his brother-in-law, Micajah Lewis, "who fell in a duel, January 14, 1804. " Gayarré, in his history of Louisiana, tells a story of six young Frenchnoblemen who, one night, paired off and fought for no reason whateversave out of bravado. Two of them were killed. Two famous characters of New Orleans, about the middle of the lastcentury, were Major Joe Howell, a brother-in-law of Jefferson Davis, andMajor Henry, a dare-devil soldier of fortune who had filibustered inNicaragua and fought in the Mexican War. One day while drinking togetherthey quarreled, and as a result a duel was arranged to take place thesame afternoon. Henry kept on drinking, but Howell went to sleep andslept until it was time to go to the dueling ground, when he took onecocktail, and departed. Feeling that a duel over a disagreement the occasion for which neithercontestant could remember, was the height of folly, friends intervened, and finally succeeded in getting Major Henry to say that the fight couldbe called off if Howell would apologize. "For what?" he was asked. "Don't know and don't care, " returned the old warrior. As Howell would not apologize, navy revolvers were produced and the twofaced each other, the understanding being that they should begin at tenpaces with six barrels loaded, firing at will and advancing. At the word"Fire!" both shot and missed, but Howell cocked his revolver with hisright thumb and fired again immediately, wounding Henry in the arm. Henry then fired and missed a second time, while Howell's third shotstruck his antagonist in the abdomen. Wounded as he was, Henry managedto fire again, narrowly missing the other, who was not only a giant insize, but was a conspicuous mark, owing to the white clothing which hewore. At this Howell advanced a step and took steady aim, and he wouldalmost certainly have killed his opponent had not his own secondreached out and thrown his pistol up, sending the shot wild. Thisoccurred after the other side has cried "Stop!"--as it had been agreedshould be done in case either man was badly wounded. A foul wasconsequently claimed, the seconds drew their pistols, and a generalbattle was narrowly averted. After many weeks Henry recovered. A great number of historic duels were over politics. Such a one was thefight which took place in 1843, between Mr. Hueston, editor of the BatonRouge "Gazette" and Mr. Alcee La Branche, a Creole gentleman who hadbeen speaker of the Louisiana House of Representatives, and was runningfor Congress. Mr. La Branche was one of the few public men in the Statewho had never fought a duel, and in the course of a violent politicalcampaign, Hueston twitted him on this subject in the columns of the"Gazette, " trying to make him out a coward. Soon after the insultingarticle appeared, the two men met in the billiard room of the old St. Charles Hotel, and when La Branche demanded an apology, and was refused, he struck Hueston with a cane, or a cue, and knocked him down. A duelwas, of course, arranged, the weapons selected being double-barreledshotguns loaded with ball. At the first discharge Hueston's hat and coatwere punctured by bullets. He demanded a second exchange of shots, whichresulted about as before--his own shots going wild, while those of hisopponent narrowly missed him. Hueston, however, obstinately insistedthat the duel be continued, and the guns were loaded for the thirdtime. In the next discharge the editor received a scalp wound. It wasnow agreed by all present that matters had gone far enough, but Huestonremained obdurate in his intention to kill or be killed, and in the faceof violent protests, demanded that the guns again be loaded. The nextexchange of shots proved to be the last. Hueston let both barrels gowithout effect, and fell to the ground shot through the lungs. Taken tothe Maison de Santé, he was in such agony that he begged a friend tofinish the work by shooting him through the head. Within a few hours hewas dead. The old guide book from which I gather these items cites, also, cases inwhich duels were fought over trivial matters, such, for instance, as amildly hostile newspaper criticism of an operatic performance, and anargument between a Creole and a Frenchman over the greatness of theMississippi River. Professor Brander Matthews tells me of an episode in which the witexhibited by a Creole lawyer, in the course of a case in a New Orleanscourt, caused him to be challenged. The opposing counsel, likewise aCreole, was a great dandy. He appeared in an immaculate white suit andboiled shirt, but the weather was warm, and after he had spoken forperhaps half an hour his shirt was wilted, and he asked an adjournment. The adjournment over, he reappeared in a fresh shirt, but this toowilted presently, whereupon another adjournment was taken. At the end ofthis he again reappeared wearing a third fresh shirt, and in it managedto complete his plea. It now became the other lawyer's turn. He arose and, speaking with theutmost gravity, addressed the jury. "Gentlemen, " he said (Professor Matthews tells it in French), "I shalldivide my speech into three shirts. " He then announced: "Firstshirt"--and made his first point. This accomplished, he paused briefly, then proclaimed: "Second shirt, " and followed with his second point. Then: "Third and last shirt, " and after completing his argument satdown. The delighted jury gave him the verdict, but his witticisminvolved him in a duel with the worsted advocate. The result of thisduel Professor Matthews does not tell, but if the wag's _colichemarde_was as swift and penetrating as his wit, we may surmise that hisopponent of the Code Napoléon and the code duello had a fourth shirtspoiled. CHAPTER LVIII FROM ANTIQUES TO PIRATES The numerous antique shops of the French quarter, with their gray, undulating floors and their piled-up, dusty litter of old furniture, plate, glass, and china, and the equally numerous old book stores, withtheir piles of French publications, their shadowy corners, theirpleasant ancient bindings and their stale smell, are peculiarlyreminiscent of similar establishments in Paris. That Eugene Field knew these shops well we have reason to know by atleast two of his poems. In one, "The Discreet Collector, " he tells usthat: Down south there is a curio shop Unknown to many men; Thereat do I intend to stop When I am South again; The narrow street through which to go-- Aha! I know it well! And maybe you would like to know-- But no--I will not tell! But later, when filled with remorse over his extravagance in "blowingtwenty dollars in by nine o'clock A. M. , " he reveals the location of hisfavorite establishment, saying: In Royal Street (near Conti) there's a lovely curio shop, And there, one balmy fateful morn, it was my chance to stop-- So that, at least, is the neighborhood in which he learned that: The curio collector is so blindly lost in sin That he doesn't spend his money--he simply blows it in! In his verses called "Doctor Sam, " Field touched on another fascinatingside of Creole negro life: the mysterious beliefs and rites ofvoodooism--or, as it is more often spelled, voudouism. Until a few years ago it used to be possible for a visitor with a "pull"in New Orleans to see some of the voudou performances and to have "awork made" for him, but the police have dealt so severely with those whobelieve in this barbarous nonsense, that it is practised in these timesonly with the utmost secrecy. Voudouism was brought by the early slaves from the Congo, but inLouisiana the negroes--probably desiring to imitate the religion oftheir white masters--appropriated some of the Roman Catholic saints andmade them subject to the Great Serpent, or _Grand Zombi_, who is thevoudou god. These saints, however, are given voudou names, St. Michael, for example, being _Blanc Dani_, and St. Peter, _Papa Liba_. Thissituation is the antithesis of that to be found in Brittany, whereDruidical beliefs, handed down for generations among the peasants, maynow be faintly traced running like on odd alien threads through thestrong fabric of Roman Catholicism. Voudouism is not, however, to be dignified by the name "religion. " It issuperstition founded upon charms and hoodoos. It is witchcraft of themaddest kind, involving the most hideous performances. Moreover, it issaid that a hoodoo is something of which a French negro is very muchafraid, and that his fear is justifiable, for the reason that thethrowing of a _wanga_, or curse, may also involve the administering ofsubtle poisons made from herbs. Legend is rich with stories of Marie Le Veau, the voudou queen, wholived long ago in New Orleans, and of love and death accomplished bymeans of voudou charms. Charms are brought about in various ways. Amongthese the burning of black candles, accompanied by certain performances, brings evil upon those against whom a "work" is made, while blue candleshave to do with love charms. It may also be noted that "love powders"can be purchased now-a-days in drug stores in New Orleans. In the days of long ago the great negro gathering place used to be CongoSquare--now Beauregard Square--and here, on Sunday nights, wild dancesused to occur--the "bamboula" and "calinda"--and sinister spells werecast. Later the voudous went to more secluded spots on the shores ofLake Pontchartrain, and on St. John's Eve, which is their greatoccasion, many of the whites of the city used to go to the lake in hopesof discovering a voudou séance, and being allowed to see it. A friend ofmine, who has seen several of these séances, says that they areunbelievably weird and horrible. They will make a gombo, put a snake init, and then devour it, and they will wring a cat's neck and drink itsblood. And of course, along with these loathsome ceremonies, goincantations, chants, dances, and frenzies, sometimes ending incatalepsis. There are weird stories of white women of good family who have believedin voudou, and have taken part in the rites; and there are other talesof evil spells, such as that of the Creole bride of long ago, whoseaffianced had been the lover of a quadroon girl, a hairdresser. Thehairdresser when she came to do the bride's hair for the wedding, gaveher a bouquet of flowers. The bride smelled the bouquet--and died at thechurch door. It was, I think, in an old book store on Royal Street--or else onChartres--that I found the tattered guide book to which I referred in anearlier chapter. It was "edited and compiled by several leading writersof the New Orleans Press, " and published in 1885, and it contains anintroductory recommendation by George W. Cable--which is about thefinest guarantee that a book on New Orleans can have. Mr. Cable, of course, more than all the rest of the people who havewritten of New Orleans put together, placed the city definitely inliterature. And it is interesting, if somewhat saddening, to recall thatfor lifting the city into the world of belles lettres, for adorning itand preserving it in such volumes as "Old Creole Days, " "TheGrandissimes, " "Madame Delphine, " and other valuable, truthful, andcharming works, he was roundly abused by his own fellow-townsmen. Farfrom attacking Mr. Cable, New Orleans ought to build him a monument, andI am glad to say that, though the monument is not there yet, the citydoes seem to have come to its senses, and that the prophet is no longerwithout honor in his own country. Some further leaves are added to the literary laurels of the city bywhat Thomas Bailey Aldrich has written of it, and the wreath is made thegreater by the fact that in New Orleans was born "the only literary manin New York, " Professor Brander Matthews. Another distinguished name in letters, connected with the place, is thatof Lafcadio Hearn, who was at one time a reporter on a New Orleansnewspaper, and who not only wrote about the French quarter, butcollected many proverbs of the Creoles in a book which he called "GomboZebes. " In his little volume, "Chita, " Hearn described the land oflakes, bayous, and _chênières_, which forms a strip between the city andthe Gulf, and which, with its wild birds, wild scenery, and wild storms, and its extraordinary population of hunters and fishermen--Cajuns, Italians, Japanese, Spanish, Kanakas, Filipinos, French, and half-breedIndians, all intermarrying--is the strangest, most outlandish section ofthis country I have ever visited. The Filipinos, who introduced shrimpfishing in this region, building villages on stilts, like those of theirown islands, were not there when Hearn wrote "Chita, " nor was Ludwigraising diamond-back terrapin on Grand Isle, but the live-oaks, drapedwith sad Spanish moss, lined the bayous as they do to-day, and thealligators, turtles and snakes were there, and the tall marsh grass, solike bamboo, fringed the banks as it does now, and water hyacinthcarpeted the pools, and the savage tropical storms came sweeping in, nowand then, from the Gulf, flooding the entire country, tearing everythingup by the roots, then receding, carrying the floating debris back withthem to the salt sea. One has to see what they call a "slight" storm, inthat country, to know what a great storm there must be. Hearn surely sawstorms there, for in "Chita" he describes with terrifying vividness thathistoric tempest which, in 1856, obliterated, at one stroke, LastIsland, with its fashionable hotel and all the guests of that hotel. Ihave seen a "little" thunderstorm in Barataria Bay and I do not want tosee a big one. I have seen brown men who, in the storm of 1915 (whichdid a million dollars' worth of damage in New Orleans), floated aboutthe Baratarias for days, upon the roofs of houses, and I have seenlittle children, half Italian, half Filipino, who were saved by beingcarried by their parents into the branches of an old live-oak, wherethey waited until good Horace Harvey, "the little father of theBaratarias, " came down there in his motor yacht, the _Destrehan_, rescued them, warmed them, fed them, and gave them back to life. I wastold in New Orleans that there were ten seconds in that storm when thewind reached a velocity of 140 miles per hour at the mouth of theMississippi, that it blew for four hours at the rate of 90 miles, andthat the lowest barometrical reading ever recorded in the United States(28. 11) was recorded in New Orleans during this hurricane. Of the summer climate of New Orleans I know nothing at first hand, andjudging from what people have told me, that is all I want to know. Thewinter climate suited me very well while I was there, although the boastthat grass is green and roses bloom all the year round, does not implysuch intense heat as some people may suppose. Furthermore, I believethat the thermometer has once or twice in the history of the citydropped low enough to kill any ordinary rose, for a friend of mine toldme a story about some water pipes that froze and burst during anunprecedented cold snap which occurred some years ago. He said that anEnglish colonel, whom he knew, was visiting the city at the time andthat, finding himself unable to get water in his bathtub, he sent outfor several cases of Apollinaris, and with true British phlegm proceededto empty them into the tub and get in among the bubbles. Still another figure having to do with literature, and also with thehistory of New Orleans, is Jean Lafitte, known as a pirate, whose lifeis said to have inspired Byron's poem, "The Corsair. " There was a time, long ago, when Lafitte, together with his brother, his doughtylieutenant, Dominique You, and his rabble of Baratarians, caused NewOrleans a great deal of annoyance, but like many other doubtfulcharacters, they have, since their death, become entirely picturesque, and the very idea that Lafitte was not a first-class blood-and-thunderpirate is as distasteful to the people of New Orleans to-day, as hisbeing any kind of a near-pirate at all, used to be to their ancestors. Nevertheless Frank R. Stockton, who made a great specialty of pirates, says of Lafitte: "He never committed an act of piracy in his life; hewas [before he went to Barataria] a blacksmith, and knew no more aboutsailing a ship or even the smallest kind of a boat than he knew aboutthe proper construction of a sonnet.... It is said of him that he wasnever at sea but twice in his life: once when he came from France, andonce when he left this country, and on neither occasion did he sailunder the Jolly Roger. " According to Stockton, Lafitte, when he gave uphis blacksmith shop (in which he is said to have made some of the finewrought iron balcony railings which still adorn the old town), and wentto Barataria, became nothing more nor less than a "fence" for piratesand privateers, taking their booty, smuggling it up to New Orleans, andselling it there on commission. But if the fact that he was not a gory-handed freebooter is againstLafitte, there is one great thing in his favor. When the British weremaking ready to attack New Orleans in 1814, they tried both to bribe andto browbeat Lafitte into joining forces with them. As the Americangovernment was planning, at this very time, a punitive expeditionagainst him, it would perhaps have seemed good policy for thepseudo-pirate to have accepted the British offer, but what Lafitte didwas to go up and report the matter at New Orleans, giving the city thefirst authentic information of the contemplated attack, and offering tojoin with his men in the defense, in exchange for amnesty. A good many people, however, did not believe his story, and a good manyothers thought it beneath the dignity of the government to treat with aman of his dubious occupation. Therefore poor Lafitte was not listenedto, but, upon the contrary, only succeeded in stirring up trouble forhimself, for an expedition was immediately sent against him; hissettlement at Barataria--on the gulf, about forty miles below thecity--was demolished and the inhabitants driven to the woods and swamps. But in spite of this discouraging experience, Lafitte would not join theBritish, and it came about that when the Battle of New Orleans was aboutto be fought, Andrew Jackson, who had a short time before referred toLafitte and his men as a band of "hellish banditti, " was glad to accepttheir aid. Dominique You--with his fine pirate name--commanded a gun, and the others fought according to the best piratical tradition. Afterthe battle was won, the Baratarians were pardoned by President Madison. Incidentally it may be remarked here that the American line of defenseon the plains of Chalmette, below the city, had been indicated someyears before by the French General Moreau, hero of Hohenlinden, as theproper strategic position for safeguarding New Orleans on the south. Even after he had been pardoned, Lafitte felt, not without some justice, that he had been ill-used by the Americans, and because of this hedetermined to leave the country. He set sail with a band of hisfollowers for other climes, but what became of them is not known. Somethink their ship went down in a storm which crossed the Gulf soon aftertheir departure; others believe that they reached Yucatan, and thatLafitte died there. Whatever his fate, he did not improve it bydeparting from New Orleans, for had he not done so he would, at the end, have been given a handsome burial and a nice monument like that ofDominique You--which may be seen to this day in the old cemetery onClaiborne Avenue, between Iberville and St. Louis Streets. Having disposed of literary men and pirates, we now come in logicalsequence to composers and actors. Be it known, then, that E. H. Sothernfirst raised, in the house at 79 Bienville Street, the voice which hascharmed us in the theater, and that Louis Gottschalk, composer of thealmost too well-known "Last Hope, " was also born in New Orleans. The records of the opera and the theater might, in themselves, make achapter. As early as 1791 a French theatrical company played in NewOrleans, using halls, and in 1808 a theater was built in St. PhilipStreet. It is said that the first play given in the city in English wasperformed December 24, 1817, the play being "The Honey Moon, " and themanager Noah M. Ludlow; but it was not until some years later that theEnglish drama became a feature of the city's life, with theestablishment of a stock company under the management of James H. Caldwell. Edwin Forrest appeared, in 1824, with Mr. Caldwell's companyat the Camp Street Theater, which he built on leaving the OrleansTheater. The former was, when opened, out in the swamp, and people hadto walk to it from Canal Street on a narrow path of planks. It was thefirst building in the city to be lighted by gas. The annals of the old St. Charles theater, called "old Drury, " are richwith history. Practically all our great players from 1835 until longafter the Civil War, appeared in this theater, and an old prompter'sbook which, I believe, is still in existence, records, among many otherthings, certain details of the appearance there, in 1852, of JuniusBrutus Booth, father of Edwin Booth, and mentions also that JosephJefferson (Sr. ) then a young man, was reprimanded for being noisy in hisdressing-room. New Orleans was, I believe, the first American city regularly to supportgrand opera and to give it a home. For a great many years before 1859(in which year the present French Opera House on Bourbon Street wasbuilt) there was a regular annual season of opera at the OrleansTheater, long since destroyed. In the days of the city's operatic grandeur great singers used to visitNew Orleans before visiting New York, as witness, for example, the débutat the French Opera House of Adelina Patti. Since the time of the CivilWar, however, the city has suffered a decline in this department of art. Opera seasons have not been regular, and in spite of occasional attemptsto revive the old-time spirit, the ancient Opera House, with its bravecolumned front, its cracking veneer of stucco, and its surrounding oflittle vari-colored one story cafés and shops (which are themselves likebits of operatic scenery), does not so much suggest to the imagination ahome of modern opera, as a mournful mortuary chapel haunted by theghosts of old half-forgotten composers: Herold, Spontini, Mehul, Varney;old conductors, long since gone to dust: Prevost, John, Calabresi; oldarias of Meyerbeer, Auber, and Donizetti; and above all, by the ghostsof pretty pirouetting ballerinas, and of great singers whose voiceshave, these many years, been still. An old lady who knew Louisiana in the forties and fifties, has leftrecord of the fact that plantation negroes used to know and sing theFrench operatic airs, just as the Italian peasants of to-day know andsing the music of Puccini and Leoncavallo. But if opera no longerreaches the negro, it cannot be said that it has failed to leave itsstamp on the French quarter. From open windows and doors, from littleshops and half-hidden courtyards, from shuttered second story galleries, there comes floating to the ears of the wayfarer the sound of music. Inone house a piano is being played with dash; in another a child ispractising her scales; from still another comes a soprano voice, the sadwhistling of a flute, the tinkle of a guitar, or the anguished squeal ofa tortured violin. Never except in Naples have I heard, on one block, somany musical instruments independently at work, as in some single blocksof the _vieux carré_; and never anywhere have I seen a sign which struckas more expressive of the industries of a locality, than that one whichI saw near the house of Mme. Lalurie, which read: "Odd Jobs Done, andMusic. " The reason for this musical congestion is twofold. Not only is theCreole a great lover of good light music, but the whole region forblocks about the Opera House is populated by old musicians from theopera's orchestra, and women, some middle aged, some old, who used to bein the ballet or the chorus, and who not only keep alive the musicaltradition of the district, but pass it on to the younger generation. Indeed there are almost as many places in the French quarter where musicmay be heard, as where stories are told. In one street may be seen a house where the troubles with the Mafiabegan. On a corner--the southeast corner of Royal and St. Peter--isshown the house in which Cable's "'Sieur George" resided. This house is, I believe, the same one which, when erected, caused people to move awayfrom its immediate neighborhood, for fear that its height would cause itto fall down. It is a four story house--the first built in the city. Atthe southeast corner of Royal and Hospital Streets stands that"haunted" house of Mme. Lalaurie, who fled the town when indignation wasaroused because of devilish tortures she inflicted on her slaves. Thishouse is now an Italian tenement, but even in its decay it will berecognized as a mansion which, in its day, was fit to house such guestsas Louis Philippe, Lafayette, and Ney. A guest even more distinguishedthan these, was to have been housed in the mansion at the northeastcorner of St. Louis and Chartres Streets, for the Creoles had a plan torescue Napoleon from St. Helena and bring him here, and had this houseprepared to receive him. And are we to forget where Andrew Jackson was entertained before andafter the Battle of New Orleans--where General Beauregard, military idolof the Creoles, resided--where Paul Morphy the "chess king" lived--whereGeneral Butler took up his quarters when, in 1862, under the guns ofFarragut's fleet, the city surrendered--? Shall we fail to visit thecurious old tenements and stables surrounding the barnyard which oncewas the _remise_ of the old Orleans Hotel? Shall we neglect old Metairecemetery, with its graves built above ground in the days when drainagewas less perfect? Shall we fail to go to the levee (pronounced "levvy")and see the savage flood of the muddy Mississippi coursing toward thegulf behind the embankment which alone saves the city from inundation?Shall we ignore the French Market with its clean stalls piled with freshvegetables, sea food, and all manner of comestibles, including _filé_for the glorious Creole gombo. Shall we not view the picturesque ifsinister old Absinthe House, dating from 1799, with its court andstairway so full of mysterious suggestion, and its mistyparegoric-flavored beverage, containing opalescent dreams? Shall we notgo to Sazerac's for a cocktail, or to Ramos' for one of those delectablegin-fizzes suggesting an Olympian soda-fountain drink? Are we to ignoreall these wonders of the city? Yes, for it is time to go to luncheon at Antoine's! CHAPTER LIX ANTOINE'S AND MARDI GRAS Antoine's is to me one of the four or five most satisfactory restaurantsin the United States, --two of the others being the Louisiane andGalatoire's. But one has one's slight preferences in these things; andjust as I have a feeling that the cuisine of the Hotel St. Regis in NewYork surpasses, just a little bit, that of any other eating place in thecity, I have a feeling about Antoine's in New Orleans. This is not, perhaps, with me, altogether a culinary matter, for whereas I rememberdelightful meals at the Louisiane and Galatoire's--meals which, indeed, could hardly be surpassed--I lived for a week at Antoine's, and felt athome there, and became peculiarly attached to the quaint, rambling oldrestaurant, up stairs and down. Antoine's has never been "fixed up. " The café makes one think of suchold Parisian restaurants as the Boeuf à la Mode, or the Tour d'Argent. Far from being a showy place, it is utterly simple in its decorationsand equipment, but if there is in this country a restaurant more Frenchthan Antoine's, I do not know where that restaurant is. Antoine Alciatore, founder of the establishment, departed nearly fortyyears ago to the realms to which great chefs are ultimately taken. Coming from France as a young man he established himself in a small caféopposite the slave market, where he proceeded to cook and let hiscooking speak for him. His dinde à la Talleyrand soon made him famous, and he prospered, moving before long to the present building. His sons, Jules and Fernand, were sent to Paris to learn at headquarters the besttraditions of the haute cuisine, doing service as apprentices in suchestablishments as the Maison d'Or and Brabant's. Jules is now proprietorof Antoine's, while Fernand is master of the Louisiane. The two brothers are of somewhat different type. Fernand is, above all, a chef; I have never seen him outside his own kitchen. His son, FernandJr. , superintends the front part of the Louisiane, which he hastransformed into a place having the appearance of a New York restaurant. The young man has made a successful bid for the fashionable patronage ofNew Orleans, and there is dancing in the Louisiane in the evening. Jules, upon the other hand, is perhaps more the director than hisbrother Fernand--more the suave delightful host, less the man of cap andapron. Jules loves to give parties--to astonish his guests with abrilliant dinner and with his unrivaled grace as gérant. That he is ableto do these things no one is better aware than my companion and I, forit was our good fortune to be accepted by Jules as friends and fellowartists. Never while my companion and I lived at Antoine's did we escape thefeeling that we were not in the United States, but in some foreign land. To go to his rooms he went upstairs, around a corner, down a few steps, past a pantry, and a back stairway by which savory smells ascended fromthe kitchen, along a latticed gallery overlooking a courtyard like thatof some inn in Segovia, along another gallery running at right angles tothe first and overlooking the same court, including the kitchen door andthe laundry, and finally to a chamber with French doors, a canopied bed, and French windows opening upon a balcony that overlooked the sidestreet. His room was called "The Creole Yacht, " while mine was the"Maison Vert. " I remember a room in that curious little hotel opposite the Café duDôme, in Paris (the hotel in which it is said Whistler stayed when hewas a student), which almost exactly resembled my room at Antoine's, even to the dust which was under the bed--until 'Génie got to work withbroom and brush. Moreover, connected with my room there was a bath whichactually had a _chaufbain_ to heat the water: one of those weird Frenchmachines resembling the engine of a steam launch, which pops savagelywhen you light the gas beneath it, and which, as you are alwaysexpecting it to blow up and destroy you, converts the morning ablutionsfrom a perfunctory duty into a great adventure. Then too, there was Marie who has attended to the _linge_ at Antoine'sfor the last fifty years, and who helped the gray-haired genial Eugénieto "make proper the rooms. " Ever since 'Génie--as she is called, forshort--came from her native Midi, she has been at Antoine's; and likeFrançois--the gentle, kindly, white-mustached old waiter who, when wewere there, had just moved up to Antoine's after thirty-five years'service at the Louisiane--'Génie is always ready with a smile; yes, evenin the rush of Mardi Gras! Antoine's does not set up to be a regular hotel, and we stopped therebecause, during the carnival, all rooms in the large modern hotelsacross Canal Street were taken. The carnival rush made room-service atAntoine's a little slow, now and then; sometimes the bell would not beanswered when we rang for breakfast; or again, our morning coffee and_croissants_ would be forty minutes on the way; sometimes we became alittle bit impatient--though we could never bring ourselves to say so tosuch amiable servitors. As a result, when we were leaving the city for alittle trip, we determined to stay, on our return, at the Grunewald, ahotel like any one of a hundred others in the United States--marblelobbies, gold ceilings, rathskellers, cabaret shows, dancing, and pageboys wandering through the corridors and dining-rooms, calling in nasal, sing-song voices: "_Mis_-ter _Shoss_-futt! _Mis_-ter _Ahm_-kaplopps!_Mis_-ter _Praggle_-fiss! _Mis_-ter Blahms!" We did return and go to the Grunewald. But comfortable as we were madethere, we had to own to each other that we missed Antoine's. We missedour curious old rooms. I even missed my _chaufbain_, and was bored atthe commonplace matutinal performance of turning on hot water withoutpreliminary experiments in marine engineering. We thought wistfully of'Génie's patient smile, and of her daily assurance to us, when we wentout, that "when she had made the apartments she would render the key tothe bureau, _alors_, "--which is to say, leave the key at the office. Weyearned for the café, for good François, for the deliciously flavoredoysters cooked on the half-shell and served on a pan of hot rock-saltwhich kept them warm; for the cold tomatoes _à la Jules César_; for thebisque of crayfish _à la Cardinal_; for the bouillibasse (whichThackeray admitted was as good in New Orleans as in Marseilles, andwhich Otis Skinner says is better); for the unrivaled gombo _à laCréole_, and pompano _en Papillotte_, and pressed duck _à la Tourd'Argent_, and orange Brulôt, and the wonderful Café BrulôtDiabolique--that spiced coffee made in a silver bowl from which emergethe blue flames of burning cognac, and in honor of which the lights ofthe café are always temporarily dimmed. Nor least of all was it that we wished to see again the mother of Jules, who sits back of the _caisse_ and takes in the money, like many anothergood French wife and mother--a tiny little old lady more thanninety-five years old, who came to New Orleans in 1840 as the bride ofthe then young Antoine Alciatore. So we put on our hats and coats when evening came, and went back toAntoine's for dinner, and as long as we were in New Orleans we kept ongoing back. That is not to say, of course, that we did not go also to the Louisianeand Galatoire's, or that we did not drop in for luncheon, sometimes, atBrasco's, in Gravier Street, or at Kolb's, a more or less conventionalGerman restaurant in St. Charles Street; or that we failed to go out toTranchina's at Spanish Fort, on Lake Pontchartrain, or to the quainterlittle place called Noy's where, we learned, Ernest Peixotto had beenbut a short time before, gathering material for indigestion and anarticle in "Scribner's Magazine. " But when all is said and done thereremain the three restaurants of the old quarter. I should like to give some history of Galatoire's as well as of theother two, but when I asked the _patron_ for the story of hisrestaurant, he smiled, and with a shrug replied: "But Monsieur, thestory is in the food!" Do not expect any of these places to present the brilliant appearance ofdistinguished New York restaurants. They are comparatively simple, allof them, and are engaged not with soft carpets and gilt ceilings, butwith the art of cookery. I have been told that some of them have what may be termed "touristcooking, " which is not their best, but if you know good food, and letthem know you know it, and if you visit them at any time except duringthe carnival, then you have a right to expect in any one of theseestablishments, a superb dinner. For as I once heard my friend Col. Beverly Myles, one of the city's most distinguished _gourmets_, remark:"To talk of 'tolerably good food' in a French restaurant is liketalking of 'a tolerably honest man. '" The carnival of Mardi Gras and the several days preceding, is one ofthose things about which I feel as I do concerning Niagara Falls, andgambling houses, and the red light district of Butte, Montana, and theunderground levels of a mine, and the world as seen from an aëroplane, and the Quatres Arts ball, and a bull fight--I am glad to have seen itonce, but I have no desire to see it again. During the carnival mycompanion and I enjoyed a period of sleepless gaiety. To be sure, wewent to bed every morning, but what is the use in doing that if you alsoget up every morning? We went to the street pageants, we went to theballs at the French Opera House, we saw the masking on the streets, andwhen the carnival was finished we were finished, too. The great thing about the carnival, it seems to me, is that it bears therelation to the life of the city, that a well-developed hobby does tothe life of an individual. It keeps the city young. It keeps it frombecoming pompous, from taking itself too seriously, from getting into arut. It stimulates not alone the young, but the grave and reverendseigniors also, to give themselves up for a little while each year toplay, and moreover to use their imaginations in annually devising newpageants and costumes. From this point of view such a carnival would bea good thing for any city. But that is where the Latin spirit of New Orleans comes in, with itspleasing combination of gaiety and restraint. You could not hold such acarnival in every city. You could not do it in New York. For moreimportant even than the pageants and the balls, is the carnival frame ofmind. To hold a carnival such as New Orleans holds, a city must know howto be lively and playful without becoming drunk, without breakingbarroom mirrors, upsetting tables, annoying women, thrusting "ticklers"into people's faces, jostling, fighting, committing the thousand roughvulgar excesses in which New York indulges every New Year's Eve, and inwhich it would indulge to an even more disgusting extent under theadditional license of the mask. The carnival--_carne vale_, farewell flesh--which terminates with MardiGras--"Fat Tuesday, " or Shrove Tuesday, the day before the beginning ofLent--comes down to us from pagan times by way of the Latin countries. The "Cowbellions, " a secret organization of Mobile, in 1831 elaboratedthe idea of historical and legendary processions, and as early as 1837New Orleans held grotesque street parades. Twenty years later the"Mystic Krewe, " now known as "Comus, " appeared from nowhere anddisappeared again. The success of Comus encouraged the formation ofother secret societies, each having its own parade and ball, and in1872, Rex, King of the Carnival, entered his royal capital of NewOrleans in honor of the visit of the Grand Duke Alexis--who, by the way, is one of countless notables who have feasted at Antoine's. The three leading carnival societies, Comus, Momus, and Proteus, areunderstood to be connected with three of the city's four leading clubs, all of which stand within easy range of one another on the uptown sideof Canal Street: the Boston Club (taking its name from an old cardgame); the Pickwick (named for Dickens' genial gentleman, a statue ofwhom stands in the lobby); the Louisiana, a young men's club; and theChess, Checkers and Whist Club. The latter association is, I believe, the one that takes no part in the carnival. Each of the carnival organizations has its own King and Queen, and theconnection between certain clubs and certain carnival societies may beguessed from the fact that the Comus Queen and Proteus Queen alwaysappear on the stand in front of the Pickwick Club, to witness theirrespective parades, and that the Queen of the entire Carnival appearswith her maids of honor on the stand before the Boston Club upon the dayof Mardi Gras, to witness the triumphal entry and parade of Rex. As Rexpasses the club he sends her a bouquet--the official indication of herqueenship. That night she appears for the first time in the glory of herroyal robes at the Rex Ball, which is held in a large hall; and thegreat event of the carnival, from a social standpoint, is the officialvisit, on the same night, of Rex and his Queen, attended by their court, to the King and Queen of Comus, at the Comus Ball, held in the OperaHouse. Passing between the brilliantly illuminated flag-draped buildings, under festoons of colored electric lights, the street parades, withtheir spectacular colored floats, their bands, their negrotorch-bearers, their strangely costumed masked figures, throwing favorsinto the dense crowds, are glorious sights for children ranging anywherefrom eight to eighty years of age. Public masking on the streets, on theday of Mardi Gras, is also an amusing feature of the carnival. The balls, upon the other hand, are social events of great importance inthe city, and as spectacles they are peculiarly fine. Invitations tothese balls are greatly coveted, and the visitor to the city who wouldattend them, must exert his "pull" some time in advance. Theinvitations, by the way, are not sent by individuals, but by theseparate organizations, and even those young ladies who are so fortunateas to have "call-outs"--cards inclosed with their invitations, indicating that they are to be asked to dance, and may therefore haveseats on the ground floor--are not supposed to know from what man thesecards come. Ladies who have not received call-outs, and gentlemen whoare not members of the societies, are packed into the boxes and seatsabove the parquet floor, and do not go upon the dancing floor until verylate in the evening. Throughout each ball the members of the societygiving the ball continue to wear their costumes and their masks, so thatladies, called from their seats to dance, often find themselves treadinga measure with some gallant who speaks in a strange assumed voice, striving to maintain the mystery of his identity. The ladies, upon theother hand, are not in costume and are not masked; about them, there isno more mystery than women always have about them. After each dance themasker produces a present for his partner--usually a pretty bit ofjewelry. Etiquette not only allows, but insists, that a woman accept anygift offered to her at a carnival ball, and it is said that by thismeans many a young gentleman has succeeded in bestowing upon the lady ofhis heart a piece of jewelry the value of which would make acceptance ofthe gift impossible under other than carnival conditions. After the balls many of the younger couples go to the Louisiane andAntoine's, to continue the dance, and as my room at Antoine's wasdirectly over one of the dancing rooms of the establishment, I mightmake a shrewd guess as to how long they stayed up, after my companionand I retired. Let it not be supposed that we retired early. I remember well the lookof the pale blue dawn of Ash Wednesday morning, and no less do Iremember a conversation with a gentleman I met at the Louisiane, justbefore the dawn broke. I never saw him before and I have never seen himsince; nor do I know his name, or where he came from. I only know thathe was an agreeable, friendly person who did not wish to go to bed. When I said that I was going home he protested. "Don't do that!" he urged. "There's a nice French restaurant in thistown. I can't think of the name of it. Let's go there. " "Well, how can we go if you don't know what place it is?" I asked, intending to be discouraging. The young man looked dazed at this. Then his face brightened suddenly. "Oh, yes!" he cried. "I remember the name now! It's the Louisiane! Comeon! Let's get our coats an' go there!" "But, " I said, "this is the Louisiane right here. " The thought seemed to stagger him, for he swayed ever so slightly. "All right, " he said, regarding me with great solemnity. "Let's gothere!" * * * * * I have wondered since if this same young man may not have been the onewho, returning to the St. Charles Hotel in the early hours of that sadAsh Wednesday morning, was asked by the clerk, who gave him his key, whether he wished to leave a call. "What day's this?" he inquired. "Wednesday, " said the clerk. "All ri', " replied the other, moving toward the elevator. "Call meSaturday. " CHAPTER LX FINALE Yonder the long horizon lies, and there by night and day The old ships draw to home again, the young ships sail away; And come I may, but go I must, and if men ask you why, You may put the blame on the stars and the sun and the white road and the sky! --GERALD GOULD. It is good to look about the world; but always there comes a time whenthe restless creature, man, having yielded to the call of the seas andthe stars and the sky, and gone a-journeying, begins to think of homeagain. Even were home a less satisfactory, a less happy place than itis, he would be bound to think of it after so long a journey as thatupon which my companion and I had spent so many months. For, just as itis necessary for a locomotive to go every so often for an overhauling, so it is necessary for the traveler to return to headquarters. Thefastenings of his wardrobe trunk are getting loose, and the side of ithas been stove in; his heels are running down in back, his watch needsregulating, his umbrella-handle is coming loose, he is running out ofnotebooks and pencils and has broken a blade of his knife in trying toopen a bottle with it (because he left his corkscrew in a hotelsomewhere along the way). His fountain pen has sprung a leak andspoiled a waistcoat, his razors are dull, his strop is nicked, and hehas run out of the kind of cigarettes and cigars he likes. One lens ofhis spectacles has gotten scratched, his mail has ceased to reach him, his light suits are spotted, baggy and worn, and his winter suits arebecoming too heavy for comfort as the spring advances. His neckties aregetting stringy, he has hangnails and a cough; he never could fix hisown hangnails, and he cannot cure his cough because the bottle ofglycerine and wild cherry provided for just such an emergency by theloved ones at home, got broken on the trip from Jacksonville toMontgomery, and went dribbling down through the trunk, ruining hisreference books, three of his best shirts, and the only decent pair ofrusset shoes he had left. The other shoes have been ruined in variousways; one pair was spoiled in a possum hunt at Clinton, NorthCarolina--and it was worth it, and worth the overcoat that was ruined atthe same time; two pairs of black shoes have been caked up with layersand layers of sticky blacking, and one pair of russets was ruined by awell intentioned negro lad in Memphis, who thought they would lookbetter painted red. His traveler's checks are running low and he iscontinually afraid that, amid his constantly increasing piles of notesand papers, he will lose the three books in each of which remains a fewfeet of "yellow scrip"--the mileage of the South--which will take him onhis return journey as far as Washington. Nor is that all. The determining factor in his decision to go home liesin the havoc wrought by a long succession of hotel laundries--laundrieswhich starch the bosoms of soft silk shirts, which mark the owner's namein ink upon the hems of sheer linen handkerchiefs which already haveembroidered monograms, which rip holes in those handkerchiefs and thenfold them so that the holes are concealed until, some night, he whipsone confidently from the pocket of his dress suit, and reveals itlooking like a tattered battle-flag; laundries which leave long trailsof iron rust on shirt-bosoms, which rip out seams, tear off buttons, squeeze out new standing collars to a saw-tooth edge, iron little piecesof red and brown string into collars, cuffs, and especially into thebosoms of dress shirts, and "finish" dress shirts and collars, not onlyin the sense of ending their days of usefulness as fast as possible, butalso by making them shine like the interiors of glazed porcelainbathtubs. But the greatest cruelty of the hotel laundry is to socks. Itis not that they do more damage to socks, than to other garments, butthat the laundry devil has been able to think of a greater variety ofmeans for the destruction of socks than for the destruction of any otherkind of garment. He begins by fastening to each sock a cloth-covered tintag, attached by means of prongs. On this tag he puts certain markswhich will mean nothing to the next laundry. The next laundry thereforeattaches other tin tags, either ripping off the old ones (leaving holeswhere the prongs went through) or else letting them remain in place, sothat, after a while, the whole top of the sock is covered with tin, making it an extraordinarily uncomfortable thing to wear, and a strangething to look at. There is still another way in which the laundry deviltortures the sock-owner. He can find ways to shrink any sock that is notmade of solid heavy silk; and of course he can rip silk socks all topieces. He will take silk-and-wool socks of normal length, and in onewashing will so reduce them that you can hardly get your foot into them, and that the upper margins of them come only about an inch above yourshoe-tops. People who have no business to do so, are thus enabled, whenyou are seated, to see the tops of your socks and to amuse themselves bycounting the tin tags with which they are adorned. Also, the socks, being so short, become better pullers than the garters, so that insteadof the garters holding the socks up, the socks pull the garters down. This usually occurs as you are walking up the aisle in church, or in themiddle of a dance, and of course your garter manages to come unclasped, into the bargain, and goes trailing after you, like a convict's ball andchain. For a time you can stand this sort of thing, but presently you begin topine for the delicate washtub artistry of Amanda, at home; for vestmentswhich, when sent to the wash, do not come back riddled with holes, orsmelling as though they had been washed in carbolic acid, or in the tubwith a large fish. So, presently, you fold up your rags like the Arabs, fasten yourbattered baggage shut as best you can, put it on a taxi, and head forthe railway station. No train ever looks so handsome as the home-boundtrain you find there. No engineer ever looks so sturdy and capable, leaning from the window of his cab, as the one who is to take you home. Up through the South you fly, past many places you have seen before, past towns where you have friends whom you would like to see again--onlynot now! Now nothing will do but home! Out of the region of magnolias, palmettoes and live-oaks you pass into the region of pines, and out ofthe region of pines into that of maples and elms. At last you come toWashington.... Only a few hours longer! How satisfyingly the train slipsalong! You are not conscious of curves, or even of turning wheelsbeneath you. Your progress is like the swift glide of a flying sled. Baltimore, Wilmington, Philadelphia, Trenton. Nothing to do but lookfrom the car windows and rejoice. Not that you love the South less, butthat you love home more. "I wonder if we will ever go on such a trip as this again?" you say toyour companion. "I don't believe so, " he replies. "It doesn't seem now as though we should, " you return. "But do youremember?--we talked the same way when we were coming home before. Whatwill it be two years hence?" "True, " he says. "And of course there's Conan Doyle. He always thinkshe's never going to do it any more. But in a year or so Sherlock Holmespops out again, drawn by Freddy Steele, all over the cover of'Collier's. ' Not that your stuff is as good as Doyle's, but that thegeneral case is somewhat parallel. " "Doyle has killed Holmes, " you put in. "Yes, " he agrees, "and several times you've almost killed me. " Then as the train speeds scornfully through Newark, without stopping, hecatches sight of a vast concrete building--a warehouse of some kind, apparently. "Look!" he cries. "Isn't it wonderful?" "That building?" "Not the building itself. The thought that we don't have to get off hereand go through it. Think what it would be like if we were on ourtravels! There would be a lot of citizens in frock coats. Probably themayor would be there, too. They would drive us to that building, andtake us in, and then they would cry if we refused to go to thefourteenth floor, where they keep the dried prunes. " The train slips across the Jersey meadows and darts into the tunnel. "Now, " he remarks hopefully, "we are really going to get home--if thistunnel doesn't drop in on us. " And when the train has emerged from the tunnel, and you have emergedfrom the train, he says: "Now there's no doubt that we are going to gethome--unless we are smashed up in a taxi, on the way. " And when the taxi stops at your front door, and you bid him farewellbefore he continues on his way to his own front door, he says: "Nowyou're going to get home for sure--unless the elevator drops. " And when the elevator has not dropped, but has transported you in safetyto the door of your apartment, and you have searched out the old key, and have unlocked the door, and entered, and found happiness within, then you wonder to yourself as I once heard a little boy wonder, when hehad gone out of his own yard, and had found a number of large cans ofpaint, and had upset them on himself: "I have a very happy home, " he said, reflectively. "I wonder why I don'tseem to stay around it more?" * * * * * [Illustration: Charleston is the last stronghold of a unified Americanupper class; the last remaining American city in which Madeira and Portand _noblesse oblige_ are fully and widely understood, and are employedaccording to the best traditions] [Illustration: "Railroad ticket!" said the baggageman with exaggeratedpatience. I began to feel in various pockets] [Illustration: Can most travellers, I wonder, enjoy as I do a solitarywalk, by night, through the mysterious streets of a strange city?] [Illustration: Coming out of my slumber with the curious and unpleasantsense of being stared at, I found his eyes fixed upon me] [Illustration: Mount Vernon Place is the centre of Baltimore. Everythingbegins there, including Baedeker] [Illustration: If she is shopping for a dinner party, she may order thecostly and aristocratic diamond-back terrapin, sacred in Baltimore as isthe Sacred Cod in Boston] [Illustration: Doughoregan Manor--The house was of buff-colored brick. It was low and very long, with wings extending from its centralstructure like beautiful arms flung wide in welcome] [Illustration: I began to realize that there was no one coming; that noone had opened the door; that it had begun to swing immediately upon mysaying the word "ghosts"] [Illustration: Harpers Ferry is an entrancing old town; a drowsy placepiled up beautifully yet carelessly upon terraced roads clinging tosteep hillsides] [Illustration: "What's the matter with him?" I asked, stopping] [Illustration: When I came down, dressed for riding, my companion wasmaking a drawing; the four young ladies were with him, none of them inriding habits] [Illustration: Claymont Court is one of the old Washington houses. Butin all its history it has never been a happier home or a moreinteresting one than it is to-day] [Illustration: Chatham, the old Fitzhugh house, now the residence ofMark Sullivan. Washington, Madison, Monroe, Washington Irving, Lee andLincoln have known the shelter of its roof] [Illustration: Monticello stands on a lofty hilltop, with vistas, between trees of neighboring valleys, hills, and mountains] [Illustration: Like Venice, the University of Virginia should first beseen by moonlight] [Illustration: One party was stationed on the top of an old-timemail-coach bearing the significant initials "F. F. V. "] [Illustration: The Piedmont Hunt Race Meet--There is a distinct note ofhistrionism about many of the rich Americans who "go in for" elaborateruralness, and there is a touch of it, also, about ultra-"horsey"people] [Illustration: The southern negro is the world's peasant supreme] [Illustration: The Country Club of Virginia, out to the west ofRichmond, is one of the most charming clubs of its kind in the UnitedStates] [Illustration: Judge Crutchfield--a white-haired, hook-nosed man of morethan seventy, peering over his eyeglasses with a look of shrewd, merciless divination] [Illustration: Negro women squatting upon boxes in old shadowy loftsstem the tobacco leaves] [Illustration: THE JUDGE: What did he do, Mandy? THE WIFE: Jedge, he come bustin' in, an' he come so fas' he untook dedo' off'n de hinges!] [Illustration: Some genuine old-time New York ferryboats help tocomplete the illusion that Norfolk is New York] [Illustration: "The Southern Statesman who serves his section best, serves the country best. "] [Illustration: St. Philip's is the more beautiful for the open spacebefore it, and the graceful outward bend of Church Street in deferenceto the projecting portico] [Illustration: Or, opposite St. Philip's, a perfect example of the rudearchitecture of an old French village; stucco walls, tinted and chipped, red tile roofs and all] [Illustration: In the doorway and gates of the Smyth house, in LegaréStreet, I was struck with a Venetian suggestion] [Illustration: Nor is the Charleston background a mere arras ofrecollection. It exists everywhere in the wood and brick and stone ofancient and beautiful buildings, in iron grilles and balconiesunrivalled in any other American city.... ] [Illustration: Charleston has a stronger, deeper-rooted city entity thanall the cities of the middle west rolled into one] [Illustration: The interior is the oldest looking thing in the UnitedStates--Goose Creek Church] [Illustration: A reminder of the Chicago River--Atlanta] [Illustration: With the whole Metropolitan Orchestra playing dance musicall night long] [Illustration: The office buildings are city office buildings, and aresufficiently numerous to look very much at home] [Illustration: The negro roof-garden, Odd Fellows' Building, Atlanta] [Illustration: I was never so conscious, as at the time of our visit tothe Burge plantation, of the superlative soft sweetness of the spring] [Illustration: The planters cease their work] [Illustration: Birmingham--The thin veil of smoke from far-off ironfurnaces softens the city's serrated outlines] [Illustration: Birmingham practices unremittingly the pestilential habitof "cutting in" at dances] [Illustration: Gigantic movements and mutations, Niagara-like noises, great bursts of flame like fallen fragments from the sun] [Illustration: A shaggy, unshaven, rawboned man, gray-haired andcollarless, sat near the window and uttered convincing imitations of thesounds made by chickens, roosters, pigs, goats and crows] [Illustration: Gaze upon the character called Daniel Voorhees Pike!Observe the manliness with which he thrusts his pink little hands deepin the pockets of his--or somebody's--pantaloons!] [Illustration: The houses were full of the suggestion of an easy-goinghome life and an informal hospitality. (Back yard of the former home ofGeneral Stephen D. Lee. )] [Illustration: Her hands looked very white and small against his darkcoat. He was gazing down at them, his features distorted by a shockinglysentimental smile] [Illustration: As water flows down the hills of Vicksburg to the river, so the visitor's thoughts flow down to the great spectacular, mischievous, dominating stream] [Illustration: Over the tenement roofs one catches sight of sundry otherbuildings of a more self-respecting character, and, far off, the cupolaof Vicksburg's old stone court house] [Illustration: Vicksburg negroes. Whether drowsing in the sun, doing alittle stroke of work, or sitting gabbling on the curbstone, they wereupon the whole as cheerful and comical a lot of people as I ever saw] [Illustration: In some of the boats negro fish-markets are conducted, advertised by large catfish dangling from posts and railing] [Illustration: The old Klein house, standing amid lawns andold-fashioned gardens on the bluff overlooking the river] [Illustration: Citizens go at midday to the square where they buypopcorn for the squirrels and pigeons--Memphis] [Illustration: Hanging in the air above the middle of the stream] [Illustration: These small parks give Savannah a quality whichdifferentiates it from all other American cities] [Illustration: The Thomas House in Franklin Square in which Lafayettewas entertained] [Illustration: You will see them having tea, and dancing under the palmfronds of the cocoanut grove, when the electric lights begin to glow inthe luminous semi-tropical twilight] [Illustration: Cocktail hour at The Breakers] [Illustration: Nowhere is the sand more like a deep warm dust of yellowgold; nowhere is there a margin of the earth so splashed with spots ofbrilliant color; nowhere is water less like water, more like a flowingwaste of liquid emeralds and sapphires edged with a thousand gleamingflouncing strings of pearls] [Illustration: The couples on the platform were "ragging, " theirshoulders working like the walking-beams of side-wheelers] [Illustration: Harness held together by that especial Providence whichwatches over negro mendings] [Illustration: It was a very jolly fair, with the usual lot of barkersand the usual gaping crowd] [Illustration: The mysterious old Absinthe House, founded 1799] [Illustration: St. Anthony's Garden, where duels originating at thequadroon balls were fought] [Illustration: Courtyard of the old Orleans Hotel] [Illustration: The little lady who sits behind the desk is more thanninety-five years old, and came to New Orleans as the bride of Antoine] [Illustration: The lights are always lowered at Antoine's when thespectacular Café Boulot Diabolique is served] [Illustration: Passing between the brilliantly illuminated buildings, under festoons of electric lights the Mardi Gras parades, with theirfloats, their bands, their torch-bearers, their masked figures, areglorious sights for children from eight to eighty years of age] * * * * * Transcriber's Notes. Page 82: changed "Ridgleys" to "Ridgelys" (of present Ridgelys) Page 83: changed "her serious, eyes" to "her serious eyes" Page 138: Added missing word "we" (said as we were about to leave) Page 161: removed hyphen from "one-course" (prescribed one course) Page 169: changed "not" to "now" (now know that I did) Page 172: added missing quotation mark (such a long telegram. ") Page 209: changed "Virgina" to "Virginia" (in Virginia, save, ) Page 217: changed "it" to "in" (harm in it) Page 217: added missing quotation mark (raised with niggers around him. "") Page 245: removed superfluous quotation marks from end of two lines (Yass, Jedge, drunk. _Always_ drunk. ) (he come so fast he untook the do' off'n de hinges; den 'e begins--") Page 283: added missing quotation mark (you very definitely don't. ") Page 287: changed "Okrakoke" to "Ocracoke" (legend around Okracoke) Page 295: changed "seem" to "see" (them to see him) Page 328: changed "new York" to "New York" (New York "Sun, ") Page 334: changed "coffe" to "coffee" (coffee, hot and iced. ) Page 355: changed "maried" to "married" (were married in the dining room) Page 438: changed "corporaton" to "corporation" (corporation I have scandalously) Page 449: changed "constructon" to "construction" (With the construction) Page 450: changed "conversatons" to "conversations" and "wth" to "with" (telephonic conversations with a) Page 453: changed "objectons" to "objections" (brushed aside our objections. ) Page 514: changed " to ' ("'Yes, ' said Ed. ) Page 518: added missing quotation mark (town in the Southwest. ") Page 521: changed "repreduction" to "reproduction" (is a photographic reproduction) Page 527: changed "crusing" to "cruising" (was still cruising in the South) Page 528: added missing word "a" (officer of a naval vessel. ) Page 532: changed "stading" to "standing" (and silver standing on the) Page 538: added missing word "ago" (years ago he conducted) Page 542: added missing quotation mark (innumerable squirrels. ") Page 590: changed "redout" to "redoubt" (last redoubt held) Page 631: changed "hardly" to "hardy" (hardy pioneers from Canada, ) Page 640: added missing ) ("mosquito bar. ") The) Page 649: changed "This, situation is" to "This situation is" (This situation is) Page 649: changed "may" to "my" (it was my chance) Page 655: added missing quotation mark (the Jolly Roger. ") Page 657: changed "well-know" to "well-known" (too well-known "Last) Page 669: changed "is" to "it" (that it bears the relation) Page 670: changed "that" to "than" (even than the pageants) Page 734: changed "coconut" to "cocoanut" in image caption (palm fronds of the cocoanut grove, )