IT would be difficult to picture, outside the most lurid Hollywood production, a death so melodramatic as that of General Isaac Stevens, P.A. 1835. Seizing the Stars and Stripes from the fallen color-bearer, and with a ringing cry to his favorite regiment, "Highlanders, my Highlanders, follow your general," he dashed forward against overwhelming numbers of the enemy. At that moment a terrific storm burst over the field of battle. Roars of thunder drowned the rattle of musketry, and a gale of wind drove a deluge of rain against the struggling men. And at that moment General Stevens fell, the standard still grasped in his hand, and the colors mercifully shrouding his shoulders and shattered head. But his charge had saved the day and averted an appalling disaster to the Union arms.

It was the afternoon of September 1, 1862. The Second Battle of Bull Run had drawn to its disheartening close. General Pope, outguessed, outmaneuvered, utterly bewildered by Lee, had frittered away his splendid army and was falling back on Washington. Simultaneously, Jackson and Longstreet were hastening with their victorious regiments down a road that converged with Pope's to cut off his retreat at Fairfax Courthouse. In a compact mass the Confederate host pressed on, ready to throw its whole weight of seventy regiments across Pope's only road to safety. Another half mile and the gray skirmishers would be in sight of the Federal columns fleeing to the shelter of the Capital.

At this most critical moment Stevens arrived on the flank of the Confederate army with a small force of nine regiments. With a flash of insight he realized that only a savage attack would prevent the Federal line of retreat from being broken and the widely extended army from being cut in two. Without a moment's hesitation, for delay measured in minutes meant disaster, Stevens hurled his nine regiments against the enemy. When his troops wavered under the withering fire, when five color-bearers had already fallen, he, himself, against the protests of his men, seized the flag and led the way. By his gallant death he saved his army from a crushing defeat and preserved the Capital of the nation.

It was a dramatic death, almost over-dramatic in its stage setting, and it brought to a close a dramatic life. And in another respect it was characteristic of Stevens's career. With a strangely callous disregard of his services on that day, Stevens's immediate superior, General Reno, ordered that he be buried on the field, a suggestion which the devoted regiment indignantly rejected and bore the body reverently to Washington. Throughout his career Stevens had rendered brilliant services to the nation. Yet never did he receive the public recognition due him, nor does his memory seem to hold the place it deserves in the history of his country. And therein lies the mystery of the man. Blessed both in his personal assets and in his associates he was fitted to leave a great name behind him. He was a man of supreme intellect, of remarkable intuition, and of stupendous energy. There were few of the great national figures of the decade from 1850 to 1860 who did not feel and acknowledge the force of Stevens's personality. Henry W. Halleck, Chief of Staff under Lincoln, was his classmate and intimate friend. Robert E. Lee was his close associate during the Mexican War. George B. McClellan, Commander of the Army of the Potomac, was at one time his subordinate. Jefferson Davis yielded to his wishes in a matter on which the two men were strongly opposed. In actual accomplishment his record was no less impressive. He planned and carried out the second great government exploration of the Northwest, the Lewis and Clark expedition fifty years previous being its only predecessor. He was the first governor of Washington territory, a vast region stretching from the Rockies to the Pacific coast. He dealt either by war or in council with over 30,000 Indians, moved them onto reservations so that 150,000,000 acres were opened for white settlement, and made peace between hereditary Indian enemies whose tribes occupied an area larger than New England and the Middle States. He sat as member of Congress for Washington territory and had been chairman of the National Executive Committee of the National Democratic Party. And yet, when at the outbreak of the Civil War he offered his services to the government, he was coldly received by those who might further his interests, was kept waiting for almost three months, and finally, when most of his past associates were officers of general rank, he was made colonel --- by a final touch of irony of a mutinous regiment.

Why did Isaac Stevens never realize the destiny that apparently should have been his? The answer must be sought in his life. There were great and worthwhile accomplishments there, and there were also, perhaps, defects of character, a tactlessness which made enemies, an inability to cooperate with others, an impatience when his subordinates failed to live up to his impossibly high expectations. His great energy and fearlessness set him apart from other men and aroused a suspicion of his personality even greater than the admiration for his deeds. He was a man toward whom no one could feel impartial, and his enemies, more vociferous than his friends, made themselves heard at Washington.

Isaac Ingalls Stevens was born in North Andover on March 25, 1818, of sound New England stock. John Stevens, who came to America on the ship Confidence in 1638, was among the first settlers of Andover, being fifth on the list of "the names of all the householders in order as they came to town". His descendants were of the type who created the New England tradition, God-fearing, hard working, public-spirited men and women, who farmed their lands about Lake Cochichewick in time of peace and served their country in time of war. Five of them took part in the early Colonial and Indian conflicts, and twelve fought in the Revolution. Isaac was the seventh in direct descent from the first of this hardy line. His father, also named Isaac, crippled by a falling tree, and struggling to wrest a living from a barren farm, was poor. The hardships of his life had made him stern but had not lessened the uprightness of his nature nor diminished his interest in the questions of the day. The use of liquor and tobacco was abhorrent to him, and early in life he became a vehement abolitionist at a time when the support of such doctrines demanded unusual moral courage. His wife, Hannah Cummings, also of North Andover, was of the best type of New England wife and mother, sharing in her husband's labors whenever she could spare a moment from her multitudinous duties in the house and with her children, and even finding time to add a little to the family's scanty income by making clothes for the neighbors.

Isaac Stevens was born in the midst of his parents' struggle with poverty. It is not surprising that his mother found little time to give him proper care, but when his grandmother discovered him, at the age of three years, still in his cradle, she thought neglect had gone a little too far. Taking him home with her, she taught him to walk, and from then on he came under his father's influence. That stern parent began his training by plunging the child, fresh from bed, into a hogshead of cold water every morning.

Before he was five years old little Isaac went to school and at once showed himself something of a youthful prodigy. It proved to be only necessary to tell him where to begin, and he would learn more than the teacher cared to hear. His first teacher exclaimed in astonishment at the infant, "There is no use for me to teach him arithmetic: he is already beyond me in that." At ten Isaac went to Franklin Academy, for which his grandfather had given the land and which one hundred years ago was a famous school in North Andover. It was now that the father's pride in the boy came near to doing him permanent damage. Constantly urging him on to greater effort, he brought the child to a state of mental exhaustion which might have become serious had not Isaac taken the situation into his own hands in a way to be described after. At another time Isaac was helping in the hay field and doing so much that his father was astonished. Instead of restraining him, he urged the lad to still greater exertions with the result that the little fellow was prostrated with a sunstroke, which brought on a raging and almost fatal fever. When he was only twelve Isaac was pitching hay upon a cart, and no doubt stimulated by his father's approval, exerted himself so much that he was badly ruptured and had to be carried to the house.

It is a tribute to little Isaac's sturdy constitution that he survived the rigors of his father's ambition for him. Perhaps the ardent, intense qualities of his nature were brought out by his father's demands that he drive himself unremittingly in both mental and physical pursuits. And perhaps the parent's intensity also fostered in the lad that quality of humorless, self-centered concentration on the object ahead which was in later years to be his great strength as well as his chief handicap.

It is astonishing to see how this child's character had already formed. When his father insisted that he continue his studies in spite of his mental exhaustion, the boy decided to handle the matter in his own way. He obtained work at the Cochichewick Woolen Mills, owned by his Uncle Nathaniel, arranged to board at his grandmother's, and when his plans were complete, gained his father's consent. For a year this child of ten arose long before daylight, walked a mile to the factory, and labored ten or twelve hours a day. It is characteristic of him that he resolved to excel the best weavers who were able to manage two looms apiece. Before he left he was running four looms unassisted.

When Isaac was fifteen, an insignificant small boy "with large head, earnest face, and firm, searching, and fearless dark hazel eyes," he entered Phillips Academy. Insignificant though he might seem, it was not long before he made his ability and personality felt. In a school where the dead languages were almost the only study he made a reputation in mathematics which extended even beyond Andover: and at a time when religious revivals were the order of the day, and Unitarians were regarded as heretics, Isaac strongly opposed the hysterical prayer meetings and declared himself a decided Unitarian. On one occasion a famous mathematician who had just published a new arithmetic came to Andover, and feeling piqued at the ease with which Isaac solved his most difficult problems exclaimed, "Well, sir, I think you could make a key to this book." Isaac took the book and in three days returned with every example worked out. His mind always sought out and mastered the principle underlying a problem, and when once he had reached a solution he could unhesitatingly solve all other problems of the same nature. Young as he was, he applied the same system of going to the root of the matter to the religious frenzy which periodically swept the school a hundred years ago, and he refused to be stampeded into "conversion". One day, by his searching questions and clear reasoning he completely confounded a zealous teacher who had offered to answer any questions his pupils wished to propound on religious subjects. At a revival meeting when his sisters had yielded to the preacher's exhortations and taken their seat upon the "mourner's bench," Isaac marched to the front and made them leave the room with him.

Another characteristic which was to be evident throughout his life was observed at Andover: that was his tireless industry, which made it seem as if he could never find enough work to occupy his time.

He lodged with Nathan W. Hazen, Esq., a respected lawyer of the town, for whom Isaac did the chores in return for board and lodging. The chores consisted, as Mr. Hazen himself declared, of enough work to dismay many a hired man. While maintaining the first rank in scholarship, Isaac took care of a garden half an acre in extent, groomed the horse, milked the cow, fed them both, cut and brought in the wood, and did countless other jobs about the house. Throughout his life Stevens's capacity for mere work seems incomprehensible to the normal human being.

After a year and four months at Andover, Isaac began to consider his next step in education. Mr. Hazen advised him against his first choice, the study of the law, but cooperated with Isaac's uncle, Mr. William Stevens, to secure him an appointment to the United States Military Academy.

Arrival at West Point in June, 1835, might well have awed a raw country boy of Stevens's youth and inexperience, and awed he was, but only by the hallowed, patriotic associations of the spot. One of his first letters shows the youngster's reverent if somewhat inflated mood. "We are as it were in the cradle of liberty, in the stronghold of freedom, and may we be scions worthy of the tears and of the blood of our Revolutionary sires: may I not disgrace my country, my State, and that character of proud distain and patriotic valor which inspired the heroes of Andover on the morn of Bunker's fight."

But the situation before him did not awe him in the least. Among his classmates were men like Halleck and Biddle, college graduates, wealthy and socially prominent, and already accomplished scholars in French and mathematics. Against such comparative men of the world, Stevens, undersized, only seventeen years old, and with no background save hard work on the farm and a year and a quarter at Andover, resolved to match himself to win the leadership of the class. It is not hard to appreciate their derision when hearing of Stevens's resolve to surpass them, nor to understand Biddle's threat to resign if Stevens gained the head of the class over him. But in their contempt for him they had not reckoned with Stevens's amazing capacity for work. In one of his first letters he states that, "surely twelve hours study a day ought to injure no one of a sound constitution." And the regular course of study, so arduous to most, proved so easy that he took extra French lessons and spent "two hours in studying other authors, and in learning to demonstrate eloquently and with perspicuity, to every hour devoted to the text book." Even this program did not exhaust his energies. During his four years he mastered Rollin's Ancient History, the works of Plutarch, Addison, Franklin, and Scott, and in addition discharged the duties of assistant professor of mathematics, took a leading part in the Dialectic, the academy debating society, founded and contributed to the Talisman, a literary magazine, and delivered the valedictory address at graduation. It is incredible that with all these additional interests he handled the work of the classroom so easily that in six months he was competing with three others for the leadership of the class, and that at the end of the first year he was the ranking student in the academy, a position he was never to lose. At his graduation he was one of the highest stand men ever to complete the course. The grasp and thoroughness of his mind, his power of seeking out and mastering first principles, so impressed his professors that forty years later they were able to write in detail about his accomplishments.

Stevens must have been a somewhat irritating little man at this period as well as later, so positive in his views, so supremely confident of his ability, so universally successful. Yet he was neither a book worm nor a prig. He found a good deal of pleasure in breaking the rigid rules of the academy, and his classmates complained that he would learn his lessons in a minute and then come about making a racket and disturbing them in their studies. At graduation he stood only thirtieth on the conduct roll.

It was natural that this brilliant young officer should have been assigned to the work which was engaging the attention of the military authorities at this time the construction of fortifications along the Atlantic coast. In July, 1839, he was ordered to Newport to take part in the building of Fort Adams, then, with the exception of Fortress Monroe, the largest defensive work in the country, and he supervised most of the work upon its redoubt. Even at this early stage in his life the quality which later was to do him incalculable harm began to appear the tendency to arouse friction with his associates. Caused to some extent, no doubt, by his positive self-assurance and unvarying success, always rather irritating qualities to less gifted human beings, this defect did not cause trouble at first. But soon Stevens noticed that Lieutenant James L. Mason, his colleague and best friend, was becoming cold and distant in manner. When Stevens pressed him for an explanation, Mason burst out indignantly, "You are destroying all my influence with the men on the work. When you appear, they hang on every word you utter, and cannot do enough for you, while they scarcely notice me, although I am the senior, and have been longer on the work." Stevens remonstrated that he was not to blame for Mason's lack of success, and with this somewhat tactless explanation Mason was apparently mollified.

Stevens entered eagerly into the life of the old town, and was cordially received by the cultivated and wealthy families which formed the inner social circle. It was among them that he met Miss Margaret Hazard, one of the acknowledged belles of Newport and daughter of Benjamin Hazard, a distinguished lawyer who had represented his town in the state legislature for thirty-one years without a break. After an engagement of little more than a year they were married on September 8, 1841.

As usual it was difficult for Stevens to find enough to occupy his energies. In addition to his military duties and his courtship, while at Newport he took up the study of German, laid out a course of reading in political history, made plans for the additional fortification of the harbor which he communicated to Washington, planned a course of reading in law, "three years' rigorous, systematic devotion of my leisure moments to these pursuits (i.e. study of ethics, classics, and history) would more than place me on a level with the graduates of our colleges," and furthermore organized a course of lectures in which he delivered an address on Cromwell which clearly and forcibly presented that great Puritan in a favorable light, then a new idea. When Carlyle's estimate of Cromwell appeared, the similarity between the two conceptions was noted; Stevens, however, had delivered his lecture several years before Carlyle's work was published.

It is clear that Stevens's brilliant mind was searching for some profession that would make greater demands upon his ability than did the duties of a peace time soldier. His military responsibilities were, nevertheless, increasing. In 1841 he was placed in charge of constructing the Fairhaven Battery at New Bedford. In 1843 he was put in charge of the fortifications at Portsmouth and Portland; and in July of the same year, though he was only twenty-five years old, he was placed in sole authority over the building of Fort Knox to defend the narrows of the Penobscot River. He was engaged in this latter work, having moved his family to Bucksport, when on December 25, 1846, he received orders to proceed to Vera Cruz to take part in the siege.

In every operation of the Mexican War, from the siege of Vera Cruz to the taking of Mexico City, where he was wounded in the foot, Stevens played a brilliant part. Two men, Lee and McClellan, who were to have much influence on his later life, were among his closest associates from the beginning. With them he prepared the battery emplacements for the siege. Later, when the American column was opposed on its march to Mexico City by Santa Anna's army at Cerro Gordo, Lee and Stevens made valuable reconnaissances of the enemy's position. At this time Stevens learned from a wagon-master that a ford possibly existed behind the Mexican lines at which their expected retreat might be intercepted. While making an extended investigation in this direction, and just before discovering the ford by which Santa Anna actually made his escape, Stevens's old rupture broke out afresh, and the excrutiating pain forced him to give up his efforts. General Scott, himself, expressed grief at his young officer's misfortune in a way that won Stevens's heart. "You engineers are too daring. You require to be held back. My young friend. I almost cried when I heard of your mishap." For a while Stevens was incapacitated, and was given charge of the engineers' train so that he might ride in a wagon. But his energy, thwarted in one direction found an outlet in another, and he occupied himself by preparing a narrative of the battle of Cerro Gordo with a sketch map and in composing a memoir on the best mode of combatting guerrilla warfare.

As the army approached Mexico City, it became necessary to determine whether it should advance directly over the national highway or skirt Lakes Chalco and Xochimilco which lay before the city. Lee and Stevens reconnoitred El Peñon, the fort covering the first route, Stevens working for seven hours in mud and water within almost point blank range of the enemy's guns. This exploit, in the words of General William H. French, "brought Lieutenant Stevens conspicuously before the army." His report "was so full and clear, it in a great measure decided General Scott to take the route around Lake Chalco, and attack the City of Mexico in reverse. From this time the general-in-chief recognized his ability and talents."

As the army proceeded around the southern shores of the lakes, it came upon the entrenched camp at Contreras. Advancing with the skirmishers to reconnoitre the position, Stevens saw at once that the attack should be pushed against the enemy's left, vehemently urged General Twiggs to adopt this course, and the brilliant action of Contreras was the result. On the next day Stevens discovered the enemy in full retreat towards Mexico City, pushed forward as senior engineer officer to General Twiggs, and when contact with the enemy was made, besought General Twiggs "to make a bold and quick matter of it." What followed was the bloody victory of Churubusco. After the action Stevens was somewhat blamed, though he was his own severest critic, for placing Taylor's battery where it was badly cut up by the enemy's fire. Stevens's reconnaissance and his activity in pushing forward the columns of attack brought on the battle, and he felt that his precipitation had been in a measure responsible for the great loss of life. Churubusco was followed by an armistice, but on the resumption of hostilities Stevens played an active part in the battle of Molino del Rey, and five days later, on September 13, at San Cosine was severely wounded in the foot, thus bringing to an end his participation in the war.

Back in Bucksport, now a brevet-major, and once more at work upon Fort Knox, Stevens occupied his leisure in advocating and obtaining pay for engineer officers according to their brevet rank, a privilege they were the only arm of the service to be denied; in urgently advocating a complete reorganization of the army, raising the standard of the rank and file and increasing their opportunities for instruction and promotion; and in aiding his brother officers (McClellan was among the many who appealed to him) in their personal problems and difficulties, a task which was to become a great burden to him but which he seemed to take pleasure in discharging.

It was while Stevens was thus occupied that Professor Bache, Chief of the United States Coast Survey, offered him the position of assistant in charge of the Coast Survey Office in Washington, an arduous duty, but one which, in Professor Bache's words, was calculated "to build up a name for executive ability" and "to reflect credit upon the corps." At first Stevens was loath to accept, but finally agreed on the unique but characteristic condition that he be allowed to retain his responsibilities at Fort Knox and at the end of a year decide which duty he would relinquish. It was common report at the time that the Coast Survey was the worst conducted office in Washington, and Stevens set himself to remedy this condition with a vigor and military severity that called forth astonished protests from the old officers and employes. Even Professor Bache somewhat bitterly complained, "Since Major Stevens took hold, there has been a continual jingling of bells all over the building, but I suppose it won't do to interfere with these army officers."

Gradually this resentment passed away as his subordinates saw that while Stevens made great demands upon them, he was generous with praise and promotion, and that he rapidly made himself master of even the most technical details of their work. Moreover, they saw that he took a personal interest in their welfare. With the true Stevens touch of accomplishing the incredible, he caused one of the messengers who had lost both arms in an explosion to learn to write with his foot, and gave him copying to do to eke out his pay. While thus engaged in raising the Coast Survey to a state of efficiency it had never reached before, lobbying its appropriations through Congress, widening his acquaintance with the men in public life, and at the same time keeping general supervision over the work on Fort Knox at far away Bucksport, he yet found time to write his Campaigns of the Rio Grande and of Mexico.

Major R. S. Ripley had in 1849 published a History of the Mexican War, which Stevens felt was unfair to General Scott. Even in the midst of his absorbing labors his sense of fair play caused him to make this effort "to testify to the services of those heroic officers and soldiers who were in his judgment depreciated in the work of Major Ripley." The outcome was one of those peculiar episodes in Stevens's life which seem to show that in spite of his ability and personality he had a peculiar knack of arousing the antagonism of his associates. This defect has already been shown once in connection with Lieutenant Mason at Newport and will become much more evident later. Stevens's book was published in 1851, and after receiving the high commendation of Robert E. Lee and other officers, a copy was sent to General Scott with the author's compliments. But instead of sending his appreciative thanks that old warrior returned the book to the writer, whom he once presented to an audience in Washington as "My young friend, Major Stevens, to whose courage and ability I owe much of my success in Mexico," with the curt message to please observe that the leaves were still uncut. Although Stevens, thereafter, made every effort to show respect and friendship to his old commander, their cordial relations were never resumed.

After this episode Stevens again plunged into work additional to his regular duties, with a vigor that had something more than human in it. He pushed through a bill to ensure the promotion of officers, corresponded with the most able soldiers in every branch of the service on the subject of the reorganization of the army, wrote a number of articles advocating a proper system of coast defense, served as a member of the Lighthouse Board, was member of a commission to improve the James, Appomattox, and Cape Fear Rivers, and even took the stump on behalf of Franklin Pierce's candidacy for president. This last activity nearly brought him into serious trouble with the Whig administration. The Secretary of War wrote him a severe letter demanding an explanation of his conduct, and it was generally felt that it would be impossible for him to extricate himself with credit. Stevens, however, cleverly and successfully defended himself by pointing out to Secretary Conrad that General Scott was a candidate for the presidency and was himself setting an example of participation in politics; that the War Department reproofs would have greater weight and dignity if launched against the senior major-general of the army instead of against a simple lieutenant and brevet-major; and that such charges against a junior officer might well be deemed an attempt to reprimand, through him, General Scott, himself.

The time was now at hand when Stevens was to find occupation enough even for his abundant energies. With the election of Pierce in 1853, the Democratic Party determined on a more vigorous policy of exploration and settlement of the vast regions stretching from the Mississippi to the Pacific. This was a field of endeavor that appealed strongly to Stevens, especially as he believed that the Compromise of 1850 had made war a remote contingency and that the chances for promotion in a peace time army were negligible. When in March Congress formed the new territory of Washington, and also appropriated $150,000 for the exploration and survey of northern railway routes from the Mississippi to the Pacific, Stevens saw his chance. At once he asked the President to appoint him governor of the new territory, basing his request on an argument which would seem highly conceited did it not appear that Stevens made a fair estimate of his abilities ---the argument that he was the fittest man for the place, the one who could best serve the public interests. Apparently Pierce felt the same way, and on March 17 Stevens's appointment was confirmed by the Senate. Immediately Stevens set about procuring, in addition, the leadership of the Northern Pacific exploration. In four days he had so bombarded the Secretaries of War, of State, and of the Interior, and had so clearly and forcibly presented his views as to the needs of the western country and as to the problems of Indian control and white settlement, that he received the appointment. The most notable period of Stevens's career was dawning, and not the least notable feature of it was that he, a mere junior army officer, only thirty-four years old, approached the President and three leading members of the Cabinet at a time when they were overwhelmed with the pressing problems confronting an incoming administration, and in eight days obtained from them the Governorship of the territory, the Superintendency of Indian Affairs, which went with it, and the command of the first official northern exploration since the Lewis and Clark expedition. Stevens not only told the government whom to appoint; he told them what he was to do, because his official instructions embodied his own suggestions as presented to the Secretary of War; and he practically told them what to spend, because he later deliberately exceeded his appropriation and then had Congress make up the difference.

The magnitude of the first of Stevens's tasks, the exploration, was stunning. In briefest summary it was to traverse and explore a domain two thousand miles in length by two hundred and fifty in breadth, a region almost unexplored and infested with powerful bands of predatory and warlike savages. He was to determine the navigability of the Missouri and Columbia Rivers, to locate a practicable railroad route, to examine the mountain passes and determine the depth of winter snows in them, to collect all possible information on the geology, climate, flora, fauna, and topography of the region traversed. And finally he was to treat with the Indians on the route, cultivate their friendship, and collect information as to their language, customs, numbers, traditions, and history. Moreover, all this, including the work of preparation and organization, was to be accomplished in a single season.

In just four weeks from the time of his appointment, Stevens had completed the assembling and organizing of his expedition of 240 men, had outfitted it for the hardships ahead, and had prepared detailed instructions which filled two hundred pages. It is no wonder that his friends were astonished at his capacity for work, and one of them exclaimed, "The major is crazy, actually crazy, or he never could work as he does." It is an interesting fact that Stevens, though now a civilian, secured the voluntary services of twelve army officers, among them George B. McClellan. It is believed that there is no other instance in our history of twelve army officers serving under the command of a civilian, and the fact seems to indicate the esteem in which Stevens was held by his former colleagues.

Space does not permit a detailed account of Stevens's journey of four and a half months from St. Louis to the summit of the Rockies, the eastern boundary of his territory. It is enough to say that in the opinion of competent judges his exploration was more thoroughly and carefully made and more fully reported than any of those which had preceded it in any section of the west. Clinton A. Snowden believes that not even Frémont's much more famous expeditions were conducted with anything approaching the skill, energy, and thoroughness that characterized Stevens's work, and even his enemies pay ungrudging tribute to his ability and success in his work of exploration.

Arriving at the summit of Cadotte's Pass over the Rockies on the afternoon of September 23, 1853, Stevens held a simple ceremony, declaring the territorial government inaugurated in the new Territory of Washington, and then heartily welcomed his comrades to his new home. While the little band of explorers toiled up the long slope, and, finally reaching the summit, listened to their leader's words of welcome, pelting hail and rain accompanied by high winds, thunder, and lightning descended upon them, and a mist obscured their view of the savage and desolate country where they had come to dwell. It was perhaps symbolic of the trouble, enmity, and doubt that was to pervade the four years of Stevens's administration.

These four years were to be the most brilliant and successful and yet the most disastrous of Stevens's life. They were to be accompanied by continual strife and hostility, and in spite of his immense services to the country, so little was the Governor's work appreciated and so bitter the opposition that he aroused, that after disbursing with scrupulous honesty three quarters of a million dollars of government money, out of which he received no compensation for conducting the exploration nor for preparing his final report, his reward was to be accounted after his gallant death a debtor to the nation for $8856.14.

The explanation of this curious instance of public ingratitude lies partly in defects of Stevens's personality which have already been mentioned. His inhuman energy and fearlessness coupled with a certain harshness at the failure of others to measure up to his high expectations placed him apart from other men and aroused their suspicions. This obstacle might have been overcome had Stevens possessed tact and a ready sense of humor, but in these invaluable qualities he was notably lacking. But an even more important cause of his difficulties was the fact that he was placed in a position that was both beyond his control and impossibly difficult. In the first place, the Donation Act, or Oregon Land Law, had been passed on September 27, 1850. This act graciously bestowed on any citizen who might settle upon the western lands 320 acres, or if he were married 640 acres. A dilemma arose from the fact that this land was in the possession of the Indians and had, moreover, been guaranteed to them; in fact, they were, by 1853, as Stevens found, already becoming restive and hostile at the influx of white men. The Indian title to the land must be extinguished, and Stevens's first task was to meet with 30,000 suspicious and resentful savages, induce them to live at peace with each other, and then persuade them to withdraw from the land which had been theirs from time immemorial and for which, as the burial place of their fathers, they had a religious veneration. This was to be accomplished by means of treaties between, on one side, an invisible and unknown Great White Father, and, on the other side, scores of loosely knit tribes, to whom the idea of settled ownership of land was strange, and to whom written documents were unfamiliar. And, moreover, this had to be done at once before the growing tide of settlers and the rising resentment of the red man brought on a bloody encounter.

Stevens was in no way to blame for this situation, nor was he to blame for the fact that the increasing tension between the North and the South was spreading its influence even to the Rocky Mountains.

Jefferson Davis was Secretary of War, and in his high position was doing all within his power to strengthen the influence of the slave states. He rightly saw that a transcontinental railroad which followed a southern route would be of incalculable benefit to the prestige of the South. Hence, when Stevens presented his report showing that the northern route for a railroad was not only practicable but desirable, Davis did what he could to discredit it, stopped further exploration, spoke coldly of Stevens's efficiency, and stated, although Stevens had reported the exact contrary, that the Northwestern country was one of impossible coldness and sterility. His cordiality towards Stevens was not increased by the latter's cavalier method of dealing with him. On one occasion, when Stevens was pressing the advisability of the northern route, Davis interrupted impatiently and stated that he had no time to talk. "I do not come here to talk with Jefferson Davis," retorted Stevens, ruffling up like a little turkey cock, "but with the Secretary of War upon the public business intrusted to my charge, and I demand his attention."

Stevens's lack of finesse in dealing with men was a constant difficulty confronting him, and one which was as real as his more external problems. It appears again in his relations with the settlers in Washington and with the members of his own expedition. Human nature is incalculable, and Stevens was sadly mistaken when he stated confidently about his work at the Coast Survey, "You know I rarely ever fail when brought into direct personal contact with men." He was to find that some men, unless delicately handled, would fail to share his own confidence in his integrity and would fail to admire his firmness. The old settlers in Washington no doubt resented the placing of this young man over them, a man whom one of them described as autocratic, self-seeking, impatient, and militaristic, believed that they knew better than he the character of the Indians with whom they had lived, and were convinced that they were better able to judge how the natives should be treated.

Again, with the men of his own expedition Stevens had trouble. Captain George B. McClellan, among several others, proved a disappointment to him. McClellan had been especially chosen to lead an expedition, which, starting from the Pacific coast, was to meet the main party, but McClellan had already begun to show that slowness of preparation and that timidity in action which later ruined his career as an army commander. When the two parties met, it appeared that McClellan had advanced some 200 miles by an easily travelled route, while Stevens in the same time had progressed sixteen or seventeen hundred miles over mountainous and difficult country. Moreover, McClellan had made a very inadequate examination of his territory, but, nevertheless, reported unfavorably on it. Two railroads now cross the mountains by passes where he declared no pass could possibly exist. Later Stevens assigned him, at his own suggestion, to explore the Snoqualmie Pass, and McClellan returned to report on a basis of Indian information that an attempt to reach the pass was inexpedient, and added, strangely enough, that the snow was so deep it was "impracticable to use snowshoes." Ten days later another member of the party, A. W. Tinkham, crossed the same pass on snowshoes and reached Seattle seven days after leaving the eastern base of the divide. On yet another occasion McClellan was instructed to examine the harbors on the eastern shore of Puget Sound. He proceeded a single day's trip of about twenty miles by canoe, camped for two nights and a day, and then turned back because "six inches of snow fell and a violent gale arose." At this very time Governor Stevens was making a complete tour of the Sound in a small open sailboat, regardless of wind and weather. The well deserved reproof which Stevens administered might have been so tactfully phrased that McClellan would appreciate his own failure, but instead it made him feel that he had been maligned, and a marked coldness sprang up between the two. Though there was a reconciliation some years later, still, when McClellan became Commander of the Army of the Potomac, he showed by direct slights and even by harmful opposition that he continued to feel that he had been badly treated by Governor Stevens.

After a four months' survey of his territory, which vast as it was, proved to have less than four thousand white inhabitants and to be completely without roads so that communication was almost wholly by Indian-manned canoes, Stevens returned to Washington to report on his exploration, and to push through his views in regard to the treaties with the Indians and other matters of benefit to Washington Territory. In spite of Jefferson Davis's hostility, Stevens seemed to exert all his old influence with the administration, and President Pierce invited him to write personally and frequently.

In September, 1854, Stevens, accompanied by his family, returned to the West Coast by way of the Isthmus of Panama, the hardships of the trip nearly resulting in the death of his four year old daughter, Maude. While he was delaying at San Francisco for her to recover, an episode took place which illustrated Stevens's tactlessness and which was to cause the Governor endless trouble and misfortune. General John E. Wool, then commanding the United States military forces on the Pacific Coast, at dinner one evening, loudly claimed for himself all the credit for the American victory at Buena Vista, and disparaged the part General Taylor had taken in it. At length Stevens, whose sense of justice was outraged by these boastful remarks, said: "General Wool, we all know the brilliant part you played in the battle, but we all know that history will record that General Taylor fought and won the battle of Buena Vista." Whatever the facts of the case, it was unfortunate for Stevens that at the very start of his administration he should have antagonized the man who commanded the United States troops on the coast, who not being a West Pointer, himself, felt a certain jealousy towards the graduates of the Academy, and who was convinced that any conflict between the settlers and Indians must be wholly the fault of the white men. The ensuing quarrel between the two men would have been ludicrous had it not been carried into their official relations and brought countless woes upon Washington and Oregon.

Back in his capital, Olympia, Stevens saw that the most pressing problem was the settlement of the Indian question. As has already been mentioned the tribes were becoming alarmed at the way the white men were pouring into their country and seizing the choicest lands. There was need for haste before alarm changed to active hostility. And yet, it was on the basis of his dealings with the Indians that some of the most bitter criticisms of Stevens were founded, and which, though they were apparently based on the animosity of his enemies, he found most difficult to live down. He was accused of undue haste, although speed was essential, and for a year and a half he had been investigating the problem and laying the groundwork, both personally and through his agents. He was accused of imposing unfair terms, although the conditions of the treaties were suggested in his instructions from the government and were similar to those of previous treaties with four other tribes farther east. He was accused of interpreting the treaties in a language, the Chinook jargon, which was inadequate to express the meanings required; yet this jargon was a trade language, the only one understood by all the tribes, and the interpreters were agreed upon by both parties. He was accused of forging the name of at least one Indian chief to a treaty; yet the preponderance of evidence seems to show that this chief, Leschi, actually affixed his own signature. And finally he was accused of bringing on the subsequent Indian wars because of dissatisfaction felt over the treaties; though the conflict was the natural result of the unrest and fear that had been ready to burst forth ever since the effects of the Donation Act were realized. The truth seems to be that the whole conception of disposing of Indian lands by treaty, though it had been practiced since Colonial times, was a faulty one, and Stevens, who concluded more treaties than any other man, had to bear the blame for the injustices which inevitably followed such arrangements. His difficulties were increased by the dilatory methods of Congress, for the treaties were not ratified for four years, or until March 8, 1859.

The next six months, from May to November, 1855, were to be the most colorful in Stevens's colorful life. In that time he was to travel back across the Rockies, to meet all the northern Indians from the coast to the headwaters of the Missouri, and though they were disaffected and suspicious, he was to argue, conciliate, and explain until they agreed to make peace with their hereditary enemies, to give up their ancient hunting grounds, and to abandon their lands to the white man. It has been justly said that Stevens had undertaken the work of three men, for he was still governor of Washington Territory, and as his little party pushed across the limitless plains, he found methods to complete his survey of the northern railroad route, even though Jefferson Davis had ordered the work to be stopped. From the white man's point of view it would be hard to overestimate the value of Stevens's accomplishment in extinguishing the Indian title and in opening vast tracts of the interior for settlement. Difficulties and partial failures of course there were, but the magnitude of the task and the celerity of its execution make Stevens's large measure of success without parallel in the history of the country.

Starting with the Sound Indians he travelled in six weeks 800 miles by water in the most inclement season of the year and completed four treaties which placed 5,000 Indians on reservations where they were to live under the protection and with the assistance of the government.

At once Stevens proceeded to his next council ground, Walla Walla, on the upper Columbia River. Here he was to treat with the powerful tribes of the interior, the Nez Perces, the Yakimas, the Cuyuses, and others. Since Stevens had been warned by various authorities that the council was premature and ill-advised, and that the Indians were planning to cut off and destroy the commissioners, it must have been with apprehension that the little party of one hundred whites gathered on a knoll, two hundred miles from the nearest white settlement, to receive the first arrivals, the Nez Perces. It was a picturesque if terrifying moment.

"Soon their cavalcade came in sight, a thousand warriors mounted on fine horses and riding at full gallop, two abreast, naked to the breech clout, their faces smeared with white, red, and yellow paint in fanciful designs, and decked with plumes and feathers and trinkets fluttering in the sunshine . . . . firing their guns, brandishing their shields, beating their drums, and yelling their war whoops, they dashed in a wide circle around the little party on the knoll, now charging up as though to overwhelm it, now wheeling back, redoubling their wild action and fierce yells in frenzied excitement."

But fortunately this demonstration proved to be a display of friendship. When the Cuyuses, Umatillas, and Walla Wallas arrived, they went into camp without any parade or salutations, and, a most unfriendly sign, refused the food and tobacco Stevens had provided for them. Soon the white men were surrounded by five or six thousand Indians, and an undercurrent of marked hostility made itself felt. As the council progressed, Lawyer, chief of the Nez Perces, informed Stevens that the Cuyuses, Walla Wallas, and Yakimas had perfected a conspiracy suddenly to massacre all the whites on the council ground, and that this blow was to be the signal for a war of extermination against all the settlements in the country. To avert this disaster the friendly Lawyer offered to pitch his own lodge in the midst of Stevens's camp and thus show the hostiles that the Governor was under the protection of the Nez Perces. Quietly instructing his men to have their arms in readiness, Stevens resolved, in spite of his dangerous situation, to continue the council. Seeing that their plot had been foiled for the moment by the Nez Perces, the recalcitrant savages signed the treaty with the full intention of breaking it when Stevens was far to the east at the Blackfoot council. This they did, as will be seen, but after their defeat by Stevens they were forced to live under the terms to which they had agreed, and by which 60,000 square miles were ceded to the whites.

On June 16, 1855, the Governor's party left the deserted council ground and again set their faces towards the east. In the Bitterroot Valley another conference was held, which, after numerous difficulties were overcome, since the Indians were unwilling to leave their lands, and the missionaries and employes of the Hudson Bay Company incited them against Stevens's efforts, finally resulted in a treaty by which the Pend Oreilles, Flatheads, and Koo-te-nays ceded 25,000 square miles to the government.

Again the commissioners moved eastward, and on July 26 arrived at Fort Benton, 700 miles from their starting point. Here perhaps the most difficult task of all awaited Stevens, for he had been authorized at his own request to proceed far beyond his territory, to meet the formidable and warlike Blackfeet in council, and to make a treaty guaranteeing permanent peace between them and all neighboring tribes and with the United States. Stevens's associate was to be Alfred Cummins, Superintendent for the Indians of Nebraska. When Stevens arrived on the council ground, there were 12,000 Indians waiting in the neighborhood, ready and willing for the council, and in a most friendly mood. But a serious situation also arose, one which bid fair to destroy all prospects of a successful meeting, and again it developed into a serious quarrel between Stevens and his associate.

In Washington the previous summer Stevens had taken every step to insure that ample supplies should reach Fort Benton in time and had even written personally to the President about it. The task of getting the supply boats up the river had been entrusted to Cummins, a portly, pompous man, but when the council was ready to begin, the supplies of presents and food were still many days' journey away. The position of the commissioners was most disturbing. Such numbers of Indians could not long remain in one place without food, nor was there any assurance that some trifling accident might not turn their present amicable relations into bloody warfare. It was inevitable that if nothing worse happened the tribes would gradually drift away in search of food and grass and be lost on the boundless plains. Moreover, Cummins was such an obstacle to Stevens's plans that in his report to Washington accompanying the treaty the latter wrote, "So utterly at variance have been their (the commissioners') views that it has only been with great difficulty that a concert of action has been effected at all." But in face of these almost insuperable obstacles the incredible Stevens touch once more appeared. He permitted the tribes to leave in search of game and fodder, and yet by means of express riders kept constantly in touch with them for the two months of waiting that ensued. "It was as though, " says his son, "one in New York, without telegraphs, railroads, or mails, had to regulate by pony express the movements of bands of Indians at Boston, Portland, Montreal, Buffalo, and Washington." At last, as there was no prospect of the boats arriving on time, Stevens determined to move the conference to the boats a hundred miles farther east, and on October 16 was able to gather 3,500 of the Indians originally present and come to an agreement with them. Few treaties with Indians have been so well observed by them as this, and as a result of it the Blackfeet, whom Cummins described as "utter savages, bloodthirsty and depraved," took no part in the great Sioux wars nor in the outbreak of Joseph.

As Stevens started on his long journey back to the Pacific Coast, he no doubt felt a justifiable satisfaction with what he had accomplished in his successful dealings with over 30,000 Indians, and in opening 150,000,000 acres for white settlement. But at the very height of his triumph and at the beginning of his homeward journey, a lone horseman staggered into his camp at twilight bearing crushing news. All the great tribes of the upper Columbia, with one exception the very ones who had signed the Walla Walla treaty, had broken out in open war and swept the upper country clean of whites; moreover, a thousand well armed braves were lying in wait with the expressed determination of wiping out Stevens's party, their chief, Pu-pu-mox-mox, having boasted that he would have Stevens's scalp. The rider also brought letters from Acting-Governor Mason and from various military men stating that return overland was impossible, and that Stevens must descend the Mississippi and come back by way of the Isthmus.

Such advice seemed logical enough. Stevens was hundreds of miles from his base, separated from it by a wilderness which was hard enough to cross under the best conditions, and which was now filled with avowedly hostile savages. But such an escape from danger was not in accord with the directness of Stevens's nature. Under these alarming conditions he resolved not to go around but to go straight through and to trust to the boldness and speed of his movements to bring him to safety. Pushing directly ahead, but keeping his route a secret, Stevens's party twice appeared suddenly in the midst of Indian camps, with rifles unlimbered, and demanded peremptorily, "Is it peace or war?" Wisely under the circumstances the surprised Indians asked for peace. Continuing on Stevens obtained an escort of one hundred friendly Nez Perces warriors, and on December 20 reached the Walla Walla Valley in triumph, his fifty sturdy, travel stained whites marching ahead, while behind rode the hundred proud and flaunting braves, curveting their horses and uttering their war whoops.

For three years Stevens had been surmounting incredibly difficult obstacles with unvarying success, but the real period of strife and tribulation still lay ahead of him. From these troubles, too, he was to emerge successfully but with a stain on his reputation, unfair though it seems, which he was scarcely able to live down.

The conflict of the next four years was three-fold in nature, involving Stevens's quarrel with General Wool, his prosecution of the Indian war, and his struggle with the white settlers over his declaration of martial law. Most of his difficulties, however, originated in the hostility of General Wool, and sprang from Stevens's unfortunate remark as to that warrior's share in the battle of Buena Vista. The quarrel was aggravated by the fact that Wool, who was seventy-five years old, held with the tenacity of his years to the belief that the Indians were guiltless, and that the conflict with them was stirred up by the whites for their own advantage, while Stevens, on the other hand, as chief executive of the territory and direct representative of the government rightly bent every effort to suppress those who had taken up arms against that government. The absurd lengths to which the quarrel went reflects on the good sense of the authorities at Washington who left such bitter enemies in the two most important offices in the territory. For instance, Wool had deliberately disbanded two companies of Washington volunteers raised for the express purpose of going to Stevens's aid when he was forcing his way through the hostile Indian country. He habitually ignored all Stevens's advice about the conduct of the war, visited Vancouver and issued orders to the troops without informing the Governor of his presence, and did all in his power to paralyze the volunteer companies Stevens had raised. Finally he went to the length of making a quasi-peace by surrendering to the Indian demands that the treaties be abrogated and that whites be kept out of their country, and he actually sought, incredible though it may seem, to lighten, as he said, "the protective labors of the army" by abandoning those of his own race whom it was his duty to protect.

As we may imagine, Stevens did not accept Wool's conduct without active resentment. A continual stream of letters flowed from his pen, both to Washington reporting Wool's opposition to him and to the general, some of these letters being three or four thousand words in length. It early reached a point where neither of the irate gentlemen felt it necessary to disguise his opinion of the other. In one letter Stevens says, "I have a right to hold you to a full knowledge of our condition here. If you say you were misinformed, then you are not fit for your position, and should give place to a better man. If you were informed, then your measures as a military man manifest an incapacity beyond example." Difficult as Wool must have been to handle, Stevens's dealings with him were indicative of that lack of finesse in solving the human equation which was the great defect in his character, and which more than anything else prevented the recognition which his great services deserved.

While his controversy with the commanding general was going on, Stevens was conducting the war against the Indians, throughout the early months of 1856, according to his own ideas. Though the entire number of men fit to bear arms barely equalled the number of volunteers called for; though they were almost destitute of arms, ammunition, supplies, money, or credit; though they were denied protection by the regular troops; and though the whole region was covered with the primeval forest and a dense and tangled undergrowth, so thick and matted that the most energetic woodsman could only travel five or six miles through it in a day; yet the settlers under Stevens's leadership pushed on their operations amid the constant downpours and the swollen streams of the rainy season with such energy and success that in four months the hostiles were either forced to surrender or put to flight. There is no doubt that Stevens's forceful prosecution of the war saved the settlements of the territory from extinction, and the progress of the Northwest from being set back for years.

The third tribulation for Governor Stevens in his far from peaceful administration arose directly from the Indian war, and this difficulty, bringing him into direct conflict with the pro-Indian party among the whites and with the United States Courts, left a mark upon his reputation more indelible than any other. During the war Stevens's operations had been much hampered by a group of twelve ex-employes of the Hudson Bay Company, who were living in safety with their Indian wives in the back country where every American settler who had not fled had been massacred. It was believed, and evidence seemed to show, that they were not only sympathizers with but active allies of the hostiles. As a measure of safety to themselves, for the volunteers were highly incensed against them, and for the sake of his military plans, Stevens ordered them to leave the Indian country. Seizing the opportunity, a clique of Stevens's enemies determined to embarrass the Governor by persuading these men that it was their right to return to their homes in spite of his orders. When five of them did so, Stevens at once arrested them, and this opened the way for the conspirators' second move, that of suing out a writ of habeas corpus. The Governor, of course, was keenly alive to the responsibilities of his position as commander-in-chief in a desperate war, in which he must not only secure victory but obtain it at the least cost in lives and materiel. Surrender in this case would force him to abandon his policy of impressing men and supplies, and would seriously impair discipline among the volunteers. In the heat of the moment he followed a course which other strong men might have followed in like circumstances, but which caused a storm of disapproval to burst over him, and even drew a public reprimand from the President. On April 23, 1856, he proclaimed martial law over Pierce County, suspended the functions of all civil officers therein, and when on May 7 Judge Lander, although serving at the time with the military forces, attempted to hold a court in defiance of this order, the Governor marched a detachment of volunteers to the court room and arrested the chief justice on the bench and the clerk at his table.

Stevens argued in his own defense thus: "I took the responsibility as an incident of the war, and as necessary for its successful prosecution and termination. The whole territory was in a state of siege. It was no time for half measures, or for running the risk of the slaughtering of our families and the destruction of our property." Though his defense seems sound under the circumstances, the repercussions of Stevens's act were immediate and severe. The legislature passed resolutions condemning him, he was arrested for contempt of court, and although, with a certain insolence, he, as governor, issued a respite to himself as prisoner before the bar, he was fined. Moreover, the United States Senate removed him from the position of Superintendent of Indian Affairs. Caleb Cushing, Attorney General of the United States, reviewed the case, and although he referred to "the extreme indeterminateness and vagueness of existing conception on this particular subject," concluded that "Under the Constitution of the United States, the power to suspend the writ of habeas corpus belongs exclusively to Congress." And finally President Pierce conveyed to him a rebuke ending in the words, "Your conduct, in that respect, does not therefore meet with the favorable regard of the President." Stevens's enemies seized the opportunity to pour upon the President, the committees of Congress, and the Eastern press floods of abuse which accused the Governor of almost every crime including tyranny and usurpation, persecution of the Indians, embezzlement of public funds, forgery, and even drunkenness on public occasions.

With any other man, overwhelmed by such storms of defamation, the exulting cry of his enemies, "Governor Stevens is a dead lion at last," would have been justified. But Stevens, completely unperturbed, resigned the Governorship, secured the Democratic nomination for Congress, and after campaigning over 1460 miles in five weeks by steamer, by canoe, and on horseback, was elected by a vote of two to one over his opponent. He took his seat December 7, 1857.

In spite of the charges against him, and Wool's continued hostility, Stevens seemed to regain his influence with the highest officers of the government with a bound. In two weeks he had satisfied Indian Commissioner Mix, Secretary Thompson, and President Buchanan that his Indian treaties ought to be confirmed and secured their urgent recommendation to the Senate to that effect. Stevens's power over those in authority was almost uncanny. It will be remembered that Jefferson Davis while Secretary of War was antagonistic to Stevens's favorable report on the northern railroad route and had ordered the explorations discontinued. When Stevens completed his final report at this time, and the volumes proved to be badly bound, it was from Jefferson Davis, now a senator, and the chief opponent of his findings, that Stevens secured an order for the printing of additional copies.

After his reelection to Congress for a second term, Stevens continued his work in behalf of the territory which had so vilified him. But the great problem of slavery was looming ever more darkly upon the horizon, and the Democratic Party was beginning to divide on the question of whether to uphold Steven Douglas's doctrine of "Squatter Sovereignty," or whether to allow slavery in the territories as long as they remained such and to let each territory decide the problem for itself after being admitted to the Union as a state. It was to the latter, or Southern group, that Stevens adhered, and when the party split at the convention in April, 1860, he was made Chairman of the National Executive Committee of the new National Democratic Party. For four months he worked at establishing a nation-wide organization and at perfecting all the myriad details essential for carrying on a presidential campaign. At one time he wrote in a single night the party address to the country --- an address covering a whole page of a large metropolitan newspaper.

With the election of Lincoln, however, the war became inevitable, and on May 22, 1861, Stevens offered his services to the nation. It would seem as though the ability and experience of one who was a graduate of West Point, a distinguished veteran of the Mexican War, a successful Indian fighter, and a superlatively able and energetic administrator should have been utilized at once. But at this crisis all Stevens's past life --- his life-long adherence to the Democratic Party, his connection with the National Democratic movement, the slanders spread about him from Washington, and his quarrels with his associates, seemed to rise up to thwart him. When his intimate friend, Halleck, was major-general of regulars, his timid subordinate, McClellan, Commander of the Army of the Potomac, his old friend, Lee, General-in-Chief of the Southern armies, and even his enemy, Wool, Commander of the Department of Virginia, Stevens was coldly received on every side. He even offered his services to General McDowell in any capacity for the movement that culminated in Bull Run, but his offer was declined. At last, after three months of disappointment and mortification, he was appointed Colonel of the 79th Highlanders, New York Volunteers. Such an appointment was almost an insult in itself, and Stevens exclaimed in his bitterness and depression, "I will show these men in Washington that I am worthy of something better than a regiment, or I will lay my bones on the battlefield."

The 79th had been badly cut up at Bull Run, and had, moreover, been disappointed over a withdrawn promise of leave and over an assurance that they might elect their own colonel. The first intimation they had of Stevens's appointment was through his own order assuming command, and as a result of these accumulated grievances almost their first act was to mutiny. By a combination of severity and tact their new colonel soon restored them to their former efficiency, and for two months they took part with credit in the small operations just south of the Potomac. It soon became apparent that many of Stevens's difficulties were caused by his old associate, General McClellan. Though Lincoln appointed Stevens brigadier-general on September 28, he stated that he had delayed his action a month on McClellan's advice, and twice Stevens was pointedly ignored by McClellan when they met upon the field. Hence it was with unmixed relief and joy that he received orders, on October 16, to report at Annapolis. He had no faith in McClellan's policy of restraining the ardor of his troops, and as if admitting that they were no match for the Confederates, keeping them safely ensconced behind defensive works. He remarked as he traveled to his new station, "I am glad to leave McClellan's army. I am rejoiced to get out of that army. I tell you that army under McClellan is doomed to disaster."

The expedition General Stevens now joined, under General Thomas W. Sherman, and in conjunction with the navy, was to secure a harbor on the southern coast to serve as a base for blockading fleets. Port Royal, South Carolina, proved to be the objective, and after a brilliant naval attack by Commodore Dupont on November 7, an unopposed landing was made. For eight months Stevens drilled and disciplined his troops, including the Highlanders, who had been sent him by Lincoln's order and in spite of McClellan's opposition. As usual Stevens's advice was all for aggressive action, and he conducted one able little operation, the Battle of Port Royal Ferry, which was almost the first Union success achieved by the army since the disaster of Bull Run, and for which he received the thanks of the government. He was also planning, until the arrival of Generals Hunter and Benham to supersede General Sherman nullified his preparations, first to attack the Charleston and Savannah Railroad, which crossed his front on a series of highly inflammable southern pine bridges, and then to march on Charleston, itself. So vulnerable did Lee consider this point and so obvious a place to attack, that until March, 1862, he made his own headquarters in the neighborhood and posted strong detachments of troops for the protection of the wooden trestles. Stevens was eager to cross swords with his old friend and more than once remarked that he could beat "Bob Lee."

Although until he joined the Union Army, Stevens had not for eight years had any immediate superior officer and had been to an unusual degree his own master, he now showed that he could obey as well as command. He chafed against the inefficiency and incompetence of Hunter and Benham, but he submitted himself with good grace to their orders. Still, it must have been with a sense of relief that on July 9, after the poorly planned and feebly executed attack on Secessionville, an operation of which Stevens wholeheartedly disapproved, he received orders to join General Burnside's 9th Corps in Virginia under Pope.

But Pope was to show himself no more able than his predecessors, and though reinforced by the troops from Port Royal and McClellan's discomfited Peninsular Army, he wasted his opportunities and his men until the Second Battle of Bull Run developed into a discouraging defeat, which but for Stevens's gallant charge at Chantilly would have resulted in an appalling Union disaster.

General Stevens was only forty-four years old when he died. Yet in his short life he had shown unique powers both of mind and body and had served his country brilliantly in many fields of action. There is no Andover graduate so closely associated with the greater processes of the nation's development. And yet, just as General Reno wished to leave the body of Stevens obscurely buried on the field where he had averted bitter defeat, so have the historians neglected the name of him who did so much to open the western country to settlement. It may be true that qualities of conceit and obstinacy led him into constant strife with his colleagues. It may be that in moments of desperate crisis he overstepped the bounds of ethics as other strong men have done before and since. And it is apparent that he lacked that flair for publicity which made a Roosevelt the darling of the nation. But accepting all the defects of his character as they were, it is still undeniable that he lived a noble and unselfish life. He soon saw that he had neither money nor reputation to gain; yet he still spent every ounce of his splendid energy in his country's service. In his dealings with the Indians his instructions left him free to live comfortably with his family, pleading that his duties as governor required his presence at home, but he chose the course that led to perplexity, discomfort, and danger, and which was likely to bring, if not actual disaster, at least disagreement with Washington. He never ceased to work for the good of the territory which had vilified his name. And in the Civil War he accepted a minor position when he had every right to expect a high one and served faithfully under leaders far less competent than himself.

Some degree of recognition came, as is usually the case, when it was too late. General Pope praised him highly. General Longstreet said of him that he gave evidence of courage, judgment, skill, and genius not far below that of the illustrious General Jackson. Congress, which had held up the confirmation of his commission as brigadier for seven months on the basis of anonymous letters falsely representing his attitude on slavery, and which on July 4, 1862, refused to confirm his appointment as major-general, at his death passed resolutions in his honor and ordered crepe to be worn for ten days. After Chantilly he was appointed and confirmed a major-general, to rank from the previous July 4th, and it was asserted by a member of the Cabinet, and currently stated in the press that at the moment of his death he was being considered by the President and his advisers as commander of the armies in Virginia.

Had Stevens lived and been able to overcome the opposition which he so frequently and unfortunately aroused, it is impossible to believe that he would not have become a very great figure in the life of the nation. For the political work of the Reconstruction Period he might not have been fitted, because he lacked those arts by which politicians purchase success, but with his magnificent intellect, his great administrative ability, his stupendous energy, he might as an explorer, a scientist, or an army commander have reached almost any height.

IN the possession of the Oliver Wendell Holmes Library is a series of remarkably vivid letters written by a youngster in the Senior Class to his father in Cincinnati. He spent only one year, 1859-60, on the Hill, but nothing that happened in Andover during that period escaped him. He was a boy who had in a marked degree that capacity of the young to pass judgment, usually derogatory, upon everybody and everything about him. As one reads his rather acid observations, one is struck by the fact that eighty years ago boys were identical in their reactions with the lads we teach today; furthermore, that the problems troubling Samuel Harvey Taylor were to an amusing degree the same problems which trouble John Mason Kemper.

Charles Phelps Taft, half-brother to the future President Taft, arrived in Andover on August 30, 1859, the day before the Fall Term began. He was a rather scrawny lad of 16, wearing a bow tie the ends of which, following the mode of the day, extended well beyond the line of his ears. Compared to his classmates with their broad shoulders, mature, even grim faces, and occasional luxuriant beards, he looked young indeed, but he was not in the least awed by his new surroundings and at once began to send home his delightfully caustic comments on the life about him.

The school that autumn of 1859 consisted of 316 boys and six teachers led by the redoubtable Uncle Sam Taylor. The three-year course of study in the Classical Department dealt almost exclusively with the Classics, though it tolerated a little Math, some Ancient History and Geography, and the Acts of the Apostles. A few boys lived in school dormitories like the old Commons, but the majority boarded in private houses such as Mrs. Cheever's, now the Cheever House, and Mr. Clough's, now the Blanchard House. The low cost of board and tuition makes us gasp, for food ranged from $1.75 per week at the Commons to $4. at the more luxurious boarding houses. Tuition was $8 a term from which charge indigent students were excused. Rooms in the Commons dormitories cost $3 a term, but for poor students the price was reduced to $1. The Students' Educational Fund, the forerunner of the Alumni Fund, which was founded by the Class of 1854 for Worthy Indigent Students had already reached the staggering total of $2,300.

Charlie Taft lived with the family of a Mrs. Parker. It cannot be determined who Mrs. Parker was nor where her house was situated. Charlie reported that the Parkers were quite intimate with Uncle Sam's family and told how the house was buffeted by the northeast wind. Beyond that he gave no evidence. However, at the south end of the Chapel Cemetery are four identical gravestones which must be those of Charlie's landlady and her family. One is that of Mrs. H. H. W. Parker, who died in 1881, aged 75, whom Charlie described thus:

"In the first place comes the widow who is the chief cook. It is her custom to let herself be seen only once a day and that is to preside at the table at tea. This is done only to let us know that she is well and thriving so that we may not have any anxieties as to the state of her health. Her literary reading does not extend much beyond the Atlantic Monthly but in this she is pretty well posted. She is greatly taken with The Minister's Wooing."

As a matter of fact Charlie is not impressed by the Parker library. "I believe the Parkers do take the Atlantic but we don't ever see it. I think they are rather stingy about their reading books. But the books they have are not worth much, being mostly the works of Dumas, James, etc. That is the only work they have, reading novels the whole time. When will Thackeray's Virginians be published? I should like to read that." Although Charlie complained that he had no English books whatever in his room, nothing but Greek and Latin texts, he managed during the year to get through Adam Bede, The Marble Faun, and The Minister's Wooing.

At the end of the line of Parker gravestones in the cemetery is that of Elizabeth Abby Woods, 1825-1905, so placed as to be near the monument of Professor Leonard Woods. Is it possible that Elizabeth Woods was one of the several daughters whom the Professor loved so tenderly, and if so, why was she serving in a menial capacity at the Parkers? Charlie described Miss Woods as "the chief assistant."

"She waits upon the table at other meals. She and her mother generally read their stories or novels together. She does all the reporting to Uncle. I should judge her bump of inquisitiveness was very large if it at all agrees with her nature."

In spite of Charlie's skepticism about the good intentions of Miss Woods, it was she who "took the trouble, this morning, of pasting paper all around the cracks of my windows, so that the cold air should not come through."

Charlie reserved his bitterest scorn for "George a son of the old lady. He is a second long-haired Iopas but without the musical talent. His physiognomy is rather defective in many respects. In the first place his nether lip protrudes about half an inch beyond the upper, which together with an occasional lisp and fast talking makes his pronunciation rather peculiar. His walk is very graceful, pointing his toes in. He has been through the Academy but did not distinguish himself much. He is just about the laziest fellow I know of. He lays upon the lounge in his room the whole day, reading some novel. But generally he goes to the Post Office in the morning and brings me my letters. This is about all he is worth." In spite of this last statement, George Parker's grave, 1838-1902, bears the insignia of the Grand Army of the Republic. Perhaps George was not as worthless as Charlie thought.

Hattie, the sixteen-year-old daughter of the family, perhaps the Elizabeth Parker in the cemetery, who died in 1885, didn't occupy much of Charlie's time. He wrote, "She attends the female seminary now. Her tongue is one of the fast goers. She has read considerable French. Her mother takes very precious care of her, not allowing her to read any book on Sundays except they are very Christianlike in their character." Poor Hattie Parker! On May 6 Charlie wrote: "Hattie Parker went to Hanover to school last Monday morning. She was not very popular at this school here and consequently didn't have many friends. For my part I am glad she has gone and for that matter all the other fellows are too."

For the last member of the household Charlie actually had some guarded commendation. "Barbara is the servant girl and does her washing very neatly. Her bread is not of the first quality but her apple tarts are splendid."

Food did not at first loom large among Charlie's interests. In one of his first letters he commented on the water. "We have miserable water here to drink, but everything else here is good." He even accused the stale water of affecting his eyes with which he had some trouble for a time. A luxury present-day Andover boys are unfamiliar with was oysters. "We have oysters on Fridays as regular as the day comes around. There are some generally left over which they warm and bring them up in our room in the evening. This is very nice."

On June 17 he wrote: "Wednesday afternoon Hale and Lewis went off Frog hunting and brought back the hind legs of eighteen frogs so that Thursday morning we had a rare breakfast. We have not had a single strawberry while most of the other boarding houses have had them every evening." Discontent had begun to rear its ugly head, and on July 8 Charlie wrote in a tone which is all too familiar: "The food we are now having is miserable. I could stand it till now tolerably well, but when it comes to butter, crackers, and bread and that too poor, for breakfast and supper, it is a little more than I can stand."

The subject to which Charlie gave the most space in his letters was naturally enough recreation, and Zion Hill was apparently not such a dull place as we are sometimes led to believe. He walked to Sunset Rock, not only because it "is on a hill from which Ballardvale and several other towns can be seen" but because "The Nuns walk there most every evening which makes it still more pleasant, especially to the boys." The Nuns were the girls from a young ladies' school, then considered more select and aristocratic than Abbot, which occupied the house at 148 Main Street. He walked to Den Rock on a cold afternoon, "but I am going with a couple of young ladies which will make the atmosphere somewhat warmer." Charlie's gallant hopes were doomed to disappointment, for his next letter admitted that the walk to Den Rock "proved to be rather a 'cold' affair." He walked to the cider mill, only recently torn down, where he got cider at 12-1/2 cents a gallon, and like modern boys drank it until he was sick of it. He walked to Lawrence, where the size of the Pacific Mills amazed him, although the Merrimac River disappointed him. "It is not so much of a river as I thought it was. The boats cannot begin to come up as far as Lawrence." In fact, it is interesting to see that walking held no fears at all for the young people of that day; even Hattie Parker and Miss Woods walked to Lawrence and back on a shopping tour. Today Andover boys, unlike Charlie's schoolmates, are carefully watched over in every aspect of health and muscular development.

Paid coaches tell them how to run and jump, trained dieticians decide what they shall eat, and a skilled medical department checks up on their moods, their maladjustments, and their complexes. One might be tempted to ask whether all this care actually contributes to their physical efficiency, for how many of our boys would, like Charlie and nine of his friends, casually walk the five or six miles to Haggett's Pond for a swim and then walk five or six miles home again? A quaint aspect of this expedition was that Charlie and several others carried umbrellas which came in handy when a thunder shower overtook them.

Uncle Sam had used his body in hard manual labor on the farm, but he apparently had little interest in team games. He made no provision for organized exercise (Charlie got much of his cutting his fire wood) and seemed to frown on the sports the boys arranged. Charlie wrote:

"I don't think I will join the cricket club since Uncle has forbidden their playing on the ground, where they are accustomed to play, because they hook too many apples and break down fences belonging to the citizens. Football has been an amusement here but this also has been prohibited until the place, which is being prepared will be completed. . In regard to placing up parallel bars, ladders, swings, etc., the trustees have determined to throw one half the expense upon the scholars, which is,. I think, no more than reasonable, after having furnished a field and fencing it in." One day "the Seniors challenged the Middlers to a game of football but Uncle, somehow or other, got wind of the affair and so stopped it. It caused a great deal of fault finding among the boys of both classes since they had got everything arranged for a pretty tough match."

Baseball was just beginning to replace cricket, and the evening soft-ball problem had already arisen in the spring of 1860. Charlie wrote on April 29: "We have gotten up a first rate Base Ball Club and play every evening after prayers. There is considerably more fun in it than there is in cricket." On May 13 he reported: "Yesterday afternoon we had quite a nice game of Base Ball between the two clubs or rather the first eleven (sic) of each club. Somehow or other I was chosen from our club. It must have been by mistake. When we quit playing the other side was 44 to our 55. The game is 100. It is going to be continued next Saturday."

In those days the Thanksgiving vacation took the place of the present Christmas holiday (Andover then ignored the celebration of Christmas) and the boys were away from the Tuesday preceding Thanksgiving until the second week in December. As Thanksgiving approached, the school, as it does today, seethed with excitement. On November 21 Charlie wrote: "In the evening, about six o'clock, according to the usual custom, the whole school went down to the depot and cheered the trains as they came in. It was fun to see the people in the cars open the windows and pop their heads out to see what was the matter."

Charlie spent the vacation at Millbury, Mass., with his stepmother's family, stopping in Boston on the way there, to pass a night or two with Uncle Judson, who "chews as much tobacco as ever if not more. I was perfectly disgusted to see what quids he would take."

One of Charlie's friends had, boylike, packed his own overcoat at the bottom of his trunk and then borrowed Charlie's to wear during vacation. Hence Charlie arrived at Millbury wearing a shawl, like Abraham Lincoln, and there he spent the holiday just as a boy would spend it today, eating, skating, playing cards, and observing his friends with a critical eye. He wrote: "Mr. Torrey (the father of his stepmother) has just come in and wishes me to say that Thanksgiving was a little too much for us. The number was not sufficient to stand against the Turkey and Chicken Pie. He was rather sick Saturday night so he did not go to church today. I ate a piece of mince pie at Friday's dinner which made me sick Friday night."

One day they all went skating. Charlie wrote: "Henry Sweetser was the only one that fell in, but he went home, changed his clothes, and came back in less than five minutes. He didn't intend to miss the skating opportunity."

The only untoward event of the vacation was that "my every day pants have all given out ... They are the poorest pants I have had for some time." This difficulty was remedied on Charlie's return to Boston. With the aid of Uncle Judson and Aunt Mary he bought a new pair for $3.50, a price he felt was exorbitant.

Back in Andover Charlie was on ground familiar to us in every sense of the word. Toward the end of February he was impressed by the mud, and who isn't? He wrote: "In spring they say that Andover and Mud are synonymous terms. It seems to me very funny that, while it is very muddy and wet up here on the hill, down-town it is very dry. The great amount of springs up here may account for it a good deal."

The school has found the boys' secret societies something it could get along without, and Uncle Sam was strongly opposed to the only one existing then, namely Philo, though its worst crime, according to Charlie, was a pun on the Seminary Professors' names; i.e., "Professor Phelps wheeling a Barrow across the Theological Park to Stow(e) it in his neighbor's Shedd." At this Charlie reported "several Theologs nearly split their sides a laughing. The Theologs and Professors have to take a good many jokes." At any rate "Uncle came down pretty hard on Philo. He has always been opposed to the Society and done his best to break it up. This time he has almost succeeded. He has imposed such rules upon the society that more than half of the members are going to leave."

For want of anything better to do Charlie, one evening "went over to the Grave Yard, for the first time" and permitted his jaundiced eye to hover for a moment over the illustrious dead. His impressions were not favorable. "There are several fine monuments and that is all. Prof. Edwards has, I think, the finest. Prof. Park wrote the inscription upon it. It is long and thought by many unappropriate."

Today the boys sometimes fail to appreciate the lectures and concerts provided for them. The same thing was true in 1860. Charlie wrote: "Last week there was a Frenchman here who no doubt has had enough of Phillips Academy. He appointed Thursday afternoon to deliver a lecture before the school upon the Roman and Egyptian Antiquities. When the time came there was only one boy to hear his immense lecture." Yet when Uncle Sam gave permission to attend a similar lecture at a church fair in Lawrence almost the whole school went. Of course there was a special inducement in this case, apparently the first magic lantern to appear in America. At any rate, a church fair, plus a magic lantern show on "ancient works" made it necessary to run extra trains from Lowell and Haverhill, while Andover contributed three car loads toward the audience. Although pretty scornful toward lecturers and preachers Charlie somehow was inveigled into attending a lecture on temperance by Professor Fowler at the Old South Church. He reported: "The house was very full. One thing he (Prof. Fowler) demonstrated pretty conclusively to his large audience, that is, that he was terribly long winded. He spoke a little over two hours."

At social gatherings, however, Charlie felt quite at ease. The two high spots of the year were Mrs. John L. Taylor's levee and Uncle Sam's party. At the former "The Theologues were innumerable. You might imagine we had a rather stupid time among so many of the 'Lord's anointed' as the Book Auctioneer used to call them, but there were there a few Fem. Sems. among whom the Theologues are decidedly below par."

A week later on July 1, Charlie wrote: "Uncle's party passed off all right last Thursday evening. There was one thing, however, that provoked the class considerably that was that the Nuns were not allowed to attend. Notwithstanding this drawback (for the Nuns are considered almost indispensable for a party here) we had a good time. Towards the latter part of the evening Peck, the President of our class, in behalf of the class presented Uncle with a silver tea-service. The garden around the house was all lighted up. Uncle was all covered with smiles all through the evening. As the particular young ladies had not come when I got there (five minutes past nine) I consented to be introduced to Prof. Park. At last the Fem. Sems. arrove and I sailed in. I extended my acquaintance through the whole of the Senior Class except one. The fellows are already beginning to canvass for the different societies at Yale. I want to know to which one you would prefer to have me go."

As is to be expected one of the things which occupied much of Charlie's time if not his thought was religion as he was at Andover during the hey-day of the Theological Seminary. He had the privilege of hearing the great theologians of the time, men whom we suppose to have held their audiences spellbound. But not so Charlie and his classmates. Their one preoccupation was to keep awake, a condition which was facilitated by the uncomfortable seats in chapel. As Charlie described them "the backs are so high that the head and neck are all that can be seen of a person, and the seats are about six inches wide. Every time I sit down in them it reminds me of two large persons trying to sit down in the same chair . . . . You see it must be delightful for me to sit there for an hour and a half at a stretch."

I am selecting at random from Charlie's letters: "Today we had rather sleepy preaching. I saw two fellows asleep in the seat before me. It is almost impossible to keep awake, but I have not had the good luck of falling asleep yet. If Uncle catches any fellow asleep he is sure to have him up the next day."

"Prof. Stowe with one of his daughters have come back from Europe.. . Prof. Stowe looks exactly like some old Jew. I thought at first he was a Jew, when somebody told me he was the Prof."

"Today, Professor Stowe preached. It was quite interesting to hear him speak about his travels in England, France, and Italy. He very wisely expounded a way for carrying religion into those countries."

"Prof. Stowe gave us another terrible long sermon this afternoon which pretty nearly used me up. Unfortunately I had no cushion which is indispensable for comfort, (if there ever is any) when a long sermon comes."

"I have just come in from the Chapel where I heard Prof. Park preach one of his sermons of an hour in length. The chief thing that he seemed to be driving at was, that there was no end to eternity. I could not make anything else out of it. This don't seem at all like Christmas (this was written on December 25). There is no excitement to know what we are going to have for we know that we are not going to have anything."

"As I hear that Prof. Park is going to preach this afternoon, I think it will be expedient for me to begin my letter now while I am not quite so sleepy as I expect to be after hearing him."

"This afternoon Prof. Park preached the longest sermon I ever heard. It was exactly one hour and eight minutes long. The last hymn was not sung, as I should judge, with very much earnestness, as each one was just getting over his nap. I don't mean to say that I went to sleep, but if I had I might feel a good deal better now."

"This afternoon we had the same preacher that we did in the morning. More than half the fellows went to sleep or were reading some book."

"This morning Charles Beecher preached. I must say that I was not much interested in his sermon. It seems to me that the Professors do not hurt themselves much in going to church, as there was no one of them there today."

"Something very wonderful occurred today. Uncle was not at church. If he had been, he would have been asleep sure, for we had a minister who drawled out his words to a great length, to say nothing of his sermons. Nearly everybody was asleep."

This may comfort the speaker who addresses today's student body. After a period of intense preparation, he stands upon the platform determined to give his best, only to find himself confronted with rows of glassy eyes, nodding heads, and gaping mouths. He may then reflect he is no worse off than those great theologians and orators, Professors Park, Stowe, and Beecher.

Once in a great while, as is true today, something happened to confuse the service. If this involved embarrassment for Uncle Sam as he sat upon the platform, the delight of the boys knew no bounds. Such an event occurred on October 30. "Our theology for today has been rather dry but nevertheless we were kept awake by the peculiar gestures and mode of carrying on the exercises of the Reverend. The usual custom is, the long prayer should come immediately after the second hymn, but this afternoon the minister took occasion to deviate from this custom and read a chapter from the Bible instead. According to his custom, Uncle did not sit down after the hymn, but putting his hands over his face, closed his eyes and waited for the prayer. The minister did not seem to be in any hurry to find the chapter. Uncle must have thought he was a very long time beginning the prayer, but he did not open his eyes, all the time, to see what was the matter. By this time the boys saw him. You can easily imagine the consequences. This was a little bit of fun at Uncle's expense."

In November there was a preacher who, one can't help feeling, must have been an impostor playing upon the rabid anti-Catholicism of Puritan Andover. Charlie with his keen eye for detail reported the event: "Tomorrow evening, at the chapel, the Rev. Father Chinyque, a proselyte from the Roman Catholic Religion, is going to speak. He is noted as a temperance lecturer and also for the hatred which the Pope and the priests bear toward him."

"Father Chinyque lectured last Monday evening in the Chapel and Tuesday in the Old South. He had full houses both times. He is rather short, being about 5-1/2 feet, and very fat. He seemed to be exactly made for a priest. His dress is rather coarse. One side of his collar is turned up while the other is usually turned down. He is a very funny old fellow and kept us laughing most all the time, by relating how he escaped the hands of the Priests of Montreal and Quebec, while there. Good many Irish servant girls went to see him yesterday, but I don't know whether he converted any or not. He certainly makes a great furor among the Irish Catholics wherever he goes."

Not everybody in Andover was as allergic to religion as the Academy boys as is shown in a passage in Charlie's letter of July 1. "In the evening eleven missionaries (recent members of the Theological School) received their instructions. The occasion produced no little excitement among the people here. I don't think I ever saw such a turnout of Andover people before. The aisles and windows of the chapel were crowded. Quite a number had to go away because of the want of room."

Uncle Sam was Charlie's only teacher and in fact, except for a derogatory reference or two to Mr. Eaton, Pap Eaton's father, he was the only teacher of whom Charlie was aware. We have all heard much of Uncle Sam, of his domineering, autocratic methods, of his prejudices, of the strength of his character, and of his deserved success as principal. Like everything else at Andover, Charlie took him in his stride, almost as though he were an inanimate object, (I suspect that is how most boys look upon their teachers) but he gives some interesting details as to his methods of teaching.

"Last week was a pretty hard one, because we commenced Greek. Uncle is terrible in this. He knows a great deal about it, and thinks at the same time we ought to know as much. His grammar is a splendid one. We have only read one page of the Anabasis this week. He makes us translate Greek into Latin, but has not got quite so far as to translate Latin into Greek.

"My first lesson occupies from nine till quarter of eleven, which makes almost two hours, but this is not half long enough for Uncle to go through a lesson of twenty-five lines, as he should like to. We then have study hours from eleven to twelve and from half past one to quarter past three. Then the afternoon lesson comes until pretty near five. In the evening study hours are from seven to nine."

On September 4 Charlie wrote: "Uncle Sam has raised our lessons to thirty lines which is very reasonable. He puts into the parsing like everything. He is also great on derivations tracing back into Greek as far as possible."

This is all Charlie had to say about teaching procedure, but he was impressed by the decorations Uncle procured for the classroom.

On October 26 he wrote: "This week Uncle has made a great improvement in our recitation room by placing in it the busts of several of the eminent men of ancient times. Homer he has placed above his chair. Demosthenes, Plato, and Dante are placed opposite to Cicero, Socrates, and Tasso, respectively. Now we look something like a Classical Senior Class. Socrates must have been a horrid looking fellow if this bust is his likeness."

Some of these busts may be still about the school.

Uncle Sam was a very busy man. He taught for four or five hours a day, spent another hour leading morning and evening prayer, spent some time attending recitations of other classes, wrote all his letters by hand, and was responsible for the discipline of the school. It is no wonder that he sometimes found it necessary to cut a class. These rare occasions Charlie joyfully reported.

"This morning we had no writing Greek because Uncle had some very pressing business. The boys passed a vote of thanks for the gentleman who called upon him."

"We have had no recitation today because Uncle had to go to Harvard College for the purpose of examining the junior Class, but he said he would hear the Prose Composition at the same time with the Greek tomorrow morning, so you see he don't mean to lose anything by his absence. We have not quite finished the second hook of Virgil this whole term. We go slow but sure."

"On Tuesday Uncle said he would be out of town and hence could not hear the lesson in the day, but would give us a double lesson and hear us in the evening. After having kept us till nine o'clock, what should he do but give us another long lesson to be recited in the morning immediately after prayers. The time of going to bed was thus postponed indefinitely. On Wednesday the class looked like a rather sleepy crowd.

"The skating is splendid but the poor Seniors know not where to find time for it."

The only time that Charlie seems completely stumped is when it comes to public speaking, something required of every boy. Uncle Sam attempted to advise him as to a subject on one occasion. Every one who has a child in school will recognize Charlie's outburst of scorn at the stupidity of teachers.

"I write this to let you know what Uncle has given me for my subject in declamation. He said that my subject was rather common and consequently gave me one which is undoubtedly very uncommon, 'The Age of Nero.' I am all up a gum tree and don't know how to begin or end it. He wants I should describe the character of the people and of the times. But I don't understand such work."

But worse was to come. At that time the best students were chosen, partly by the Principal and partly by the votes of their classmates, to deliver an oration at Commencement. This was an honor much sought after, and for some time Charlie was greatly agitated for fear he would not obtain it. When he finally was chosen, the promptitude with which he saddled the work of writing the oration upon his father and then worried himself and his father to death about it is amusing but no surprise to those familiar with boys.

"This morning Uncle said we would not have any recitation till Thursday morning. He has given us this for the purpose of writing our pieces (orations) but I am going to rely wholly on you (father) for that. I am going to spend all this time in making up the fourth book of Anabasis and sixth book of Virgil. You know I shall have to hand it (the speech) in by the First of July without fail."

May 1. "Our exhibition takes place on the 24th of July. I have not as yet had a bit of time to devote to my Oration. I do not know a single book to read upon the subject."

May 20. "I dread my Oration, because I think it is going to be a miserable one. I have determined not to let this week pass without writing something on it."

June 17. "I hope you will let me have my Oration as soon as possible."

June 24. "I hope you have not forgotten my Oration."

July 1. "I handed in my oration Friday morning. I suppose he will hand it back tomorrow."

It is amazing to see how similar problems of discipline in 1860 were to those of today. Charlie gives us several glimpses, some of a minor character such as this.

"Last night some fellows started up a great cry of fire at some rubbish burning in a field." We have our own great cries of "Kali" and "All out." He spoke of the practice of stamping when Mr. Eaton called the roll at evening prayers, a thing never ventured in Uncle Sam's presence. In this connection one of the boys made Mr. Eaton's annoyance ridiculous by speaking against the stamping in the style of Cicero's Oration against Catiline, "How long, O fellow students, wilt thou abuse our patience?" "which set the whole school into a roaring laughter."

Uncle Sam had a smoking problem, as we have: "Uncle has been making considerable of a row among the tobacco smokers. Thursday night as he was walking down Main St. past Mrs. Cheever's house, he saw three or four boys in one of the rooms smoking. He immediately went into the house without ringing the bell went up stairs and walked into the room without knocking. There were six or seven at the time in the room. He called them singly to his study and gave them a lecturing. After this he made them promise upon their honor or write upon paper that they would not smoke any more in Andover."

As the year drew to a close, Uncle was fully aware of the dangers of an outbreak on some warm spring evening. On June 17 Charlie wrote: "During a week or so Uncle has been very strict with regard to keeping study hours in the evening. Each teacher has his particular street to watch. Each of the three streets that lead down town are particularly watched. It is unsafe (as Charlie rather incoherently puts it) for anyone to go out of his room during the evening study hours without being caught."

There were pleasant but spineless youths in the student body then as now. Charlie wrote soon after the start of term: "There is one fellow here named Grout, from Worcester who has company in his room all the time. He has not been into recitation more than twice during the time he has been here (two weeks). I hardly think he will stay here more than two weeks longer if he goes on in the way he does now. Uncle has already given him two lecturings, but he has got off on the plea of sickness. He has run through $17 already and not paid his tuition. I don't think Worcester speaks very well for itself."

Sept. 21. "This afternoon Grout's father came here. After he found out what his son had been doing, he told him that he should have to take him home tomorrow to save him from the disgrace of being turned out. (In other words Grout was "permitted to withdraw.") Grout is a good enough fellow but he is led off by others too easily. That is what caused his difficulty. His father is a very fine looking gentleman and seemed greatly grieved at the conduct of his son." A little later Charlie wrote: "Last Monday I bought an arm chair from Grout's room. I suppose we are going to have a Theolog in Grout's room before very long."

Another disciplinary problem of Uncle Sam's is unfortunately not unknown to us. Charlie wrote: "Sturtevant, of our class, has either been suspended or expelled, I don't know which, at any rate he has not been in the class this week. Saturday four Harvard boys came up here on a bender. Sturtevant joined them and went down to Boston. He stayed away over Sunday. Monday he was called up for it. Uncle finds out things very quick. This fellow has been expelled from the Exeter school before."

Apparently politics occupied very little of the Academy boys' thought in 1860. Charlie characteristically finds little to commend in one of President Franklin Pierce's visits to Andover. "Last evening the boys tried to raise a breeze because President Pierce was here. After school a meeting was held in which it was determined that the school should go down to the residence of Hon. John Aiken, and call upon the President for a speech. The time was fixed for half past six. During this meeting Mylin, a member of the Senior Class got up and displayed at a great rate, especially in his grammar so that finally he got laughed down. He is about six feet tall and terribly stupid. Uncle gets all out of patience with him in his recitation. I did not go down in the evening because I had to write my latin exercises for today, besides my desire of hearing so remarkable a man was not sufficient to induce me to go. From report, I heard that he said he knew Uncle, that the boys had great advantages here, and wound up by exhorting them to love their country. This was the whole substance of his speech. After that, he asked them to come into the house and he would shake hands with them. This, he thought, no doubt, was a very great inducement for them to come in. About twenty went in. Thus the Pierce excitement has ended."

Considering that the Civil War was approaching with dreadful rapidity, considering that the country was already rent asunder by the question of slavery, considering that Charlie's home was close to the border between North and South, it is surprising how unaware he was of current events. There was no effort made then at Andover to inform boys of the significance of the news, and apparently no one disturbed himself about what attitude the younger generation would take toward the approaching conflict.

On Oct. 26 Charlie wrote: "Yesterday I received the Tribune from Mr. Torrey, which contained an account of the difficulty at Harper's Ferry and other things of interest." On Dec. 4 he wrote from Millbury: "The bells here were tolled and minute guns fired in memory of John Brown." And then without any pause or transition he goes on with the next sentence. "Uncle has given only one lecture on Jerusalem. I suppose the next one will come off next term."

I shall put down Charlie's brief references to public affairs as they come. They show how much more conversant with world events the Andover Senior is today than was his prototype in 1860.

Feb. 12. "In our Society I have been appointed on a debate to come off three weeks from next Friday. The subject is 'Has Congress a right to legislate upon slavery in the Territories.' I have to take the affirmative. I have not read any of the speeches in Congress or anything else belonging to this subject, and hence don't know anything about it. I wish you would write me a good deal upon it. Don't forget it."

Feb. 26. "I saw a paper the other day which says the affairs in Europe look rather warlike. Is it so? I was very lucky in getting my firewood. Oak cannot now be had."

May 20. "How are you pleased with the Republican nominations? I had not heard Hamlin mentioned as a candidate until he was nominated. With such monstrous names as Abraham and Hamlin I think the Republicans ought to be beat .. . . After school on Friday the school held a ratification meeting, when several fine speeches were made which would do credit to a good many of our stump orators. Bell had six or seven votes, Douglas from ten to fifteen and Lincoln about 150. The Theologues seemed to be perfectly jubilant. I never heard them make so much noise and shouting before. The Academy boys were nowhere."

June 17. "It seems that the Southerners do not like Mr. Sumner's speech and are trying to come the same joke over again in trying to take his life. He is a little too much for them now, I think."

July 1. "The town hall was crowded last Sunday to hear William Lloyd Garrison a considerable number of Theologues and Religious Academy students went, expecting to hear him pitch into slavery. But they found themselves considerably mistaken. They could not stand his talking very long and so one by one took their departure. They could not say anything against his arguments and so called him an infidel etc."

Just as Charlie's interest in baseball, developed at Andover, may in later years have led him to secure part ownership of the Chicago and Philadelphia National League baseball clubs, so his nose for news, so evident in Andover, may have led him to become proprietor of the Cincinnati Times Star. We have already seen that very little in Andover escaped Charlie's notice. Another case is that of the rebuilding of the South Church. Trust Charlie to ferret out and to write home all the details; that the old edifice was sold to two carpenters for $350, that the timbers were found to be as sound as when they were installed seventy years before, that the carpenters would probably use these same timbers in the new church and thus make a double profit.

But the real feather in Charlie's cap, when it comes to reporting, is his story of the fall of the Pemberton Mills, a large factory building in Lawrence. His English may not be graceful, but has covered everything, facts, human interest, pathos, and humor, and withal has given a reality of detail to his story that surpasses most accounts of the same event. He wrote on Jan. 1:

"Last Tuesday night occurred one of the saddest calamities that I have ever heard of. About four o'clock in the afternoon as they were moving a machine that weighed about five tons, from one part of the building to the other, the Pemberton Mills fell in. The number that were in the mill is variously estimated, some say 950, others 850, at any rate the number was pretty large. Good many escaped immediately after the falling of the building. About eleven o'clock the fire broke out. A man having a fluid lantern, was looking after his sister and had almost got her out of the ruins when the bottom of his lantern fell out and exploded, which immediately set fire to the cotton. His sister was burnt to death. The bell of the Old South began at half past eleven and rang for about half an hour. It took some time to rouse up the people. About 20 or 30 of the fellows took the engine and got over to Lawrence about 1-1/2 o'clock. It so happened that Uncle had given us a terrific lesson in translating English into Latin and Greek, which I did not get through till pretty late, so that I saw the fire when it looked the brightest. I did not go over to Lawrence with the Engine as I was too tired. We did not have any school on Wednesday in consequence of this fire. In the afternoon I went over to see the ruins. It was as much as I could do to get a place even to stand on the platform of the cars. There were about fifteen cars in our train. Some people even got on the Locomotive. But the greatest jam was on the evening train that went to Boston. Some even got on top of the cars.

"It would be pretty hard to give you any idea of the loss, or scene of suffering. Around the door of the Mayor's office I saw girls crying and groaning and wanting to know if such and such an one was found. I went into the city Hall where they at first brought the wounded and dead. I saw old boots and shoes, bandages, blood and many other things. It was a horrible sight. Just before the fire took place, they dug out an Irishman who immediately lit his pipe and walked off."

The next Sunday Charlie wrote: "About two hundred sleighs as I should judge have gone through Andover on their way to Lawrence to attend the funerals of those who were killed or burnt by the recent accident. Tomorrow morning we have our last lesson in Virgil and in the afternoon we take up Sallust."

Charlie Taft went from Andover to Yale, and thence to Columbia, Heidelberg, and the Sorbonne. He sat for one term in Congress, and helped his brother, William Howard, win the U. S. Presidency. In 1927, two years before his death, he gave to the Cincinnati Institute of Fine Arts his private art collections and his homestead, and at the same time presented an endowment of $1,000,000 to the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra. Dr. Stearns has said that he gave little or nothing to Andover, preferring to bestow anything he could spare on his brother Horace's Taft School. Charles Phelps Taft was a cultivated gentleman and led a useful life. However, one cannot help wishing he had developed his talent for news reporting, seeing that at the age of sixteen he produced such a colorful, such a vivid, such a complete picture of life at Andover.