ULYSSES S. GRANT
ULYSSES S. GRANT
My first view of Washington was from the President's carriage, though it could scarcely be called a view of the city, as the carriage contained all my world and my attention was more particularly centered therein.
We were received with warm hospitality by Mrs. Grant, who proved to be a charming hostess, and all went well until night came, when I was so afraid my baby would cry that I could hardly sleep. The next day when my Soldier spoke of my uneasiness the President, putting his hat on the boy's head and his stick between his legs, said:
"There, ride your horse and tell them you'll cry as much as you please; that you own this house."
One evening when we were reminiscing I told Mrs. Grant of the first time I had seen her, and my Soldier, who loved to tease me, repeated, much to my dismay, my belligerent remarks on that occasion and the argument he had used to curb my hostile demonstrations.
"And do you know, Pickett," the President replied, relieving my embarrassment, "that once we were foolish enough to think seriouslyof having an operation performed on her dear eyes? We had consulted the best surgeons and had been assured that it was a very simple thing and not at all dangerous, so we decided to have it done. As the time grew near I got to worrying over it, and the more I thought of it the more I did not want my wife's eyes changed even the least little bit from what they had always been. Arrangements had been made; the hour for the operation was almost at hand. We were alone. I stood watching her collecting the last little odds and ends and stealing my pictures and the children's and putting them into her handbag under her shawl. Everything was ready and we started from the room. My hand was on the knob of the door, when I stopped and said:
"'My dear, I am very selfish and ought not to say this; but I don't want your eyes changed. They look just as they did the first time I ever saw them—the same eyes I looked into when I fell in love with you—the same that looked up into mine and told me that my love was returned. I have seen that expression in them through all the years and I don't want it to be lost. You might look better to other people, but to me you are prettier as you are. So, if you don't mind, please let's keep your dear eyes just as they always have been.'
"She looked up in joyful surprise and replied:
"'Why, it was only for your sake that I was even thinking of having anything done, and if you feel in that way about it I—I——'
"Well, Pickett, I was glad and she was glad. I untied the bonnet-strings, threw the bonnet onto the floor, I think, and took her by the hand and we turned and walked back into the room as light-hearted as a pair of children on their first picnic."
"Untied the bonnet-strings!" exclaimed Mrs. Grant. "You just pulled them into a hard knot, then broke them and threw the bonnet onto the floor."
He reached over and patted her hand, and the President of the United States gazed upon the same eyes that had looked their love into those of the young captain in the years agone and had become more precious to him with the passing of time.
Mrs. Grant's morning receptions in the blue room, in which she was assisted by the President, were very popular, chiefly because of her unfailing good nature, which had the effect of putting others in a good humor with themselves and the world. It may be that you have met people whose apparently permanent condition of mind led you to think that they were averse to being put into a good humor and wouldprefer to avoid the society of those who could effect such a revolution. That is a delusion. There is no one who does not like to be in a good temper or fails to experience a pleasant glow in the society of those who can produce that novel condition.
The weakness of Mrs. Grant's eyes compelled her to carry on her correspondence with the aid of a secretary, one of the soldiers usually being sent to her aid when she desired clerical assistance. It was before the day of the White House "social secretary," writing to the first Lady of the Land not being at that time so popular a diversion as it has since become.
The charities and generous deeds of Mrs. Grant were so quietly effected that the world never knew of the good she accomplished. A friend who was very close to her said that her work ought to be made known to the public after she was gone, that it might live in memory without wounding her modesty.
A home-like atmosphere pervaded the White House, due to the President's habit of keeping his official existence and his home life separate and to the determination of Mrs. Grant to provide him with a place where official duties might fall from his brain and pleasure and content fill his heart. Here he was "Ulys" to "Mrs. G.," as he called his heart-companion of many years.Here he listened to the confidences of his children, happy that they brought to him even their inmost thoughts. At that time Fred was a cadet at West Point and the younger children were attending Washington schools.
Colonel Dent did his part toward keeping the White House cheerful with the original of that smile which has since been utilized for commercial purposes. General Babcock could more easily have passed for a politician than a soldier. General Porter's funereal face covered a fountain of wit that was constantly bubbling up, to the surprise and delight of those who had been deceived by the preternatural gravity of his expression. The President was criticized by his opponents for keeping officers about the White House, but when their martial phase was so slightly in evidence I could not see why anyone should object.
Though General Grant was the soul of geniality with his intimate friends, to the public generally his reticence had made him known as "The Sphynx," or "the Great Unspeakable." If one chanced to appeal to "the Sphynx" on a subject in which he was interested he became as fluent as the most loquacious of men. When he was Commander of the United States Army a gentleman who called upon him with a letter of introduction from a friend of both, tried himupon two apparently interesting subjects without leading anywhere. As the visitor was about to retire in despair it occurred to him to mention a fine horse owned by their friend. The "Great Unspeakable" immediately became a fountain of eloquence and an animated conversation followed, to the delight equally of the General and his caller.
The President told me in a gleeful way the story of his first purchase of a horse. Speaking of his early dislike of military life and his horror of war:
"I did not want to be a soldier. When my father came home from town one day and surprised me with the information that I had received an appointment to West Point I said, 'I am not going.' He looked at me and replied, 'I think you are.' Then I thought so, too. I don't know what else I could have been. I should probably not have succeeded in trade. My first purchase was made when I was seven. A neighbor had a horse which he was willing to sell for twenty-five dollars. My longing for that horse was so great that my father, though knowing the price was too high, told me that I might offer twenty dollars for it, and if the neighbor would not take that I could offer twenty-two and if that did not suffice I might pay the twenty-five. So I went to the man and told himwhat my father had said. It would not be difficult to solve the problem of the cost of that horse. The boys got wind of the story and you can imagine that for awhile life was not worth much to me.
"It may be that I lost money on that horse, but the first dollar I ever earned was on a mule; a circus mule. The ringmaster offered a dollar to anyone who should succeed in riding the mule once around the ring. My mind was made up to win that dollar. I promptly mounted the animal and was as promptly deposited upon the sawdust. Asking if I might have another trial I was told that I might have as many as I wanted. This time I mounted with my face toward the mule's tail, which so disconcerted him that he ambled peacefully around the ring and I got the dollar."
At West Point Cadet Grant took the highest leap recorded in the history of the Academy. One who witnessed the feat described the scene,—the clean-cut, blue-eyed young man who at the call of the riding-master dashed out from the ranks on a powerfully built chestnut sorrel horse and rode to the end of the hall. Turning he galloped down the center toward a bar placed higher than the head of a tall man standing. Within a short distance of the bar the horse paused and gathering all his strength for themighty effort vaulted over. Forty years later Grant remembered the steed that had served him so well and said, "York was a wonderful horse." After the war, learning that his old riding-master was poor and helpless, General Grant sent him a cheque.
The old soldier never claimed to have distinguished himself in scholarship at West Point, but he must have made an impression of strength upon those around him, for one of his classmates, James A. Hardie, said, "If a great emergency arises in this country during our lifetime Sam Grant will be the man to meet it."
He had the simplicity characteristic of all really great minds, and the directness of a soldier, going straight to his aim; he never either overshot or undershot the mark. He spent a part of every day walking unattended along the streets enjoying exercise and open air unhampered by guards, and his daily rides were also usually solitary, for in his racing buggy behind his magnificent trotter, leaning over the dashboard to encourage his horse by a friendly word, there was scarcely anything in Washington that could have kept him in view. Only once was he passed in a race. His friend and clerk, Lieutenant Culver C. Sniffen, now a General on the retired list, owned a fine horse and the President challenged him to a race. The Lieutenantdeclined, not wishing either to beat the President or be beaten by him. The President, with the true sporting instinct, persisted until the Lieutenant, fired with like emulation, yielded and rode to win. He did win and the President was very fond of telling the story of the only time he had ever lost a race.
General Grant had one sad memory connected with a horse, dating back to the time when he was a young officer in Mexico. He rode a beautiful fierce untamable animal that in years past had killed a number of would-be riders. A Mexican officer who was a skilled and daring horseman had an ambition to mount the horse. Lieutenant Grant, fearing for the safety of his Mexican friend, would not consent to his riding so dangerous a beast. The Mexican would not let himself be dissuaded and the Lieutenant, fearing that the friend might think that he did not want him to ride his horse, ceased his opposition. The Mexican mounted and was thrown and killed.
Occasionally when it could not be avoided the President would curb his wild spirit sufficiently to take a leisurely drive in Mrs. Grant's easy carriage behind the tall and dignified black coachman, Hawkins, attended by the almost equally imposing footman, Jerry. Usually this stately equipage was left to the unsharedenjoyment of Mrs. Grant and her guests. A number of pleasant drives I took with my hostess, sometimes into the country around Washington, and sometimes to the Soldiers' Home where the veterans bivouacked peacefully until they should be mustered out of the earthly army. The long rows of white wooden slabs with black lettered names upon them brought back vividly memories so new that they lay near the surface of my heart.
It may be that to one familiar with the Washington of to-day the views of the city at that time would have been marred by primitive architectural features, but Nature had so far done her best in the beginning that one might well accept the opinion of Humboldt who, after visiting all the cities of the known world, said that for a site the entire globe does not hold its equal. The youthful surveyor, long before he became the "Father of his Country," wrought well in fancy when gazing across the Potomac he viewed the fair prospect with prophetic eye and foresaw a stately capitol of a great nation rising from one of its green hills. So well had the capital city weathered the storm that had almost wrecked the Ship of State that one who had known it in war days might have found it beautiful in comparison.
Inside the White House the deft fingers ofMartha Johnson Patterson had wrought miracles of adornment out of the web of her imagination, aided by a few simple materials which in less skillful hands would have been ineffective. Within its walls life went on to the time kept by Madison's clock that had ticked away all the decades since the "Father of the Constitution" held guardianship over that complicated child of many variegated phases.
General Grant, as head of the United States Army, regarded his staff as his military family and chose its members according to his desire. As President he took a similar view of his Cabinet, looking upon it as his civic family, and did not cast a favorable eye upon recommendations made by politicians who wished to draw upon him for the payment of their campaign debts. Having no such debts of his own, being tied to no party and bound by no pledges, he felt free to select his associates as he thought best, thereby incurring the ill-will of party leaders who held their positions by heavy mortgages to office-seekers. I suppose soldiers have an instinctive aversion to politicians, not only because they make war but because they insist upon managing it throughout its whole existence. Thus Grant sought his advisers in non-political fields.
The President was severely criticized for hisappointment of Mr. A. T. Stewart as Secretary of the Treasury, in contradiction to the "nine statutes" which Mr. Conkling afterward found to bar the way, but the wise statesmen of the Senate confirmed the appointment with eager promptness, and it could scarcely be demanded that a soldier with more opportunity of knowing the regulations of battlefields than the statutes that govern political administration should be better informed as to civic laws than those who have devoted a large part of their lives to the study and framing of such laws. Failing this appointment Governor Boutwell, a good friend of the President, was made Secretary of the Treasury, and it was as one of the most trusted advisers in the Cabinet that I met him.
The sympathies of President Grant were deep and broad and sometimes presented humorous phases. At a Cabinet meeting one day he brought up the case of a lawyer whom he thought of appointing Chief Justice of one of the territories, expressing pity for him because he had lost a leg in battle. After an extended silence the Attorney-General, Judge Rockwood Hoar, quietly remarked, "Mr. President, it seems to me that mere absence of legs is not a sufficient qualification for judicial office." The other members looked apprehensive, but thePresident laughed and said that he would think of it further. The result of more mature reflection was that some one else was appointed, presumably with the normal equipment of legs and a fair endowment of unquestionable judicial merit.
Attorney-General Rockwood Hoar was never averse to expressing his sentiments in rugged English, but his somewhat burry aspect and speech covered a good healthy heart filled with sympathetic impulses. His wit was a shining blade that cut more deeply than he intended, sometimes to his regret, but his eloquence on the finer phases of life was a radiance of sunlight. The true depth of his nature was shown in his kindness to all who needed him.
The most impressive member of the Cabinet was, quite appropriately, the head of the State Department, Secretary Hamilton Fish. Six feet tall, of distinguished bearing, with strong face surmounted by dark curling hair, intense eyes that seemed to look through the object of their gaze, graceful and cultivated manner, he was a noted figure in any assemblage. His tact and statesmanship kept the country off the diplomatic reefs on which it might have been wrecked by a guiding hand less firm. President Grant said, "History will write that we have had two great Secretaries of State,Governor Marcy and Governor Fish." Mr. Fish was always immaculately dressed, a distinctive mark of his attire being a diamond breastpin, which he always wore in his shirt. He succeeded the six-weeks' term of Mr. Elihu B. Washburne, who was transferred to Paris and, as Minister during the stormy period of the Franco-Prussian War, gained the admiration and confidence not only of his own country but of Europe as well for his wise and patriotic service.
The President and my Soldier often talked of the war, discussing it from their opposite view-points. Never once did General Grant refer to us as "rebels." He always mentioned us as, "You fellows on the other side."
General Grant was deeply interested in the battle of Gettysburg, of which he knew only by report. One day at the close of dinner he asked my Soldier to explain certain movements in the final charge. To make the inquiry plainer he drew some lines on the table-cloth with the handle of a spoon. My Soldier took the spoon from the President's hand and drew upon the cloth a diagram, briefly explaining as he went along:
"Here is Seminary Ridge; there Cemetery Ridge. Here is Round Top. This is Meade's left; here, Meade's right. There are theConfederate troops in the woods; here, Gettysburg. There is the Fifth Corps. Here are the batteries, and there, Hall's Brigade. Here are Cushing and Webb. Here is Clark's Brigade; there, a rail fence. Here is the Third Brigade."
Lining off a space at one corner to enlarge the vital point of the charge, he continued:
"Here is the turning point of the third day. There, the stone wall we crossed. There is Webb. Here is the Confederate assault. There is where Armistead got over; here, where he fell." Drawing his hand quickly across the corner beyond he added, "There is hell!"
"Bring me a blue pencil," said the President to a servant. When it was brought he carefully marked over the lines in the soft-laid cloth and carried it into the smoking-room.
The tenderest memory I have of President Grant, because it is the one closest to my heart, is of him and my Soldier as they stood facing each other in the President's office just before the close of our visit. I can see them now looking earnestly into each other's eyes, one of General Grant's hands on the shoulder of his old comrade and friend.
Grant, always faithful to his friends, was urging upon my Soldier, whom the war had impoverished, the marshalship of the State of Virginia, which he was gratefully but firmlydeclining. Later, when the devotion of the President to his old friends and his confidence in them had given his enemies an opportunity to criticize with undue severity his habit of making appointments for friendship rather than politics, I appreciated still more the generosity and wisdom of my Soldier's refusal. Knowing the demands upon the President, knowing that acceptance of the appointment, sorely as he needed it, would create for the administration a host of enemies, he said:
"You cannot afford to do this for me, and I cannot afford to let you do it."
"I can afford to do anything I choose," replied the President.
I shall never forget the gratitude in my Soldier's tear-dimmed eyes as he turned them upon the President, showing his appreciation of the friendship and sacrifice, nor General Grant's look in return, nor what those old soldiers did—never, as silently shaking hands and walking off in different directions they gazed out of separate windows, and I stole away.
One evening just after the New York steamer had blown her three whistles in honor of my Soldier, as the river steamers always did in passing our wharf, and had gone around the bend, we saw Uncle Tom, the faithful old negro fisherman, coming up the hill with a bag over his stooping shoulders and talking to himself more excitedly than usual.
"Good evening, Uncle Tom," I said, stepping off the porch to greet him. "What have you in your bag for me?"
"Tarepins—dat's what I got fer you, but I got a piece of my mind fer Marse George, en ez dis piece of mind mought not agree wid your temperation I reckon you better g'long in de house en sing some of dem song chunes while I's mekin' a present of de piece of mind to Marse George."
As my curiosity was greater than my fearof mental indigestion, I stayed to share with my Soldier the "piece of mind."
Uncle Tom proceeded to unfold his story to the effect that a carpet-bagger who had come to Bermuda Hundred was inciting the colored people against my Soldier and planning with them to visit us in force. He said that he was a brother of one of the same class of human wreckage who had visited our community some time before, selling to the negroes ointment that was advertised to turn them into white people. My Soldier had reported the enterprising merchant and, with Mr. "Buck" Allen and Colonel John Selden, had taken to Richmond some boxes of the ointment and some of the negroes to whom the ointment had been sold, and the "carpet-bagger" had been put in jail. His brother was now inflaming the credulous colored people with the idea that my Soldier had caused the disappointment of their ambitious aspirations.
The man who thus excited Uncle Tom's indignation and apprehension had lain in the river with his vessel for weeks, sending out his emissaries to tell the poor credulous colored people that the United States government had authorized him to promise that to every colored man who would bring him a good bridle and saddle, thereby showing his fitness for the possession, should be given a mule to fit the saddleand bridle, and that he would receive and receipt for the same every night between the hours of midnight and daybreak. So successful was this impostor that he had almost made up his load before he was caught, and there was hardly a bridle and saddle left in all the surrounding country.
While my Soldier had confidence in Uncle Tom, he did not much believe that the negroes would dare make an attack upon him. He insisted, though, that I should not run any risk, but should take our babies and go to Richmond for a few days. Finding that no persuasion could induce me to leave him, he consented that we might wait together, fearing, yet not believing, that they would come.
The third night after Uncle Tom's warning, when we had begun to hope that he had after all been misinformed, we heard a rapping at the door and then a low growl.
"That's Rufus, rapping on the door with his tail," said my Soldier. "He hears something and is warning us. Listen!"
He opened the door and the dog entered, trembling and with great tears of fear in his loyal eyes. We listened but heard nothing. My Soldier came in and shut the door.
"Lay the baby down," he said, "and take this, but keep it out of sight," handing me a pistol.
His loaded gun was resting on a bracket just above the door. Rufus stood pointing, his nose nearly touching the panel of the door. My heart seemed almost bursting from my throat and sounded in my ear like the beating of a drum. The baby smiled and dreamed aloud. While we listened tensely there came the sound of footsteps, the rolling of loose dirt and brickbats.
"Listen! They are coming around the back way and across the ruins of the old house. I hear a number of steps, but they are uncertain steps. Don't be afraid, dear; be your own plucky little self."
"I am not the least afraid," I answered, my teeth chattering and my hands trembling, "not the least, Soldier."
Rufus turned his head and looked at me as if he had heard a stranger's voice, and then, wagging his tail to reassure me, returned to a dead point. The sounds became louder and the surging wave rolled nearer.
One who has never beheld a raging sea of black faces filled with excitement and fury, wild, ignorant, brutal, some distorted with intoxication, cannot form the faintest idea of the awful sight. They threatened vengeance against my Soldier, saying that, not satisfied with fighting against their liberties, he was now trying tokeep away those who would befriend them. They were led by a renegade white man who, when they reached a point where possible danger lay, retired from leadership and withdrew to a protected spot in the rear.
My Soldier stepped out on the porch and confronted the mob, who were yelling, cursing, and brandishing pistols, knives, and all manner of weapons. Looking at them for a few seconds he said:
"Boys, what does all this mean? What is all this trouble about? You don't know what you are doing. That cowardly dog there, sneaking and crouching down behind you to save his own worthless carcass, is not your friend. For a few handfuls of money he will lead you to steal, lie and kill. All he wants is what he can make out of you. Don't trust him, boys. These miserable Yankee scalawags haven't any love for you. They never owned any negroes. We who owned you are your friends. We have been brought up together and understand each other."
"Dat's so, niggers; dat's so," cried Uncle Tom, who had come up with the mob as if he were one of them in spirit. "You better listen to Marse George. He sho' is tellin' you de trufe, niggers—de gorspel trufe."
"Stand back! Stand back!" cried my Soldier,suddenly starting forth and waving both hands. "Stand back, I say!"
The negroes fell back on both sides and my Soldier went down between them to where the white renegade was cowering behind his poor, ignorant, impulsive black dupes, and, seizing him by the collar, shook him with all his force. The collar broke and the man fell to the ground. My Soldier jumped on top of him and called, "Bring me that rope!" pointing to the clothes-line stretched across the road. "Come, boys, let's tie the scoundrel!"
After they had securely bound him the General ordered some of them to pick him up and carry him to the smokehouse and lock him in, which they did with great satisfaction, their mercurial natures having now veered completely to the side of my Soldier.
"Now, boys," said he, "get into your boats and go back home, and be thankful that the bad man locked up there in the haunted smokehouse with the rats and ghosts has not made you all commit a crime, too, for which you would be sent to jail."
The reference to the spectral inhabitants of the smokehouse was, for the colored people, a sufficient bar to their possible change of sentiment and return to the rescue of their former leader. They believed implicitly in theuncanny reputation of that house and, to their view, the ghost of old Grundy, who had hanged himself from its rafters and who, as the story goes, when the flames were devouring the old colonial home within a stone's throw of it, came out shaking his fist at them, thus saving the smokehouse from the fire, was more formidable than the armies of the whole world. The next morning the sheriff took the prisoner to Richmond, where he was jailed and promptly brought to trial. He was found guilty of inciting a riot and was sent out of the country.
Uncle Tom was an old servitor of the Pickett family. He had been at Turkey Island when the mansion was burned and had contrived to save a few relics from the ruins. Among them was a medallion which had been presented to my Soldier's grandfather by La Fayette. It was set in gold, framed in blue velvet, and hung in the library under La Fayette's picture. As one of Butler's men was carrying it to the steamer the medallion fell out, and Uncle Tom picked it up and had saved it all these years. In his own logical way he explained the selection of the one to whom it should be given.
"I done studied 'bout dis 'heritance a heap, en I says to myse'f, 'Well, I gwine to give dis 'heritance to Miss Sally, kase she Marse George's wife en Marse George he is de oldest chile.' DenI says, 'No, dat ain't ret; I gwine to give it to Miss Lizzy, kase she Marse Charlie's wife en Marse Charlie is de youngest chile.' Den I says, 'No, I gwine let de wifes 'cide fer darse'fs which gwine to have de 'heritance, en I gwine to give it to de one dat treats de ole man de best.'
"So de Sunday atter dey moved down I goes 'roun' to Miss Lizzy's house en she axes me 'Howdy?' en axes me how Aunt Lindy, my ole 'oman, sagashuates. Den she say, 'Uncle Tom, won't you hab a toddy?' En I say, 'Yas'm, Miss Lizzy, thanky, ma'm; ole nigger allus raidy for a toddy.' Den she mek me a gre't big nice toddy en fetches it out to me herse'f. Den she say, 'Uncle Tom, don't you want sump'n to eat?' I say, 'Yas'm, de ole man allus hongry.' Den she fetches me out a pilin' plate of vitals. Den I say, 'Dat's Miss Lizzy's 'heritance, sho'!'
"De nex' Sunday I goes ter Miss Sally's house, en she axes me 'Howdy?' too, jest as 'spec'ful as ef I wuz de king, en den she axes me how my ole 'oman is, too, en I tells her. Den she say, 'Uncle Tom, don't you want a dram?' 'Yas'm,' I says, 'Miss Sally, de ole man allus wants a dram.' Den she say, 'Well, g'long back dar to de sideboa'd en he'p yo'se'f. Dar's de canter of ole apple jack en ole London dock; you jest go he'p yo'se'f, Uncle Tom.' Den when I comes 'long back she say, 'Uncle Tom, did you he'p yo'se'fplent'ful?' I say, 'Yas'm, de ole man allus does dat.' Den she say, 'Ain't you hongry?' I say, 'Yas'm, de ole man's allus hongry.' Den she say, 'Well, Uncle Tom, you must 'scuse me, but I fergot to ax you 'bout bein' hongry, so g'long back to de dinin' room en he'p yo'se'f; dar's plenty er col' ham en fried chicken en pickle oyschers en 'zerbs en t'ings. I's waitin' for de hunters to come in 'fo' I puts 'em away, so g'long back en he'p yo'se'f.' 'Name of God,' I say, 'Marse George's wife's gwine to git dis hyer 'heritance, atter all.' Yas, dat 'heritance is Miss Sally's, sho'."
From the rim of gold around this "'heritance," as Uncle Tom called it, my Soldier had made two pairs of beautifully carved bracelets, one for his brother's wife and one for his sister. The miniature was made into a pin for me, which I still have and wear, not only for its quaint prettiness and because it is almost the only relic of all those old household treasures, but in memory as well of Uncle Tom and of La Fayette's appreciation of the hospitality of old Turkey Island.
Upon leaving Canada we had expected to lose Annie, our faithful nurse, but she interrupted our objections to taking her with:
"Howly Fathers! an' sure an' phwat's to become of me widout the baby an' leastwise, phwat's as bad an' worse, phwat's to become of the baby widout me?"
We explained that wages were much higher in the States and that we could not afford to take her. She begged to be allowed to come at any sacrifice of her own interests, so we finally consented, resolving that she should lose nothing by her loyalty.
Annie enjoyed the journey and the visit to New York, but at Norfolk the hundreds of negro stevedores who met the New York steamers frightened her nearly to death. The few colored people whom she had seen in Montreal and looked upon as martyrs and saints were of avery different class from these. When I tried to reassure her she said angrily:
"Oh, the mother of ye that ye are, sure—being afther planning to have one of these black, howling, writhing craythurs nursing of the boy, the dirty, twisting bastes! It's meself that's afther the temptin' of Providence to be a risking of me own grown-up life among such haythens, a singin' words widout any meanin', the saints save us!"
She was praying and counting her beads.
In my father's home there had been only colored servants, and my father and brothers, the most courtly of men, could not bear to see Annie standing in their presence while they remained seated. She was not only being spoiled by their numerous courtesies and gallantries, but was embarrassed by them, feeling herself a servant equally with the colored maids.
Our second child, little Corbell, was three years old when Annie left us to marry a well-to-do farmer, a young man who, in his rural simplicity, recognized no superior. I was sorry to part from her, particularly on account of Corbell's strong aversion to colored people. After innumerable failures to fill her place a kinswoman, noted for judgment and care in the selection of her servants, sent me her own nurse until I could secure one that would pleaseme. The nurse remained three days, when Corbell took the situation into his own hands and thus explained it in his prayers:
"Our Father who art in Heaven, please send me a white nurse because nobody else can, and because when black hands touch me my soul crawls all around inside and I get icicles and creepy things all down my back, and, oh, dear Lord, our Father who art in Heaven, I'd rather have no supper than have their black hands cut it up for me, and I'd rather be dirty as the pigs than have them wash me, and I'd rather not go out doors and see the birds and flowers and other children and things play and pick the buttercups that the policeman don't care if we pick because they grow wild, than have their big black-white eyes watching me. So, our Father who art in Heaven, please send me a white nurse quick, for Christ's sake. Amen!"
"Don't you know, my darling," I said, "that all the Southern children have colored nurses. Your mamma had one and loved her almost like a mother. God made the colored people."
"Well, then, there must have been a colored God around somewhere."
He thought that the black God must be very wicked and prayed that the dusky deity might die "and let the white God make all the people."
At that time the only servants in Virginiawere colored. Finding that the child could not become accustomed to "black hands" and that his health was endangered by his efforts to overcome a weakness that seemed congenital, we advertised for a white nurse but with no success. Hearing us talk about advertising, Corbell asked God to put in a "'tisement" for a white nurse for him. He prayed for everything he wanted and asked the Lord to do things for him that his father and mother could not do, at the same time begging the Father in Heaven not to let us know that he had appealed to a higher power, lest our feelings be hurt.
We were staying at the Ballard and Exchange Hotel in Richmond. One morning as we were going out for our daily ride a beautiful woman dressed in deep mourning was standing in the hall. With a startled expression she held out her hands and my little Corbell ran into her arms, exclaiming:
"Oh, you are the dear, good God's 'tisement and you have come to be my nurse and take my 'Carthy's place. See, our mother, see! Black hands won't ever, ever make creeps in me any more, now that our Father who art in Heaven has sent the 'tisement to me."
The stranger clasped the child to her heart, kissing his golden curls and sweet brown eyes while her tears fell.
"Pardon this uncontrolled emotion, madam," she said, "and excuse me, please, for taking such a liberty with your child. I have just passed through a great sorrow and am very nervous."
I led her to our rooms where she sat with my little darling in her arms, gazing into his face lovingly and moaning, "My little angel! Oh, my little angel!" He took out his tiny handkerchief and wiped her eyes and kissing her said:
"Don't cry, 'Tisement, don't cry. Come and ride with our mother and my little brother and me and you can hold me in your lap; come, 'Tisement, come."
She rode with us, sitting beside me, holding my little Corbell.
"Why do you call me 'Tisement?" she asked.
Corbell explained that, hearing us talking about advertising for a nurse and seeing how we had failed, he had sent an advertisement to God himself, asking for just the kind he wanted, "and," he added, "I knew you were God's 'tisement as soon as I saw you."
When we returned she told me her sad story, the tragic story of a beautiful, fair, proud woman with the one black drop in her veins. All her loved ones were gone, her beautiful boy the last to leave her, and she longed for little hands to soothe away her pain. She stayed with us and her new-found charge saw only thepure white face, the delicate soft hands that touched him lovingly, and knew nothing of the dark link that held her in bondage to the past.
She was a devoted nurse, helpful and diplomatic with both children, but it was on Corbell that she showered all her pent up love. He was very fond of music and was always ready to greet the dawn with a smile and a song. Early one morning when George first opened his eyes after a night in the better world of dreams, he heard Corbell's flute-like tones in the strains of "Where, oh, where are the Hebrew Children?" The necessity of taking up the tangled threads anew filled his little heart with dismay, and with a sense of having been wronged he called out:
"Our mother, please come and make Corbell stop singing 'Where are the Hebrew Children?' I don't know where the Hebrew Children are and I don't want to know."
Mary, the faithful answer to God's "'tisement," volunteered to find the Hebrew Children and amid her suggestions of possible places in which they might be concealed, peace was restored.
Corbell was one of the most gifted of children. Not only could he sing, but he was quite an artist with the scissors, and at a very early age could cut out the most astonishing representations of birds and animals. One day afteran illness I thought he had been cutting long enough and suggested to him to put up the scissors lest he become nervous and tired. Click-click went the scissors. "Wait till I get the meat part of the mule's mane right," he said. Several times I made the same suggestion, receiving the same reply, and click-click-click went the scissors. Then forgetting myself I raised my voice and commandingly called, "Put those scissors down, sir, this minute!"
Bang went the scissors across the other side of the room and with eyes flashing with indignation he cried out:
"Madam! Do you think that Aunt Mary Christ would have spoken to her little boy Jesus like that?"
"No, my darling," I said, ashamed of myself, "and I will never, never again speak in that way to you." And I never did.
It was probably the first time that the Blessed Virgin had ever been spoken of as "Aunt Mary Christ," but the claim of relationship was not surprising, as put forth by a little Virginia boy, since in the Old Dominion elderly ladies or those who were regarded with special reverence were always addressed as "Aunt."
Our nearest neighbors in the hotel were Colonel and Mrs. Parsons. The Colonel had belonged to the Federal Army and after the warhad brought his family to Richmond to live. His children had some toy soldiers with which they and my two little boys would fight great battles, the Confederates and Federals being permitted to win alternately.
Mr. Davis came in one day when the star of victory shone on the Southern side.
"Hurrah, boys," he said. "I am glad I came to-day. I like to see the Confederates win."
"Wait, wait," said my little George, "and we'll let you see the Federals win."
"Ah, my little man," replied Mr. Davis in his pathetic voice, "your father and I have seen the Federals win."
Corbell was always interested in his father's fighting in Mexico. Of course Mr. Davis far outranked my Soldier in that war, but when Corbell asked, "Were you in papa's Company, Mr. Davis, or was he in yours?" rather than hold any precedence over his father in the boy's thought, Mr. Davis replied:
"If I remember correctly, we were both in each other's Company, I think, my son."
"Our mama," said Corbell, after Mr. Davis had gone, "what has Mr. Davis got in his throat that makes his talk sound so music-y?"
The summers we passed at the Old Greenbrier White Sulphur and the Salt Sulphur Springs, the hotels in both places being keptby brothers who had served in my Soldier's Division.
One season we occupied a cottage with Mr. Peabody, the great philanthropist. It was his last visit to his native land, the summer before he died. He had gone to the Springs in the vain hope of restored health. Looking for my little Corbell one day I found him in the rooms of Mr. Peabody who, with weak and trembling hands, was signing some cheques. Corbell was sitting on his knee, watching his work.
"I know what makes your hand tremble," he was saying. "Our mother told me; she says it's because of all the good things it has done for God's people."
"Your little hand does not tremble. Aren't you glad?" asked Mr. Peabody.
"I'd rather have trembly hands if they would help me to do good to all the people like yours," replied Corbell.
In the last summer of General Lee's life he was at the "Old White" taking the waters. Corbell had been ordered to drink them, too, and emphatically objected.
"Don't drink that water, General Lee," he said. "It doesn't smell good."
"But you drink it," replied the General.
"I have to; they make me," respondedCorbell sadly. "You are a man and they can't make you."
"But I like it," asserted the General.
Corbell regretfully confided to me afterward:
"They call him a great man, our mama, and, oh, he likes things that don't smell good."
It was the only cloud upon his confidence in General Lee.
Coming in one day the General found the children building block houses.
"Is this the house that Jack built?" he asked.
"No, sir," replied Corbell. "That's the house that George built and this is the house that Corbell built. Jack didn't build any houses down this way."
"Don't you know the story?" asked General Lee. "'This is the house that Jack built. This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.'"
"Yes, sir," returned Corbell, "but it makes me feel weazley to keep on saying the 'Jack built' part."
In passing out of the dining-room one evening General Lee stopped at our table by the door. We were cracking nuts, which reminded him of the story I had told about the young man who asked for "the nut-busters." He said to Corbell:
"Your little hands are not strong enough touse these 'nut-busters.' Let me crack your nuts for you."
"No, thank you, General," replied the child. "Our mama says that we may eat all we can crack and that the squirrels don't have anybody to crack their nuts; if they did they'd eat too many, too. 'Course she don't want to hurt our hands, but she is afraid if somebody cracks nuts for us we'll eat too many and be sick."
The General said if that was the case he would not offer to crack any more nuts for little children.
I have a tender memory of a call from General Lee once when my little Corbell was very ill at the Ballard and Exchange. One morning Uncle Wash, the old colored porter, tiptoed in with a card.
"It's Marse Genul Lee, Missus," he whispered. "He come ter ax atter de li'le man, en he say he moughty sorry to hyer boutn his being so bad off. He's ret out hyer at de do'."
I went to the door and held out my hand to General Lee.
"I have heard of the illness of my little friend and have come to see him."
My Soldier got up from the side of the bed and brought a chair.
"I have come to renew my acquaintance, George, with our little man here," he said,calling my Soldier by his name, which I had never before heard him do.
He was President at that time of Washington College, now the Washington-Lee University, at Lexington, and this was the last time he was ever in Richmond.
General Lee's fondness for children made him always a great favorite with them, and he and our little Corbell discussed the Old White, its nasty smelling sulphur-water, and the many friends they had made there. Holding up his little thin hand, Corbell said:
"See, General, how wobbly my hand is. It's a heap tremblier than Mr. Peabody's was. I can write my name now, but I can't write it to do good with and to give things, as Mr. Peabody did; I wish I could. My, wouldn't I make it fly?"
"Your dear little hand does more good than it could possibly do by writing your name on paper," replied General Lee. "It is a hand of love and that is better than anything else in the world. I saw Dr. Minnegerode and he told me how sick you had been and how patient and sweet you were and how hard you were trying to get well."
"Dr. Minnegerode wasn't a soldier like you and our papa, was he?" asked our little darling, shaking his head and changing the subject.
"Yes," replied General Lee, "but he did not fight with a sword. He is a preacher, a Bible teacher, and fights with the spirit."
"That's poetry, isn't it?" asked Corbell.
"Yes; that is poetry."
"General, Dr. Minnegerode always says his prayers with me and asks the Lord to bless me and make me well," said Corbell.
"May I say my prayers with you, too, my boy, and ask the Lord to make us both well and bless us?"
"Yes, General, but you are a soldier, not a preacher."
"No, I am neither now, my little man," replied the General; "just a poor, sick, helpless child like you, asking for health."
He knelt by the bedside and prayed the most beautiful prayer I ever heard.
It was the last time I saw General Lee.
After the failure of the military system of agriculture developed at Turkey Island my Soldier became the general agent for the South of a life insurance company. His office was in Richmond, where his boyhood had been spent and where we had many pleasant friends and old associations.
Though living a life of deep earnestness, my Soldier was fond of a story or a jest. He used to tell some of Lincoln's jokes and anecdotes which, in his youthful days in Illinois, he had heard from the lips of that famous story-teller, so that when I afterward saw the stories of the great War President in print I remembered many of them as old friends. Mr. Lincoln was much interested in the plantation legends told by the Virginia boy and they exchanged stories, to the delight of both.
My Soldier especially liked a joke if it was upon me. On leaving home for a business triphe once asked me how much money I should need before his return. After a labored calculation I mentioned a sum which he, knowing me, promptly doubled. He had been gone only a day when I suddenly recalled an obligation that had escaped my memory, and telegraphed him. By next mail came a cheque, carefully made out, payable to "Mrs. Oliver Twist." As I must have the money it was necessary for me to indorse it as it was made out. To tease me he kept the cheque to dangle before my eyes on the slightest provocation, and I have it now.
He always made companions of our boys and joked and played with them as if he were the same age as they. One morning when our little George was about ten years old he took him to the office several blocks from home, sending him back with a note, telling him to go directly home and not to get into any trouble on the way. Then he followed him, watching his progress. I still have the note in which were recorded the little fellow's meanderings, of which this is a copy:
"Saw a man posting bills; stopped to watch him. Went on a short distance; saw two dogs fighting. Stopped to see which beat; sicked them on again. Farther along saw something interesting in a drug-store window; stood andlooked. Started on and came to some boys playing marbles; stopped and took a hand in the game; lost all his own marbles, paid up like a man, walked on, whistling. Came to a man shoveling coal; helped him, and pocketed some small pieces. Met a man he knew; stopped and talked to him, asked the time. Played in a pile of sand with a stick. Had a fight with Wirt Robinson; licked each other. Found a boy who had lost a penny down a crack; helped him to get it out. Saw a kitten escaping from a cellar window; chased it back. Met a boy on stilts; made him get down and let him walk on them. Saw an old woman coming out of the doorway with a bucket of water on her head; jumped at her, frightening her, making her head lose its balance, spilling the water all over her. Turned his pockets inside out and gave the old woman all his week's allowance, as compensation for the wetting he had caused. Reached the gate; stopped to play with the latch. Went in. Time in reaching home, one hour and twenty-five minutes."
The report was sent by a messenger, who delivered it to me before little George came into the house, so that, to his great surprise, I was able to tell him all that he had been doing. When I showed him the record he said:
"I knew dear father was a great man andknew most everything, but I didn't know he had God's eyes and could see everything."