"Established permanently at Lancaster in the prosecution of his profession, the subject of this sketch rapidly rose to eminence as a polished and eloquent advocate, and as a judicious, reliable counsellor at law—indeed, in the elements of mind necessary to build up and sustain such a reputation, few men were his equals, and fewer still his superiors, in the State of Ohio or out of it. But it was not only in the higher region of legal attainments that he gained superiority; his mind was enriched with choice classic cultivation also.
"Judge Sherman not only mastered the intricacies of Coke and Littleton, but, as I have stated, he made himself familiar with whatever was worthy of reading outside the books of law, and was therefore fitted to shine in the domain of general literature as well as in the realm of technical jurisprudence.
"During the pioneer years of Ohio its lawyers were obliged to perform extensive circuits to practice their profession; they were accustomed to accompany the courts from county to county, and in this way to traverse an extent of country which, being uncalled for at present, would appear fabulous in statement and difficult to realize.
"Those early days also commemorated the warmest personal friendships in the profession, and, indeed, this could hardly have been otherwise, as they compelled its members into the closest habitual companionship. They rode together in the same primitive style, their saddle-bags stuffed with papers, documents, briefs, law-books, clothing, and, peradventure, some creature delectation also. They were exposed in common to the same inclemencies and impediments of travel, they lodged together at the same inns or taverns, messed at the same table, slept in the same rooms, and were not unfrequently coerced by twos into the same bed. Free, jovial, genial, manly, and happy times they were, when, after a hard-fought field-day of professional antagonisms in court, the evening hours were crowded with social amenities, and winged with wit and merriment, with pathos, sentiment and song.
"If the sayings and doings at the festive evenings of the early Ohio bar could be collected, there would be materials in rich abundance from which a sympathetic and facile pen could compile a volume of equal piquancy and sentimental refinement of patriotic detail and humor, that alternate the pages of Sir Jonah Barrington, or any other winsome work of the kind. This will not be questioned for a moment when it is remembered that Henry Clay, Lewis Cass, Philip Doddridge, Willis Silliman, David K. Este, and Charles Hammond were frequent participants; that Philoman Beecher, William W. Irvin, Thomas Ewing, William Stanberry, Benjamin Tappan, John M. Goodenow, Jacob Parker, Orris Parrish, and Charles Goddard habitually contributed to their entertainment, and that these were often signalized with the hilarious fun of Creighton and the quaint drolleries of Douglas. At these symposiums of recreation, and they were held whenever the courts used to meet, Charles R. Sherman was always the most welcome of companions, and contributed his full share even to the ambrosial feasts,
'When all such clustering portions hadAs made their frolic wild, not mad.'
"Thus endowed and so associated, he became a leading and a popular people's lawyer, from the Ohio River to our northern lake.
"In 1823 he was elected by the legislature to the bench of the Supreme Court of Ohio, and perhaps the only man in the state who doubted his ability for this high position was himself. He told the writer of these lines when speaking on the subject of his appointment, that he assumed its duties with great personal diffidence and apprehension. He feared that he lacked the ripe experience of years necessary to hear and determine cases of magnitude in a court of the last resort. His official associates were Calvin Pease, Jacob Burnet, and Peter Hitchcock, and these are names of renown in the judicial history of Ohio.
"Judge Sherman upon the bench fully realized the large expectations of his professional friends and the public.
"His written opinions, published in 'Hammond's Reports of the Supreme Court,' demonstrate a mind of the choicest legal capabilities. They are clear, compact, yet comprehensive, intuitive, logical, complete, and conclusive, and are respected by the bar and courts in this and other states as judicialdictaof the highest authority. He won upon the bench, as he did at the bar, the affection and confidence of his associates. They esteemed him for his gentle and genial nature, for the brilliant flashes of his mind and the solid strength of his judgment; above all, for the stainless integrity of his character, as a judge and as a man.
"Under the provisions of our old constitution, the Supreme Court was required to hold an annual term or sitting in each county of the state, two of the judges officiating. In every court-room in Ohio where Judge Sherman presided he made friends. His official robes were worn by him as the customary habiliments of the man. He was never distant, haughty, morose, austere, or overbearing on the bench. It was not in his nature to be so anywhere, and it was therefore always a personal pleasure to practice in his courts. The younger members of the profession idolized him in every part of the state; for them and their early efforts he systematically sympathized, and he uniformly bestowed upon them the most gracious compliment that any judge upon the bench can render to the oldest practitioner at the bar—he gave them his interested and undivided attention.
"He had entered upon the sixth year of his official term, was in his manly meridian of life, in the full fruition of his matured intellectual powers, in the plenitude of his public usefulness, and in the enjoyment of apparent robust physical health, out upon his circuit, and about to hold a session of the Supreme Court at Lebanon, in Warren county, when suddenly, without any premonition, he was struck down with a fatal malady, that was frightfully rapid in its termination. The best medical aid was summoned from Cincinnati; it was in vain. An express messenger was hurried to Lancaster for Mrs. Sherman, but before she reached him her lamented husband was dead.
"He died in Lebanon, June 24, 1829, in the 41st year of his age.
"I will not attempt to describe the outburst of public sorrow that prevailed over this event. It was general and sincere, touching and outspoken; but it was in Lancaster, it was here in his happy home, which he made the home always of genial and open-hearted hospitality—here among his neighbors and fellow-citizens of every class and description, all of whom knew him and all of whom loved him—that the intelligence of his death came with the most painful and startling abruptness. They could not comprehend it. But yesterday he was among them in perfect health, and now he is dead. Men wept in our public streets. I do not believe he had a single personal enemy on earth.
"Had Judge Sherman lived, higher and broader spheres of public usefulness would have opened before him. There is no doubt whatever that the same spontaneity of opinion that placed him upon the supreme bench would have again united, when the vacancy happened, to have sent him to the Senate of the United States, and those who know him knew full well that his first prepared public utterance in that chamber upon any pending matter of national importance would have secured to him a brilliant national name. This is no fancy penciling. It was conviction with his contemporaries, and it would have been the record of history had he lived. As it is, he has left to his children the heritage of his spotless public reputation—of his loved and honored name.
"This fragmentary sketch would be more incomplete did I not mention that Judge Sherman was a zealous and prominent member of the Masonic fraternity, and that he filled its highest offices of honor in the several grand bodies of Ohio."
General Reese, the author of this sketch, was born in Philadelphia, Pa., on the 5th of August, 1804. He was a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania, studied law and was admitted to practice in Philadelphia. He then came to Ohio and was admitted to the bar in Cincinnati and soon after settled in Lancaster. In 1829, soon after the death of my father, he married my eldest sister, Mary Elizabeth. He did not long pursue his profession but became a merchant. He was prominent as a member of the board of public works. In old militia times he was in command of the forces of the state as its only major-general. He was grand master of the Grand Lodge of Masons in Ohio for a series of years, and at the same time held high rank in the Grand Lodge of the United States. He was a handsome and accomplished gentleman, of pleasing manners and liberal to a fault. He died on the 17th of December, 1883, at Lancaster, in his eightieth year.
Of my mother I can scarcely write without emotion, though she died more than forty years ago. Her maiden name was Mary Hoyt. She was a member of a family, mostly merchants and sailors, who had lived in Norwalk, Connecticut, since its first settlement. At the period of the American Revolution the Hoyt family, composed of several brothers, was divided in their allegiance, some as Tories, some as Whigs. My mother's grandfather was a Whig. It is a tradition in the family that one of the Tory brothers pointed out the house of his brother, at the capture of Norwalk by the British and Tories, as the nest of a rebel, and it was burned to the ground. In this it shared the fate of the greater part of the town. The Tories of the family went to St. Johns, but years after the war was over they and their descendants returned to Connecticut and New York, and many of them became prominent and respected citizens. Isaac Hoyt, my grandfather, was a prominent citizen of Norwalk, possessing considerable wealth for those days.
My mother was carefully educated at the then famous female seminary at Poughkeepsie, New York. I remember the many embroidered pictures, made with the needle and silk thread by the handicraft of my mother, as a school girl, carefully framed, that decorated the old house in Lancaster. The women of that day were trained more for the culture and ornament of the house, more to knit stockings and weave home spun than to make speeches on woman's rights. Soon after her graduation she married Charles Robert Sherman, as before stated, and their lives were blended. She sometimes rode with him when on the circuit, and always on horseback. It was an adage in the family, even to her grandchildren, that she was always ready for a visit. I never knew her to scold, much less to strike, her children. She was our sure refuge against grandmother, between whom and my mother there was, however, the warmest affection. When Aunt Elizabeth married Mr. Parker, grandmother followed her daughter to their home in Mansfield.
When my mother, by the death of her husband, was left a widow with eleven children and spare means of support, she received the sympathy of all her neighbors and the kindly encouragement of everyone in Lancaster. As her children scattered her resources increased, so that after one year of widowhood she was quite independent. Like Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield she was "passing rich" on four hundred dollars a year. Soon the houses of her children were open to her, but she clung to Lancaster until all her children had taken flight, when, in the summer of 1844, she accepted the invitation of her sons to make her home in Mansfield and removed there. She had there her house and home. Her two youngest daughters, and the writer of this, were her family, but in a very brief period all around her were married. She still continued to occupy her home, and always with some of her numerous grandchildren as guests. She often visited her children, and her coming was always regarded by them as a favor conferred by her. And so her tranquil life flowed on until 1852, when she attended the state fair at Cleveland and contracted a bad cold. She returned to Mansfield only to die on the 23rd day of September, 1852, at the residence of her daughter, Mrs. Bartley.
Before closing this sketch of my ancestors, it seems proper that I refer to their religious beliefs and modes of worship. In England they were classed as Puritans, and were members of the Presbyterian church. In Connecticut they followed the doctrine and faith of the Congregational church of Anthony Stoddard. Daniel Sherman had his father were deacons of the congregation of Mr. Stoddard, and his granddaughter, the wife of Taylor Sherman, carried her faith and practice into her family, and maintained to her death the strict morals, and close observance of the Sabbath day, that was the established rule and practice of the Connecticut Congregationalist.
My mother's family, the Hoyts, were, with scarcely an exception, members of the Episcopal church. My mother was reared in that faith and practice from infancy, and was a member of that church at the time of her marriage. When she emigrated to Lancaster she found there no church of that denomination, and, therefore, joined the Presbyterian church under the pastorage of Rev. John Wright, who baptized all her children. At a later period, perhaps about 1840, when an Episcopal church was established in Lancaster, she resumed her attendance and worship in that church. When she removed to Mansfield she attended the Episcopal church at that place, partook of its sacraments and usages, and died in that faith and worship. All her living children and their families recognized and supported the Episcopal church as their church, except the children of General Sherman, who followed their mother and her maternal ancestors in the faith and worship of the Catholic church.
The writer of this has a firm belief in the Bible as the only creed of religious faith and duty, and willingly accords to every human being the right to choose his form of worship according to his judgment, but in case of doubt it is best to follow the teachings of his mother.
With this, the sketch of my ancestors closes. Many will think it is not part of my life, and that I have given too much space and importance to it. If so, I hope they will pass it over without reading. Each individual life is molded by one's ancestry, by the incidents of his childhood, the training he receives in the family and the school and the conditions and surroundings of his early days. The boy is father to the man. It is difficult for one in advanced age to recall or to measure the influence of each of these in forming his character, but a statement of them is a necessary preface to a history of his later life. My information as to my ancestry is chiefly derived from the admirable local histories of Connecticut, and, especially, from "Cothron's History of Ancient Woodbury," "Hutchinson's History of Connecticut," and the local records and traditions of Essex and Sussex counties in England.
I cannot claim for my ancestors superior rank, wealth or ability. They were not specially distinguished for any of these, but they were men of useful and honorable lives, of untarnished reputation, highly esteemed by their contemporaries, thorough republicans in the broad sense of that word, always for their country in any contest for the right, and willing to yield equal political and civil rights to all their countrymen of every creed and color.
I was born at Lancaster, Ohio, on the 10th day of May, 1823, the eighth child of Charles and Mary Sherman. My first distinct recollection of events is connected with the scenes and incidents that followed the death of my father on the 24th day of June, 1829. I have a dim recollection before that time of being sent to school with my elder brothers to keep me out of mischief, and of my father praising me for learning the alphabet, but all other impressions of my infancy were absorbed in the great family tragedy. We were warned to keep quiet, and to remain out of doors, so as not to disturb mother, who was critically ill, and, as our grandmother was then supreme in the household, we knew that her will was law, and that punishment invariably followed an offense. During these enforced absences many were the wise resolves, or, rather, the conceits, that the boys discussed for "helping mother."
But time, which mellows every misfortune, brought so many changes. My sister, Elizabeth, was soon married to General William J. Reese. My brother, Charles, came home a full-fledged graduate, and, as we thought, very learned. Everybody was kind. The affairs of my father were settled. The homestead and garden were secured to my mother, and she had, in addition, a settled income from her father's estate of $400 a year, while grandmother had her "fire lands," and an assured but small income besides. In those days a little money went a great way; but there were eleven children of us to be cared for,—from Charles, aged eighteen, to Fanny, aged three months. The separation of this family was imperative, but the friends of my father were numerous, and their offerings were generous and urgent. Charles entered the family of our cousin, Mr. Stoddard, an old and leading lawyer in Dayton, Ohio, studied law, and in two years was admitted to the bar. James, the next eldest brother, accepted a clerkship in a store in Cincinnati, and from that time paid his own way, becoming a merchant, first in Lancaster, and later in Des Moines, Iowa. William Tecumseh was adopted into the family of Hon. Thomas Ewing, who lived in the same square with us in Lancaster. The two families were bound by ties and mutual aid which were highly creditable to both. My father, Judge Sherman, had been able to help Mr. Ewing in the beginning of his professional career, and Mr. Ewing gratefully and generously responded. They maintained the most intimate and cordial relations during their lives and their families have since continued them, the bond being strengthened by the marriage of William Tecumseh to Mr. Ewing's daughter, Ellen. Lampson P., the fourth son, was adopted into the family of Charles Hammond, of Cincinnati, a distinguished lawyer of marked ability, the reporter of the Supreme Court of Ohio, and editor and chief proprietor of the "Gazette," the leading newspaper published in his day in Cincinnati.
While the reduction of our family was thus taking place I was kept at school at Lancaster, where I made considerable advance in such studies as a lad from six to eight years of age can pursue. I have forgotten the names of my tutors. The present admirable system of common schools in Ohio had not then been adopted, but the private schools in Lancaster were considered very good, and most of the boys of school age were able at little cost to get the rudiments of an education.
In the spring of 1831, my father's cousin, John Sherman, a prosperous merchant of Mt. Vernon, Ohio, accompanied by his bride, visited my mother, and proposed to take me into his family and to keep me at school until I was prepared to enter Kenyon College, five miles from Mt. Vernon. This was a kindly offer and was gratefully accepted. But I remember well the sadness I felt, and the tears I shed, over the departure from home into the midst of strangers. The old-fashioned stage coach was then the only medium of travel and the fifty miles between Lancaster and Mt. Vernon were to me a wearisome journey. For days after I arrived at Mt. Vernon I was moping either at the house or at the store, but ere long became accustomed to the change, and commenced my studies in the schools, which, as I remember them, were admirably conducted by teachers of marked ability, among whom were some who became distinguished in professional and business life. One of the families that I became intimate with was that of Mr. Norton, one of whose sons, J. Banning Norton, who lately died in Dallas, Texas, was my constant companion. We studied our lessons together, but frequently had quarrels and fights. It was a "fad" of his to wear his finger-nails very long. On one occasion I pummeled him well, but he scratched my face in the contest. When I went home, marked in this way, I was asked how I came to be so badly scratched and the best answer I could make was that I had fallen on a "splintery log," and this got to be a by-word in the school.
According to the usages of the time I was put early to the study of Latin, which then seemed to be regarded as the necessary foundation for an education. I must confess that during my stay in Mt. Vernon I was rather a troublesome boy, frequently involved in controversies with the teachers, and sometimes punished in the old-fashioned way with the ferule and the switch, which habit I then regarded as tyrannical and now regard as impolitic. I do not believe that the policy of punishment adopted in the schools of those times would be expedient to-day. It tended to foster a constant irritation between the teacher and the pupil.
Among my school adventures at Mt. Vernon was one I heartily regret. We had a teacher by the name of Lord. He was a small man, and not able to cope with several of the boys in the school. We called him "Bunty Lord." One evening after school four boys, of whom I was one, while playing on the commons, found a dead sheep. It was suggested that we carry the sheep into the schoolroom and place it on Lord's seat. This was promptly done and I wrote a Latin couplet, purporting that this was a very worthy sacrifice to a very poor Lord, and placed it on the head of the sheep. The next morning Lord found the sheep and made a great outcry against the indignity. Efforts were made at once to ascertain the actors in this farce, and proof was soon obtained. My handwriting disclosed my part in the case, and the result was a prompt discharge of the culprits from school; but poor Lord lost his place, because of his manifest inability to govern his unruly pupils.
Another teacher I remember was of a very different type. This was Matthew H. Mitchell. He was severe and dogmatic, allowing no foolishness in his school. He was strict and impartial in his treatment of the boys, and, though we did not like him, we respected his power.
I had one adventure during these early boyhood days which nearly cost me my life, and which Uncle John (as I called Mr. Sherman) converted into a religious warning. One Sunday there was a freshet in Owl Creek, on the south side of the town, and many people went to see it, I among the rest. I was reckless, and, against the advice of others, went out on a temporary foot-bridge which fell and I dropped into the raging waters. How I escaped I hardly know, but it was by the assistance of others. Uncle John said that I was punished by the Almighty for violating the Sabbath. Ever after that I was careful about Sunday sport.
I remember, while living at Uncle John's, witnessing the wedding of his niece, Miss Leavenworth, to Columbus Delano. I sat upon the stair steps during the ceremony, the first of the kind I ever saw. I mention this because of my long acquaintance with Mr. Delano and his family. He became a great lawyer and filled many offices of high public trust, and is now (1895) living in vigorous health, eighty-six years old. I also remember very well Henry B. Curtis and his family. He married a sister of Mrs. Sherman of Mt. Vernon, and had a number of children. He was a brother of Colonel Samuel R. Curtis, distinguished in the Civil War, was an accomplished lawyer, a careful business man, and a gentleman in every sense of the word.
On the whole I regard my four years at Mount Vernon as well spent. I advanced in my studies so that I could translate Latin fairly well, I went through the primary studies, and obtained some comprehension of algebra, geometry and kindred studies. In the meantime the condition of our family had greatly changed and generally improved. My sister Amelia was happily married to Robert McComb, a merchant of Mansfield. My father's only sister was married to Judge Parker, of Mansfield, to which place my grandmother had followed her daughter, and my brother Charles had entered upon his career as a lawyer in the same town.
Uncle John had a family of small children growing up and I felt I was in the way. My mother was anxious for me to return home as all her boys were away. I wanted to go. Uncle John, however, expressed his desire for me to stay and enter Kenyon College, but I knew that Mrs. Sherman preferred that I should leave as she had her young children to care for. The result was my return to Lancaster at the age of twelve. Mrs. Sherman is now living at Washington, D. C., at the age of eighty-seven, with her son John. I shall always remember with sincere gratitude her care and forbearance manifested toward a rather wild and reckless boy at the disagreeable age of from eight to twelve years. Affection may make a mother bear with the torment of her own child at that age, but will rarely induce an equal leniency toward that of another.
My return to Lancaster was a happy event in my life. I renewed my old acquaintance with boys of my age, and was on intimate terms with Philemon Ewing, Charles Garaghty, Frederick Reese, W. P. Rice, W. Winthrop Sifford and others. My brother, William Tecumseh, was three years my senior, and he and his associates of his own age rather looked down upon their juniors. Still, I had a good deal of intercourse with him, mainly in the way of advice on his part. At that time he was a steady student, quiet in his manners and easily moved by sympathy or affection. I was regarded as a wild, reckless lad, eager in controversy and ready to fight. No one could then anticipate that he was to be a great warrior and I a plodding lawyer and politician. I fired my first gun over his shoulder. He took me with him to carry the game, mostly squirrels and pigeons. He was then destined to West Point, and was preparing for it. To me the future was all unknown.
I entered, with all the boys referred to and many others, the Academy of Mark and Matthew Howe, then well established, and of great reputation,—and deservedly so. The schoolrooms were large, and furnished with desks and chairs, an improvement upon the old benches with boards in front. The course of studies mapped out for me was much the same as I pursued at Mount Vernon, with a specialty of the first six books of Euclid, and of algebra. Latin was taught but little. From the first, arithmetic, algebra and surveying were my favorite studies, and in those I became proficient. We had an improvised theatre in which we acted plays and made speeches.
When I entered the school Matthew Howe was the regulator, teacher and dominie. He was the supreme autocrat, from whom there was no appeal. All the boys respected him, for he certainly was a good teacher, but they did not like his domineering way. I got along with him pretty well for some months, but one day after I had mastered my lessons I rested my head on my desk when I was sharply reproved by him. I said that I did not feel very well and had learned my lessons. He called me to the black-board and directed me to demonstrate some problem in my lesson of Euclid. I went, and, as I believed, had made the drawing and demonstrated the problem. He said I had not, that I had failed to refer to a corollary. I answered that he had not required this in previous lessons. Some discussion arose, when, with the ferule in his hand, he directed me to hold out mine. I did so, but as he struck my right hand, I hit him with all the force I could command with my left. This created great excitement in the school, all the students being present, my brother Tecumseh among them. It was said at the time that the boys were disposed to take sides with me, but I saw no signs of it. The result was that I was expelled from the school, but, by the intercession of my mother, and Mrs. Reese, after explanations, I was restored, and during my two years with Mr. Howe I had no other contention with him. He moved some years later to Iowa, where he established another academy, and lived a long and useful life. We had friendly correspondence with each other, but neither alluded to our skirmish over a corollary in Euclid.
The pupils had the usual disposition among boys to play tricks on each other. The academy was in a large square, the greater part of which was an orchard of apple trees. Mr. Howe lived on the corner of the square, some distance from the academy. The boys were forbidden to climb the trees to shake down the fruit, but were quite welcome to the fruit on the ground. One fall, when the apples were ripe, the boys conspired to play a trick upon some of the students and outsiders,—among them my brother Lampson, then on a visit home from Cincinnati,—who were easily persuaded to rob the orchard, none more willing than "Lamp." Those in the plot were to watch and prevent interference. When the time came we had detailed two or three boys in the academy to fire off muskets, well loaded with powder and nothing else, when the signal was given. Everything moved on according to programme. The boys detailed to shake down the apples were in the trees, when, all at once, the firing of musketry commenced. The boys dropped from the trees and scattered in every direction. Some of them were caught in the pea vines of Mr. Howe's garden, but most of them, with great labor, climbed over the high fence around the ground and dropped on the outside "with a thud," safe from powder! The dogs in the neighborhood lent their aid to the outcry, and everybody was convinced that ruffians had robbed Howe's orchard.
I suppose it will never occur that a generation of boys will not do these things. At seventy-two I know it was wrong. At thirteen I thought it was fun.
I now recall many pleasing memories of what occurred in the two years "at home" at that period when the life of a boy is beginning to open to the future. It is the period of greatest danger and highest hope. At that time, 1835 to 1837, everybody was prosperous. The development created by our system of canals had opened markets for our produce. The public national debt had been paid. The pet banks chartered after the destruction of the Bank of the United States started upon a wild scheme of inflation. A craze to purchase public land created an overflowing revenue. All causes combining created a deceptive prosperity that could end only in one way. All this was Greek to me. All I wanted, and the controlling wish of my life, was to help mother. She was always kind, loving and forbearing. No word of reproach ever fell from her lips to me. She was the same to all her children, but if there was any difference, or favor, it was for me. Even at that early age I had day dreams for the future, and mother was the central picture. If fortunes could be made by others why could I not make one! I wished I was a man. It began to appear to me that I could not wait to go through college. What were Latin and Greek to me, when they would delay me in making my fortune!
Near the close of 1836 I wrote to my brother Charles at Mansfield, asking him to get me employment. He discouraged me and said I should stick to my studies, but I insisted that I was strong and could make my own living. At this time Ohio had decided upon the improvement of the Muskingum River from Zanesville to Marietta, and the Board of Public Works had selected Colonel Samuel R. Curtis, a graduate of West Point, as chief engineer. He was a brother of Mr. Curtis, of Mount Vernon, and a friend of our family.
Charles had no difficulty in securing me employment as junior rodman if, at the age of fourteen, I could perform the duties requed,— which Colonel Curtis doubted. The work was not to commence until the spring, when I was to be given a trial. I worked hard that winter, for hard work, I thought, was the way to fortune. I studied the mode of leveling. I saw a man on the Hocking canal operate his instrument, take the rear sight from the level of the water in the canal, then by a succession of levels backwards and forwards carry his level to the objective point. Then the man was kind enough to show me how, by simple addition and subtraction, the result wanted could be obtained. I was well advanced in arithmetic and in mathematics generally, and was confident, even if I was hardly fourteen years old, that I could do the work of a junior rodman.
About the first of May, 1837, the day of deliverance came. I was to be my own master and make my own living! A fortune gilded with hope was before me. I was to go in the stage thirty-six miles to Zanesville, and thence by stage-route down the Muskingum River, twenty-eight miles to McConnelsville. When the stage arrived at my mother's house it was rather full, but there was still room enough for me. All the family, and my comrades, had gathered to see me off. My baggage, all new, was thrown into the boot, and I took my seat in the stage. My heart sank a little as the stage rolled over the hill and down the valley beyond, but the passengers wanted to know who I was, where I was going, and what I was going to do, and I think they got all the information they wanted, for why should I not tell them of my visions of hope, sometimes called plans! Oh! the golden dreams of childhood, the splendid anticipations of boyhood, the fields of conquest to be won, the fortunes to be made, all to vanish into thin air by the touch of reality.
I arrived at Zanesville long after dark, and very weary. I had never been in so large a town before. The hotel was full of people, but no one noticed me. I was hungry, but could only get the scraps left, as the supper hour was past. I was to leave in the morning at daylight without breakfast. I was shown into a small dark room, on the third floor, and was to be called in the morning. I did not like the place and was alone and in fear. I had more money than ever before. Might I not be robbed? I took the precaution to deposit my jack-knife on a chair within reach, to defend myself in case of attack! My fears were soon lost in sleep. In the morning I was aroused to take by place in the stage, but forgot my knife, my only weapon of defense, and it was lost to me forever. The bright morning revived my spirits. A hearty breakfast at Taylorsville revived all my hopes and plans.
I arrived at McConnelsville about noon and stopped at the only tavern in the place. I called at the headquarters of Colonel Curtis and introduced myself to him. He received me very kindly and introduced me to the office clerks, and to James M. Love, who, I was told, would take me within a week to the engineer corps, then running their levels at Beverly, sixteen miles away. I spent the week pleasantly with him, and was intimately associated with him during my service of two years. He subsequently studied law and practiced his profession at Coshocton. When the Mexican War was progressing he enlisted in one of the Ohio regiments, became a captain, and, I think, a major, and rendered good service. He subsequently migrated to Iowa and was appointed judge of the District Court of the United States for that state. This position he held for many years with distinction and honor. He died July 2, 1891.
When the time came for joining the corps Love proposed that we start in the morning for Beverly, but I insisted that, as it was only sixteen miles to Beverly, we could easily make the trip after dinner. I had never walked so far as sixteen miles in my life, but had walked or run three or four miles in an hour, and, by the rules of arithmetic, we could easily go sixteen miles in five or six hours. He yielded to my wishes, and, as our baggage had been sent by the stage, we started about one o'clock, light of heart and foot. When we had climbed the long hill south of McConnelsville, about a mile and a half, I was a little tired, and I asked how far we had gone; he said, "a mile and a half!" I began then to appreciate my folly in not starting in the morning. He said nothing, but kept at my slower pace, giving me a rest occasionally. It was sun-down when we were six miles from Beverly, and I was completely tired out. Still neither of us proposed to stop, as we could have done at a farmer's house on the roadside. We reached the town of Beverly about ten o'clock, weary and hungry. This tramp taught me a lesson I never forgot,—not to insist upon anything I knew nothing about. We found the corps the next day in camp in one large tent on the east bank of the Muskingum River.
I had another experience, equally unpleasant, during our first evening in camp. The members of our corps, five or six in number, had been invited by Mr. Lindsley to attend a party at his house near by. They accepted, and, as Love and I had no invitations, we were left on guard in the tent containing the instruments and supplies. When we were alone there came up suddenly a storm of wind and rain,—not uncommon along the valley,—which flattened the tent and flooded the ground on which it stood. We were thoroughly soaked and utterly helpless, and, for a time, in real danger. I remember my utter collapse at this new misfortune, but all we could do was to wait and hope for the return of the corps. I must confess that I quietly mingled my tears with the rain, but I did not tell this to the boys when they returned after the storm was over. No great damage was done. The tent was soon raised and secured in place. The next morning I was given a rod and instructed how to use it. I noticed that my associates did not have much confidence in my ability to perform the duties, and, especially the senior rodman, John Burwell. I followed instructions, however, and reported my rod correctly. After a day or two they gave me a book in which I was to enter the levels. In a very short time they were satisfied that I could perform my duties, and I was soon trusted to make up the record of levels, and the necessary additions and subtractions in my book.
This little corps was composed of men, some of whom afterwards became proficient as engineers, lawyers or preachers. Among them were John B. Straughn, Wright Coffinberry, John Scott, John Burwell, and James M. Love. The line of surveys were soon completed to Marietta, the locks and dams were located, estimates of cost were carefully made, the materials to be used were purchased and the excavations and embankments to be made were computed. My associates soon found that I could do the work assigned me, and in this way I won their respect and forbearance.
After the surveys were completed, the members of the corps were located at different places to take charge of the work. Mr. Coffinberry was assigned to Lowell, and I was attached to him as an assistant. John Scott, who had been at West Point, and, I think, was a graduate, was assigned to Beverly, where a dam, lock and a short canal were to be constructed. In the fall of 1837 he was dismissed, I think, for intemperance. I was detailed, not exactly to take his place, for which I was unfitted, but to look after some details, and to keep the headquarters advised of the progress of the work. It was soon found that I was able to measure embankments, excavations, stone and other materials. The result was that I was continued, at my early age, practically in charge of the work I have mentioned. All plans came from headquarters and I was carefully instructed from there what to do and how to do it. This was a great and useful experience for me, and it continued until the summer of 1839.
During most of that time I lived in the family of Mr. Paul Fearing, an old and respected citizen of Beverly, who had long been engaged in what was called the river trade. He transported the produce of the country, chiefly pork, apples, wheat, and corn, from the neighboring region on flats and scows down the Muskingum, Ohio and Mississippi to New Orleans, stopping at the riverside towns, selling his commodities and buying others. The boats were sold at New Orleans for lumber. The captain and crew, generally consisting of two men, would return by steamer with the proceeds of their traffic in sugar, molasses and other productions of the south. This was the early mode of traffic, but it had largely been broken up by steamboats, so that at the time I refer to, Mr. Fearing's occupation was gone; but he had a comfortable little fortune, and, with his wife and only daughter, lived in a neat cottage on the banks of the river at Beverly, where I became practically a member of his family.
The community at Beverly was a very intelligent one, composed mainly of settlers from Massachusetts on the Ohio Company's purchase. The valley of the Muskingum is exceedingly fertile, but it is comparatively narrow and confined by picturesque hills and ridges, broken by water courses. The settlements were mostly in the valley, for the hill lands were rough, covered by poor soil, and were occupied chiefly for grazing. The portion of the valley at Beverly, and south of it, was singularly fertile and pleasing, and very valuable. Its owners and occupants were mostly of New England birth and descent. Their productions had a ready market down the river, and in that age, before railroads, the valley had a great advantage in transportation and supplies over the interior parts of the state. The people were, as a rule, educated in good schools, and they had a college at Marietta and a female college at Zanesville. The proposed improvement of the Muskingum, they believed, would give them another advantage, by securing them water of a depth sufficient for boats in the dry seasons of the year, as well as during the "freshets," which they then had to depend upon, but which at best were not very reliable in their habits, as I found to my cost. This was to be corrected by the "improvement," which, in their delusive hope, was to give them cheap water transportation all the year around.
At that time railroads were in their infancy. They have since practically destroyed or crippled all internal navigation on inland rivers, reaching their iron arms over the United States, traversing north and south, east and west—a vast gridiron of roads, in value greater than the market value of all the land in the United States in 1837. Before the first railroad was built in Ohio the Muskingum improvement was completed, but it proved to be a bad investment. The canals of Ohio and this improvement were, perhaps, the necessary forerunner of the railroads to come, but the money expended on them was practically lost. And I believe that the experiment now being made by the United States in the improvement of the Ohio, Missouri and Mississippi Rivers will end in a like result on a grander scale. By the demolition of the forests which covered this great valley, the supply and distribution of the waters and rivers in this region will be so diminished at certain seasons as to render these water- ways worthless for navigation. Engineers may make dams that will hold water and locks that may lift a steamboat, but if the clearing away of forests prevents the usual fall of rain and causes its absorption into the earth, and if the dispersion of water by its use and waste in cities, are to continue, the dam will not be filled, and the lock will be like a stranded vessel, fit only as a quarry for cut stone, or for a railway arch over a street of asphalt in a growing city. Captain Fearing railed against the steamboats as many now inveigh against the railroads, but these two great agencies will divide the commerce of the world between them. The railroads will possess the land, the steamboats the ocean and the great fresh waters of the world. Possibly steamboats may be utilized on short stretches of rivers, but even on these they will have to compete with railroads having wide-reaching connections which they do not possess. The money expended to levee the Mississippi may be lost by the United States, but the planters will receive some benefit from it in the protection given to their crops. The steamboats in interior waters will be exchanged for iron whalebacks, and new forces of a new nature, as yet only partly developed, such a electricity, will contest with steam as a motive power.
During the period of my stay on the Muskingum improvements I had very excellent opportunities for study, of which I regret to say I did not avail myself as well as I might have done. Still, I occupied my leisure in reading novels, histories, and such books as I could readily get. Many books were sent to me from Lancaster. I purchased a number, and found some in Beverly which were kindly lent to me. I read most of the British classics, as they are called, the Spectator, Shakespeare, Byron, and Scott. I read all I could find of the history of America. I tried to brush up my Latin, but without much success. I had the frequent company of my associates on the corps, all of whom were bright, able men, several years in advance of me in age. We were frequently called to headquarters at McConnelsville, a trip usually made on horseback, and where we always had not only a cheerful, but a very instructive time. Colonel Curtis was highly esteemed by us all, and his treatment of me was kind and fatherly. He frequently complimented me upon my work, and when he came through Beverly he visited me.
Among the diversions at Beverly we had occasional debates. One of these was upon the dangerous subject of temperance, a topic not then much discussed, for drinking of something stronger than water was almost as universal as eating, and considered equally necessary. However, there sprang up about this time a movement in favor of temperance. It was thought best to discuss the subject at a public meeting, a school teacher and I taking the side of temperance, and two other young men opposing us. The meeting was well attended, largely by the men employed on the public work who habitually received a certain number of "jiggers" of whisky a day, at regular hours. Whisky, not being taxed, was worth from fifteen to twenty- five cents a gallon. It was not an expensive luxury, and was regarded by all the workingmen on the improvement as a necessity. At the end of the debate, which I do not remember to have been a very notable one, the audience decided that we had the best of the argument. The discussion created a great excitement. The workingmen took up the cry that the Cumberland Presbyterians, the prevailing sect there, and other Christians, were interfering with their habits and comforts, and when the young schoolmaster appeared the next day, they raised a shout and pursued him with sticks and stones. He escaped with difficulty across the river, thus getting out of the way. I heard of the trouble, but went up to the canal and made my usual measurements. Not a word was said to me and no unkindness shown. I understood afterwards that this was caused by a warning given them by the contractor, who, hearing of the assault upon the schoolmaster, told them that I was a part of the government and it would not do to attack me; that to disturb me would have a very bad effect upon them all. So, I was forgiven, and, indeed, I never had any controversy during my time there with anyone connected with the work, from John McCune, the contractor, to the humblest water carrier about the works.
Early in the winter of 1838, I think in November, I had made up my mind to go to Cincinnati on the usual leave after the close of the works. As an excuse, and to procure means of paying for the trip, I purchased, partly on credit, a barge and loaded it with barreled salt, apples and other commodities, intending before the freeze-up to avail myself of the usual rise in the river to float to the Ohio and thence to Cincinnati. All went smoothly, the boat was loaded and floated as far as Luke Shute, when the river was found to be too low to proceed. Consequently the boat was tied up and placed under the care of a man who slept aboard. We waited for the river to rise, but it did not come. Both the Muskingum and Ohio Rivers were very low that season and finally froze up before the freshet came. This closing of navigation created a great demand for salt in Cincinnati, as that article could not be obtained from the up-river country, and it advanced to a price that would have yielded me a little fortune had my boat not been among those thus detained. I undertook to carry some of the salt by flatboats, but they were frozen up. The packing season in Cincinnati was going forward and salt bore a high price, but I knew it would fall the moment the river opened. It was apparent that I would lose on the salt, but I still clung to my purpose to go down the river. Finally the freshet came, some time in January, I think, and then, with three men on the barge, I floated down the river, tying up at nights for safety, and stopping occasionally to sell apples to the Kentucky farmers, I arrived at last in Cincinnati and soon found that salt had greatly fallen in value, so I sold the salt, boat and cargo upon the best terms I could get. The result was a loss of about one hundred dollars. However, I had a very pleasant visit in Cincinnati with my brother Lampson, who was connected with the "Cincinnati Gazette." He was a member of the family of Mr. Charles Hammond, his daughter, and son-in-law Mr. L'Hommedieu. Mr. Hammond had been a warm friend of my father's and was certainly one of the ablest writers of his day and generation, as well as an accomplished lawyer. He was much pleased at my adventure and especially with my rough shoes and warm Kentucky jeans. He told me not to be discouraged, and flattered me with the statement that a young fellow who could, at fifteen years of age, do what I had done would make his way in the world.
At that time I saw Judge Burnett at his residence. He had been a colleague of my father on the supreme bench, and during all his manhood had been distinguished as a lawyer and a man of marked ability. He wore a long queue, preserved the habits of the gentleman of the old school, and was proud of being a Federalist. His book called "Burnett's Notes" is perhaps the most valuable collection of historical data pertaining to the early history of Ohio now extant.
At this time I visited what was called Powers' "Hell." My brother Lampson and I took the boatmen with us, and "Lamp," who was fond of playing practical jokes, and knew the place better than I did, took care to warn one of the roughest of my boatmen to seize hold of a bar which was before him, and which "Lamp" knew would be charged later with electricity, and to hold on to it for dear life. We heard a rumbling sound inside, and finally saw flashes resembling lightning, and we naturally seized on whatever was before us to await the opening of "Hell." After more sheet lightning the veil was drawn aside and there were before us representations of human beings in every attitude of agony. At the same moment the electric current was passed through certain bars before us, on one of which the boatman held a firm grip, but no sooner was he charged with electricity than his hair flew on end, he looked the picture of terror, shouted in a loud voice, "O, hell!" and broke for the door. Soon after we followed also, and that, to us, was the end of a scene that ought never to have been exhibited.
I returned to Beverly in a steamboat and soon settled all the bills of the salt speculation, but had to call upon Mr. McComb and my brother, Charles, for a small sum to make up the deficit. I repaid this sum later on, but Mr. McComb never failed, whenever I made a business proposition that seemed hazardous, to say, with a great haw-haw: "Well, John, that is one of your salt speculations."
The election in the fall of 1838 resulted in the choice of a Democratic governor and state legislature, which, according to the politics of the time, involved an entire change of state officials and employees. Mr. Wall became a member of the Board of Public Works, and was assigned, among other works, to the charge of the Muskingum improvement. In the course of a few months, I think about the last of June, 1839, Col. Curtis was removed, and Mr. Macaboy was appointed superintendent in his place. At first it was uncertain whether changes would be made in the subordinates of the corps. Some of its members had become so much attached to Col. Curtis that they thought it right and proper to send him a letter expressing in substance their regret at his removal, their high estimate of his services, and thanks for his kindness to them. This was signed by Mr. Coffinberry, Mr. Burwell, Mr. Love and myself. I am not certain that the others did not express the same friendly feelings, but, at all events, the four whose names I have mentioned were summarily dropped from the service.
Thus, after two years of faithful work with small pay, I was, at the age of sixteen, turned adrift on account of politics.
I find among my papers, dingy with age, the correspondence with Col. Curtis, and also the subsequent correspondence between Mr. Wall and myself, in respect to my removal. My letter to Mr. Wall was a disclaimer of any intention of disrespect to him in our letter to Col. Curtis, and his reply was that we alleged that Col. Curtis was removed without a cause, which he denied. I have no doubt, from a present reading of the papers, but that he would have retained me as a juvenile offender if I had made a suitable apology, but the instinct of a boy to stand up for his party was strong. I was a Whig of sixteen, and it was glorious to be a victim of persecution.
I also find among my papers of that time, which I thought worthy of preservation, a multitude of essays on as many different subjects, and some efforts at poetry, all of which I consign to flames. Most boys have had the same experience. The only benefit I derived was the habit I formed of writing upon such subjects as attracted my attention by reading, a habit I continued when studying law, in preparing a case for trial, and in preparation for a debate in Congress.
I returned at once to Lancaster. The great financial depression, commencing in 1837, was now at its height. It was said that Ohio State six per cent. bonds had been sold at fifty cents on the dollar. Many banks were embarrassed and refused to discount notes, while several failed, and their circulating notes became worthless. I found that Lancaster had especially suffered, that many of its leading business firms had suspended or were on the brink of failure. I was then in excellent health, tall and slender and willing to work. I received temporary employment from Dr. Kreider, who was either Clerk of the Court or Recorder of Deeds, I do not remember which. He gave me a dollar and a half a day, which I regarded as a great favor, but the records were soon made up and I had nothing to do.
It was at this period of my life that I fell into very bad habits. Many of the boys about my age who were with me in Howe's school were still about Lancaster, and were out of employment like myself. We would meet on the street, or at the post office, or some place of resort, to talk over old times, and got into the habit of drinking poor wine, mostly made of diluted whiskey and drugs. The general habit of drinking spirits was more common than now, but I had not been subject to this temptation, as Col. Curtis was very strict in prohibiting all such drinking. With the jolly good fellows I met at Lancaster who had nothing to do, I could not refuse to join in drinking the health of each other, and thus I was conscious frequently of being more or less intoxicated. On one occasion, in the fall of 1839, I went home very sick from drinking. My mother received me with much surprise and sorrow, but neither complained nor scolded, and, with the utmost kindness, put me to bed and watched over and cared for me. I was not stupid enough to be unconscious of my degradation and her affection, and then and there resolved never to be in such a condition again, and from that time to this I am not conscious of having been under the influence of liquor. I have partaken of wine and spirits at weddings, feasts and dinners, I have used it as a medicine, and in response to toasts and compliments, but never to an extent to addle my brain or disturb my walk.
At that time intemperance was a common vice. Of the young men who were my contemporaries a very large proportion became habitual drunkards and died prematurely. No reform in my time has been so general and beneficial as that of the disuse of drinking intoxicating liquors, commencing in 1841. Formerly liquors were put on the sideboard or table, and the invitation "take a drink" was as common then as "take a seat" is now. This method of treating was shared in by preachers of the Gospel, and by all who observed the courtesies of social life. Now these conditions have greatly changed. Whisky is banished to the drug store, the grocery and the saloon, and even there it is under surveillance and so highly taxed as to furnish a large proportion of the national revenue.
Some time in the autumn of 1839 I visited Mansfield for the first time, on some business for General Reese, and it was then arranged that early in the next spring I should return to study law with my brother Charles. Mansfield was then a very unattractive village, badly located on parallel ridges and valleys, but precisely in the center of the very large county of Richland, then containing 900 square miles. The county covered a part of the high table-land that separated the waters of Lake Erie and the Ohio River. It was an almost unbroken forest during the War of 1812, with a few families living in log houses, protected by block houses of logs from the incursions of Indians, many of whom lived in the county. After the war it was rapidly settled, chiefly from Pennsylvania, and divided into farms of 160 acres or less, according to the new congressional plan of townships six miles square, sections one mile square, and subdivisions of forty, eight, and one hundred and sixty acres. The topography of the country was high and rolling, from 900 to 1,350 feet above the sea, with innumerable springs of the purest water, and small streams and creeks, all rising in the county and flowing north or south into the Muskingum or Sandusky rivers. The timber was oak, sugar, elm, hickory and other deciduous trees. This valuable timber was the chief obstruction to the farmers. It had to be deadened or cut away to open up a clearing for the cabin and the field. The labor of two or three generations was required to convert it into the picturesque, beautiful and healthy region it now is.
The village of Mansfield has been converted into a flourishing city of more than 15,000 inhabitants, with extensive manufacturing establishments and a network of railroads reaching out to Cleveland, Chicago, Pittsburg, Columbus, Cincinnati and Indianapolis. There was no sign of this development when I first visited the place.
On my return to Lancaster I applied myself closely to study and reading, mainly of history. I read Hume, Smollett and Miller's histories of England, Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," and such histories of the United States as I could procure. It was at this time that the memorable "Log Cabin and Hard Cider Campaign" of 1840 commenced. General Harrison had been nominated in December, 1839, at Harrisburg, by the Whig party. He was a distinguished general in the War of 1812, but had lived mainly a quiet, modest life on his farm at South Bend, near Cincinnati. The Democratic papers ridiculed him as a feeble old man, living in a cabin and drinking hard cider. The Whigs turned these sarcasms with great effect upon their adversaries. They compared the old soldier and his excellent war record, living in a cabin with the latch string out and eating corn bread, with "Matty Van, the used up man," living in a palace, with roast beef every day, eating from silver plate, with gold spoons, and drawing a salary of $25,000 a year. This was no doubt demagoguism, but there was back of it the great questions of protection to American industries, sound and stable currency, and the necessity of economy in public expenditures. A great meeting was held in Columbus in February, 1840. In the procession were log cabins, filled with farmers and hauled by a number of horses and oxen, and hard cider was on tap for all who chose to drink. Songs were improvised, especially by Greiner, the poet of the canvass. One of these songs, with the refrain, "The Log Cabin Candidate will March to Washington," became famous and prophetic.
Some time in March, 1840, taking the stage for Mansfield, I saw signs of political excitement all along the way, even at that early period of the canvass. My sister Susan, two years younger than I, was with me. We met with no adventure worthy of notice until we arrived at our destination, when, in ascending the hill to the public square, the coach slipped and fell over on its side. This we considered a bad omen. It was not, however, an unusual accident, as the roads were always bad in March, and the coaches of the day not worthy of the name. We were heartily welcomed into the family of Robert McComb, who had married my sister, Amelia.
I was to study law, but under the laws of Ohio I could not be admitted to practice until I arrived at the age of twenty-one years. Our liberal laws presumed that a man of ordinary capacity could master this profession in two years. What was I to do during the two spare years? This question was left to the decision of my uncle, Judge Parker, husband of my father's only sister. He was a peculiar character, and, as I will have occasion to refer to him again, I will give of him a brief biography. He was born in Nova Scotia. His father was a merchant of some wealth who early decided that his son should be educated in Ohio, and chose for him the college at Athens. There young Parker not only received his collegiate diploma, but became thoroughly attached to western habits and opinions. He studied law with my father at Lancaster, and, when admitted to the bar, went to Mansfield, where he practiced law. He was genial, social, and especially fond of the society of young people. I have often seen him stop on the streets of Mansfield to watch boys playing marbles. He was conceded to be an able lawyer, perhaps the best land lawyer and special pleader in that part of Ohio. But he was not an advocate, partly owing to occasional stuttering, but in jury cases employed my father until the latter became a judge of the Supreme Court.
Mr. Parker had for some years before 1840 retired from active practice, and was engaged with Robert McComb as a general merchant. During, or about 1842, he was elected by the legislature of Ohio presiding judge of the Court of Common Pleas, and became eminently popular, and deservedly so. He was to be my guide and counselor.
A few words in regard to my brother, Charles Taylor, will explain our relations, the confidence he reposed in me, and my deep obligations to him. He was then a bachelor thirty years old, with quite a lucrative practice, mainly in collecting debts due to New York and other eastern merchants. Our banking system was then as bad as it could be, exchange on New York was always at a premium, and there was no confidence in our local banks. Charles was substantially the banker in Mansfield and surrounding counties for eastern merchants. He was a good speaker when he addressed a judge, and his briefs were clear statements of the law of the case, but when forced to speak to a jury he was exceedingly shy and sensitive. He avoided jury trials. He was a fair speaker on popular topics, and took great interest in current politics as a Whig. He was a member of the Harrisburg convention that nominated General Harrison for President, and made several creditable speeches in that canvass. He was married in the fall of 1840 to Miss Elizabeth Williams, of Dayton, Ohio, and I became a member of his family soon after.
The influence of the special traits and tendencies of Judge Parker and my brother Charles upon my life was soon manifest. My course of study, outlined by Judge Parker, commenced with Blackstone, followed soon after by Coke on Littleton. As a compromise I was allowed to read Kent's Commentaries, but Chitty's Pleadings had to go along with Kent. The disinclination of Charles to have anything to do with contested litigation became more marked, and I was compelled, long before my admission to the bar, to look after such cases as grew out of his practice. The pleadings then in vogue were the declarations, pleas and replications of the English common law. These I prepared after I had been a student for a year, and, in cases within the jurisdiction of a justice of the peace, I habitually appeared either in prosecution or defense.
As a matter of course, I was often outwitted and defeated, much to my chagrin. In one case submitted to arbitration, a pettifogger of bad repute by the name of Baldwin secured an award palpably unjust. I felt more keenly than my client the injustice done him, and never forgave Baldwin until he was indicted for perjury and driven out of the county in disgrace.
While pursuing my studies, I was able in various ways to make enough money to support myself. I wrote deeds and agreements, and drew the first map of Richland county, showing subdivisions in farms, the course of creeks and rivulets, and roads. I was also employed to collect small debts, and, toward the close of my probation, I was intrusted with large collections, one of which was in closing the business of an old firm with outstanding credits of more than $20,000.
In those days of primitive barter the merchant was the banker of all the farmers dealing with him. The farmer sold to the merchant most of his surplus products, including live stock and pork, and purchased his supplies, mainly of clothing, tea, coffee, and the like, and the merchant made advances on the growing crop. At the close of the year the account was settled, generally with a balance in favor of the merchant. Little money was used. It was a traffic in commodities. It was not unusual for the merchant to drive horses and cattle to Pittsburg or further east, and send the proceeds to the eastern merchant.
In the fall of the year it was quite common for the farmer to load upon his wagon his surplus wheat and haul it fifty miles to Sandusky and Milan, receiving in return salt and farming implements, and the balance in money. Wheat was then the only article that would command cash. At this season the highway was often blocked with long trains of wagons that would not give way for other vehicles. At night the wagons would be parked on the roadside near a creek, and the farmers and their boys would have a regular joyous picnic on provisions brought from home. This was the life of a farmer before the days of railroads, and I am not sure but it was a more happy one than now. Then the village blacksmith or shoemaker, the tinker, the carpenter and the mechanic of every trade had his shop and was a far more important and independent citizen than now, when grouped into large manufacturing and machine works.
While a student, I was frequently sent by my brother to Wooster, the nearest bank, with large sums of money to purchase exchange on New York for his clients. These trips I always made on horseback. Once, as I was to start quite early in the morning, I received nearly $2,000 in bills the night before, in two packages, and placed them in my overcoat. In the morning I threw my overcoat over my arm and went for my horse. Before mounting I felt for the money and found it was gone. I started in alarm for the house and on my way found one package of $1,000 lying on the sidewalk at the corner of the street where I had passed, but the other was nowhere to be seen. I felt sure it was picked up by some one. I at once gave notice to my brother, and he took immediate measures to trace the finder. I cannot express the chagrin and anxiety which I suffered on account of my carelessness, but Charles uttered no reproach, but prepared to replace the loss. Fortunately within a month the lost money was traced to an "early drunkard," who found the package on the pavement while going for his morning grog. He was watched and at night was seen to take some money from his trunk. A search warrant soon led to the restoration of the money, except a small sum he had spent. This incident attached me the more to my brother.
The social life in Mansfield, while I was a student, was very pleasant and instructive. The freedom, and yet propriety of intercourse among the young people, was notable. We had social meetings, parties, dances, and an occasional ball during the winter, but in summer, riding in carriages and on horseback was the recreation of the day. Fleming's Ravine, about five miles from Mansfield, was the general gathering place for young and old. A small stream had cut a deep ravine with rocky banks on either side. An old mill with its overshot wheel spanned the ravine and filled it with noisy rattle. The adjacent woods, where the fire was lit and the coffee made, and the farm lands stretching beyond, made a picturesque scene often described and always admired. Here we had dances, frolics, speeches and fun, with healthy exercise in the open air. These frolics were often made the subject of description in the newspapers. On a notable occasion of one of these visits to Fleming's Ravine, Mr. Franklin Barker, a law student, wrote for one of the local papers a pleasing description of the scene under the name of "The Fairy's Tale." He paraphrased Byron as follows:
"There was a sound of revelry bydayAnd Richland's capital gathered thenHer beauty and her chivalry and fair eyesLooked love to eyes that spoke again."
Many of the persons present were named, or so described as to be recognized. There was a good deal of egotism and assumption in the narrative which created much feeling among those who had not the good fortune to attend. Though I was present, and greatly enjoyed the picnic, I thought it was a good opportunity to prick the bubble of self esteem assumed by Barker, and wrote for the rival newspaper a counter description signed "A Looker On." This excited a good deal of interest at the time, but it has probably faded, after half a century, from the memory of the few who survive; it then created a rivalry and left its mark upon the future. The destruction of the mill by a flood, the cutting away of the wood and other causes, have changed this, so that the gathering place of the young of my day is a thing of the past.
During my study of law, the bar at Mansfield was considered a very able one, including among its members James Stewart, Thomas W. Bartley, Jacob Brinkerhoff, Charles Sherman and others. All of those named became judges, either of the courts of Ohio or of the United States. During the same period there were also many law students in the offices of these gentlemen, among them Samuel J. Kirkwood, George W. Geddes, Thomas H. Ford, Henry C. Hedges, Willard Slocum, Joseph Newman, Patrick Hull and others, who afterwards became distinguished in civil or military life. These students, myself among the number, organized a moot court, presided over by Joseph Newman, then in active practice as a partner of Mr. Stewart. We held famous moot courts in which cases were tried with all the earnestness, industry and skill that could have been evoked by real cases. In these trials Mr. Kirkwood and I were usually pitted against each other, although he studied late in life, and was then more than thirty years old. He was then a Democrat, but moved to Iowa in 1856, became a Republican war governor of that state and United States Senator. I have always regarded our contests in this moot court as the most important part of my legal training.
The course of study pursued under the direction of Judge Parker continued until my admission to the bar, though much interrupted by the variety and nature of my employment. I read, in addition to the routine works prescribed by Judge Parker, a great variety of literary and historical works, and had substantially practiced my profession a year or more in advance of my admission to the bar.
I arrived at the age of twenty-one on the 10th day of May, 1844, and promptly on time on that day I was presented to the Supreme Court "on the circuit," then sitting at Springfield, Ohio, for admission to the bar. Several other students were presented, and, according to the custom of that time, we were all referred to a committee composed of General Samson Mason, Hon. Charles Anthony, and one other lawyer whose name I do not recall. All were leading lawyers of that place, and had been busily occupied in the court. We met that evening at the office of one of these gentlemen to pass the ordeal for which we had been preparing for years. A few questions were put to us which were answered, when some question was asked, the answer to which led to a decided difference of opinion among the examiners, and a practical suspension of our examination. It soon occurred to them that they were more interested in the cases coming on "to-morrow" than in our efficiency as incipient lawyers. I was asked under whom I studied. I answered Judge Parker, and they all agreed that anyone who was certified by him ought to be admitted.
My old and dearest friend, and boon companion, Dr. J. C. Buckingham, of Springfield, was then entering upon his profession. He was an admirable penman. He obtained leave of the clerk of the court, to write out my certificate of admission as a member of the bar, and this he did in beautiful form, handsomely illustrated. He attached to it an enormous seal, and it was duly signed by the clerk of the court. I have kept it as a memento of him, but have never had occasion to present it to anyone. He, poor fellow, died prematurely at Springfield, when in the full employment of his duties as a physician, and with the most hopeful prospects of success in his profession.
I must not forget that in my boyhood days I had a strong penchant for military parade. I remember well the respect always shown to Revolutionary veterans, who survived to the period of my boyhood. At every meeting, political or otherwise, where these soldiers appeared to share in the assemblage of citizens, they were received with profound respect. Hats came off. They were given the best seats, and every mark of honor was shown them. What boy did not feel the gushings of patriotic emotion when one of these old veterans appeared upon the stage. To a less degree, similar marks of respect were shown to the soldiers of the War of 1812; but, though this was as great and important an event in our history, it did not light the spark of patriotic fire like the Revolutionary War.
Before the war for the Union broke out, military spirit died away, especially in Ohio. Military organizations had fallen into disuse and popular contempt. We had, it is true, in times far apart, what were called militia musters, but Jack Falstaff's regiment was nothing to our militia. I had the honor to be a member of the staff of Colonel Urie, of Ashland, when the venerable General Wilson was the Commander-in-Chief of the militia of that part of Ohio. He was a hero of the War of 1812, and, as I remember, a gallant and fine-looking old gentleman. The regiment—so called—without guns, uniform, or anything proper for a soldier, was with some difficulty formed into line, but a wavering line, across the public square at Mansfield and along East and West Market streets, when, by some misunderstanding of orders, the right of the regiment marched to the right, and the left to the left. With some difficulty, and a good deal of swearing, they were brought back into line and dismissed. Militia day was a day of drunkenness and fighting. No wonder that years passed without muster. Such was the military condition of the United States when the War of the Rebellion sounded the tocsin of alarm, and our generation was called upon to meet the gravest struggle in American history.