CHAPTER VII

A VACATION TOUR

1850

In '50 it was decided that I should go to Liverpool to take charge of the house there. I asked Colonel Train if I could not first have a holiday, so that I might see a little of my own country. He told me to take two months, and to see as much as I could in that time. My ship was scheduled to sail July 25, '50. This was the only holiday I had had in four years.

I started for New York. After a brief stay there, I went to Cape May. My recollections of that place, which was then the great resort of the Atlantic coast, include a famous score I made in rolling ten-pins. This game was my forte, and I remember that I defeated a party of Philadelphians, scoring strike after strike, and left my score, 290, marked up on the wall. It stood unrivaled for years.

I hurried on to Washington from Cape May. The trip was then made by boat, rail, and stage. As soon as I reached Washington, I called on Daniel Webster, then Secretary of State. I was shown into his office, gave him news of New England, and said that every one was discussing his great speech of the 7th of March of that year. He looked at me inquiringly. "Some are hostile toward your sentiments," I said; "but most of the people are with you." "They are talking about it, are they?" This was the only comment he made.

Afterward he introduced me to his wife, Mrs. Leroy Webster, and asked if I would like to meet the President. I was delighted, and said so. "Just wait a moment," he said, and sat down at his desk, took a quill pen and wrote on a sheet of blue paper, nearly a foot square, "To the President of the United States, introducing a young friend of mine from Boston, George Francis Train, shipping merchant, who merely wishes to pay his respects to the president.--DANIEL WEBSTER." The large writing covered almost the whole page. I thanked him, and started at once for the White House.

On arriving there, I was at once ushered into the presence of General Taylor, who sat at his desk. The presidential feet rested on another chair. I begged him not to rise, but to let me feel at home, and handed him the letter from Mr. Webster.

At his request, I seated myself opposite him, and from this point of vantage made a hurried study of his appearance. He wore a shirt that was formerly white, but which then looked like the map of Mexico after the battle of Buena Vista. It was spotted and spattered with tobacco juice.

Directly behind me, as I was soon made aware, was a cuspidor, toward which the President turned the flow of tobacco juice. I was in mortal terror, but I soon saw there was no danger. With as unerring an aim as the famous spitter on the boat in Dickens's American Notes, he never missed the cuspidor once, or put my person in jeopardy.

My conversation--because, I suppose, it was new to him--interested him, and he would not let me go for half an hour. I told him the news of New England, and about my journey to Liverpool and its object. This particularly interested him, and he asked me a hundred questions about the shipping business and the prospects of developing trade with England.

As I was about to leave, I said to him that I prized very highly the letter from Mr. Webster, and should be very glad to be able to keep it; "and I should prize it still more highly, Mr. President, if you would add your autograph to it." "Certainly," he replied, and then took up a quill pen, and wrote "Z. Taylor." He courteously asked me to call to see him again before I left for England.

From the White House, I went direct to the National Hotel, where I asked to see Mr. Clay. I was shown up to his room, and soon stood in the presence of the great Southern orator. I observed that his shirt also bore the same marks as that of the President--stained and smeared with tobacco juice.

I told him that I was about to start for England, and that, as I had a letter signed by Mr. Webster and the President, I should like to add his signature also. "I believe that two signatures are usually necessary on Mr. Webster's paper," said Mr. Clay with a smile. He then added his autograph to the paper.

Before leaving for Liverpool, I visited Mount Vernon, of course, while in Washington, saw the Georgetown Convent, and, indeed, everything of interest in the capital at that time. Then I went back to New York and up the Hudson to West Point.

My visit to West Point was especially pleasant. I comraded with the cadets, who invited me to sleep in their tent on the campus. Among the young fellows there at the time, who was very pleasant and friendly, was Alfred H. Terry, afterward one of the most distinguished of our officers. I attended the cadets' ball at Cozzens's Hotel, messed with them, and entered into all of their sports and daily routine. I was astonished to notice that in the morning the roar of the gun did not disturb their slumbers, although it shook me from sleep. But the lightest tap of the drum aroused them instantly. It was force of habit, which, I was to learn later, enables men to sleep amid the roar of artillery on the battlefield, or amid the howling of storms on the ocean. In sleep, as in our waking hours, the trained and disciplined mind hears what it wants to hear.

From West Point I went on to Saratoga Springs. It was my first visit to these famous springs, and I enjoyed it immensely. On the boat up the Hudson I met a beautiful lady, Mrs. Carleton, who was with her sister. Mrs. Carleton was the wife of a wealthy New York merchant, who had a villa on Staten Island. I stopped at Marvin's United States Hotel. This was fifty-two years ago, and the hotel is still there, while Marvin, who entertained me more than half a century ago, died last year, his age somewhere in the nineties. I enjoyed every moment of my stay at Saratoga, for I had never seen anything of social life, and it was all new and delightful. The enormous caravansary, with its throngs of guests, its never-ceasing round of gaiety, and its own liberal life, entranced me. Manners seemed less formal then at the famous spa, and the ladies were pleased to meet any one in the most unconventional and charming way.

As I say, I was very unsophisticated. I knew little or nothing of the "great world," and I was completely horrified one evening when one of the ladies said to me in a whisper: "Can you not get me a glass of brandy?" I had never touched a drop of brandy, whisky, or even wine, and to have this beautifully dressed and refined lady ask me for a glass of brandy was a decided shock to me. I understand that now, however, it is not very uncommon for ladies to drink wine, whisky, and brandy.

I have seen it stated in the papers recently that the waters at Saratoga have the effect of lessening thirst for more ardent waters of a spirituous nature. I did not happen to observe any such effect of the waters when I was there a half century ago. Drinking was quite general, and certainly little restraint seemed to be practised.

I found in society, as elsewhere in the greater affairs of life, that leadership was wanting. People stood by and waited for some one to take the initiative. One evening one of the ladies said to me that the ball had not been arranged for. I asked what ball, and she said the regular season ball. For some reason, it had not been arranged by the hotel people, and no one seemed disposed to take hold of it. I said, "It should be arranged immediately." I saw a few of the leaders, talked it over with them, and got them together. We brought off the ball--my first experience in these deep waters of social life--with great success. I had then been in Saratoga just two days. While I was there I had the honor of meeting the social leader of Boston, Mrs. Harrison Grey Otis, and the social leader of Philadelphia, Mrs. Rush. There were also present at the Springs many representatives of the most prominent families in the social life of New York.

I saw in Saratoga the first "gambling hell" that I had ever seen, and I was so green about such things--another tribute to my dear old Pickering grandmother and New England Methodism--that I did not know what a "gambling hell" was when asked if I should like to see one. While I possess an inquisitive nature, I have found it a good rule not to ask too many questions, until you have tried to find out things without betraying your ignorance. I went to the "hell," and was properly shocked. The scene suggested to me the gaming at Monte Carlo. I saw a number of men sitting around a table playing as intently as if their lives depended upon the fall of a card.

My attention was attracted toward a young man, apparently of about twenty-five, who was in a desperate plight. Agony was visibly graved in every feature and in every line of his face. I asked who he was, and heard the name of a distinguished family of northern New York. "What is the matter with him!" I asked. My cicerone seemed astonished at my stupendous ignorance. "Why, can you not see they are 'going through' him?" he said in turn. The expressive term was sufficient even for my unsophisticated mind. It told the whole story, like a "scare-head" in a "yellow" newspaper.

Then I turned from the victim to the predatory players about him. Who were they? To my surprise, the names were those of men famous the world over as bankers, merchants, and financiers. There was one man that especially interested me. It was the American representative of an English house whose commercial paper our house frequently used. I said to myself, "I will cut his name from our list," and I did--for a time. I learned afterward that banking was only one form of gambling. Great financiers are often clever gamesters--players for desperate stakes, but infinitely better players than their victims. This world of finance is a great Monte Carlo. It was vain to entertain a prejudice against only one of the players.

It was now necessary for me to hurry back to Boston in order to catch the Parliament, on which I had already engaged passage. But before leaving America, I wanted to see something of Canada, and resolved upon a rapid trip to Montreal, especially as I found that I could return to New York that way almost as quickly as to go across the State. I went on to Niagara, and then sailed for Montreal, and had the novel experience of shooting La Chine Rapids, an Indian piloting the boat. This was a great thing in those days, and I was amazed to see how skilfully the Indian guided the boat in and out among the rocks, never doubtful of his course, never touching the edges of the reefs and boulders, never imperiling human life. I understood that for years these pilots had guided the boats down the rapids without a single accident.

On the boat on which I went down the St. Lawrence I met Captain Stoddard, of the Crescent City Steam Packet, New York and Havana, and Mr. Dinsmore, of the Adams Express Company, with the ladies of their families. We all saw Montreal together, and some members of the party made excursions to places elsewhere. One of these was to the famous Grey Nunnery, the doors of which were closed to the outside world. But these Americans, with true American spirit, expected all doors to open to them, and would not accept the situation.

When they told me of their failure to get into the nunnery, I said I was astonished that the representative of a big steamboat company and of a big express company could not get into any building they wished to enter. "I will show you what I can do," I said. I had already taken thought of the talismanic letter from Daniel Webster, countersigned by the President and Mr. Clay, the three biggest men, in popular estimation, in the United States at that time. As I shall afterward relate, this letter did me a good turn later in Scotland, opening doors to me that were closed to nearly all the world. It was now to serve me well; but this was the first time I had found occasion for its service since leaving Washington.

I went immediately to the nunnery, where I asked to see the Lady Superior. I told her I had visited the Convent of the Sacred Heart at New York and Georgetown, and that I wanted to see how they compared with this most famous convent in Canada. This did not impress her very much, it seemed to me, and I instantly had recourse to my letter. "As you do not know me," I said, "this letter may serve as a sort of introduction." Then I brought out with a flourish my Webster-Taylor-Clay letter. The doors at once flew open before me! After viewing the interior of the nunnery, I told the Lady Superior that I had a party of friends at the hotel who would like very much to see the building, and that if she would permit me, I should like to bring them around in the morning. She consented, and the next day I took the entire party to the nunnery and we were shown through by the Lady Superior.

My time was now running short, and I had to hasten back to New York, if I wanted to catch the Parliament. I went by way of Lake Champlain, Ticonderoga, and Lake George, and again saw something of Saratoga and the Hudson. At Ticonderoga I had the good fortune to meet Bishop Spencer of Jamaica, and his son-in-law Archdeacon Smith, and we traveled together to Saratoga. Here we met Commodore Trescot, of the Bermuda Yacht Club. I invited them all to dine with me at the George Hotel, at Lake Saratoga. I was struck by the bishop's dress, for it was the first time I had seen the black knickerbockers and the three-cornered chapeau. I do not mention the dinner--which was not a great affair--merely for the sake of referring to the knickerbockers or the chapeau, but because the bishop pressed upon me a special invitation to call upon him when I came to London.