Chapter XXV: Part II: Under Both Flags (1)

NUMBER {307}of years have gone by since the scenes told of in the first part of our book were enacted by the boy, whose interest has never wavered, and whose heart is as young as it was in that day. The scars of battle are tenderly smoothed away by the softening touch of time, and the blue and the gray are no more arrayed against each other, but stand shoulder to shoulder, eager to draw the sword, if need be, in defence of their beloved land and her institutions. The grassy mound and towering monument each tells its tale of the heroes who slumber beneath, and who are alike worthy of unstinted praise.

Our late war with a foreign power has proven the loyalty of Americans in every corner of our republic, and how earnestly the men of those days, from North and South, have come forward to fight the battles of their country--one, forevermore. Valuable services have been rendered by many of those who were the leaders of those days, in that sad conflict, and whose names have ever been renowned for courage, earnestness and bravery.

We are, as a nation, making history fast, and in a book written {308}for young people, it seemed proper to give them a few brief sketches of those whose names were prominently identified with the war of 1861. The boy who told his simple story is no longer a boy, but his pride and rejoicing are as hearty as if the “dew of youth” sat upon him yet, and in reviewing the lives of those who can truly be called great, and gone to their final reward, one of the first whose claims are strong.

ULYSSES S. GRANT.

General Grant's career was so extraordinarily brilliant, and was compressed into so short a time that it stands almost alone as one of the most astonishing succession of events.

His birthplace was Point Pleasant, Ohio. Here on the 27th of April, 1822, the future general was born. When he was but a year old his parents moved to Georgetown, where he grew into a sturdy, quiet lad, showing no particular smartness any more than the average boy. Indeed, he was rather dull, learning rather slowly, and with difficulty. There were no free schools when he was a boy. These institutions were supported by subscription, and one teacher had charge of all the pupils--from the primer class to the big boy or girl of eighteen.

General Grant never saw an algebra nor any mathematical work until he went to West Point. He had a great fondness for horses, and was never so happy as when he could be with them. He was an excellent judge of them. When he was but seven he drove his father's horses, hauling all the wood used in the house and shops. When he was fifteen he made a horse trade with a Mr. Payne, at Flat Rock, Kentucky, where he was visiting. The brother of this gentleman was to accompany young Grant back to Georgetown. The boy was told that the horse had never had a collar on (it was a saddle horse), but he hitched it up, and started to drive the seventy miles with a strange animal. The horse ran and kicked, and made the companion horse frightened, and Ulysses stopped them right on the edge of an embankment twenty {309}feet deep. Every time he would start, the new horse would kick and run, until Mr. Payne, who was thoroughly frightened, would not proceed any further in his company, but took passage in a freight wagon. The boy was left alone, but with that faculty for surmounting difficulties which distinguished him in after life, a happy thought struck him--he took out his bandana, a huge handkerchief much used then, and blindfolded the creature, driving him quietly to the house of his uncle in Maysville, where he borrowed another horse.

A laughable incident occurred when he was eight. He saw a colt which he very much coveted, and for which the owner demanded $25. General Grant's father said he would give $20. The boy was so anxious to possess the colt that his father yielded, giving him instructions how to make the bargain. Going to the owner the boy said: “Papa says I may offer you $20 for the colt, but if you won't take that I am to offer $22.50, and if you won't take that, to give you $25.” It is needless to say what he had to pay for the colt.

The elder Grant was not poor in the usual sense of the term--on the contrary, he was quite well situated for the time and place.

Ulysses was sent to West Point at seventeen; he was quite apt in mathematics, but had no love for military tactics, and resolved {310}not to stay in the army, even if he graduated. He was not brilliant in his class here, either--he says himself that had “the class been turned the other end foremost, I should have been near the head.” He graduated four years after his entrance, No. 21 in a class of thirty-nine.

It was feared at that time that he had the consumption, for he had a bad cough, but his outdoor life entirely removed it.

His real name was Hiram Ulysses Grant, but some one made a blunder in making out the document appointing him a cadet, and as U. S. Grant he will be known always.

On graduation he was breveted Second Lieutenant of Infantry, and placed in the Fourth Regiment, which was sent to the frontier. But two years went by, ere he was sent to Texas to join General Taylor's army, and here he became a full lieutenant. He was made quartermaster of his regiment early in 1847, after showing great valor in the battles of Palo Alto, Resaca, Monterey, and the siege of Vera Cruz. He participated in all of the engagements, and was promoted on the field of Molino del Rey for his bravery. A few days after an exhibition of the same quality won him special notice and praise from his brigade commander.

When {311}the Mexican War was over, he was stationed at: Sackett's Harbor, New York. He had long been attached to Miss Julia Dent, the sister of one of his classmates, and August 22, 1848, she became his wife.

Four years later he went with his regiment to California and Oregon, where he became captain. The summer of 1854 saw, apparently, an end to his military career, for he resigned his commission and tried to work a small farm near St. Louis, and attend to real estate in the city. He was {312}not intended for either vocation. Greater things were in store for him, and, disheartened at his poor success, he went to work for his father, as clerk in his store--the leather trade, in Galena, Illinois.

At the first sound of war he offered his services to the government, and marched to Springfield at the head of a company. Governor Yates placed him on his staff, and made him mustering officer of all the volunteers from Illinois, but in June he was made colonel of the Twenty-first Regiment, which he had organized and drilled himself. Needing cars to transport it to a distant point, he was told they could not be furnished. So little a matter as that did not annoy him, but with that directness and energy which always marked his movements, he astonished the authorities by marching the entire regiment to the desired place.

In August he was promoted, becoming brigadier-general, and assuming command of all troops at Cairo. From this hour his successes were great, and have become matters of history. He was the idol of the army, and the surprise of the country, which gave him the popular name which seems to fit him so well--Unconditional Surrender Grant.

After the siege of Vicksburg and the defeat of General Bragg, it became plain to the government that one great mind should control all the forces, and General Grant was declared commander of the entire armies of the Union, early in 1864.

It was then that President Lincoln and General Grant met for the first time--a meeting between two great men. The commission of full general was bestowed upon Grant in July, 1866, this title being created especially for him. From August, 1867, to January, 1868, he was really Secretary of War, on account of the trouble between President Johnson and Secretary Stanton. He received the nomination for President, in May, 1868, at the hands of the Republican convention which met in Chicago, and was elected by an overwhelming majority. He was reelected to a second term and at its close he made a tour of the world, with his wife. He was received with unbounded enthusiasm everywhere.

In 1881 he {313}bought a house in New York City, which he made a home in the fullest sense, for his family and himself. On Christmas Eve, 1883, he slipped on the sidewalk, and injured himself so badly that he had to use crutches ever after. Becoming partner in a banking house, he was robbed of all he had by his associates in business and had to turn his attention to literary work, furnishing the _Century_ with some articles. Being solicited to give his experiences, he wrote his “Memoirs,” which he indited while suffering great anguish, and which he finished four days before his death. His wife received for the two volumes from his pen $400,000 as royalty.

The hero of many battles, the grand soldier, was doomed. In 1884 a trouble in his throat developed into a cancer, and for nearly a year he endured intense agony, never murmuring, but working on, that he might place those he so dearly loved beyond want.

On July 23, 1885, he died, in a cottage at Mt. McGregor, near Saratoga, New York--a man whom the world is better for having known.

JAMES ABRAM GARFIELD.

Few boys have risen from such humble surroundings to the highest gift of a great nation, as did the twentieth President of the United States, James A. Garfield. His boyhood's home was a simple cabin in the woods of Ohio, unbroken save by the few settlers who hewed the trees and made a clearing for a home. His father was one of these pioneers, and the future President of our great Republic was a genuine farmer's boy, and knew how to do all the hard work upon a farm. He chopped wood, and helped care for the few acres they called their farm. They did not live in luxury, for they had no means to squander. Living on the plainest fare, wild game and corn, or wheat cracked or pounded in a mortar, performing the hardest labor, the boy's strength grew, until he became a hardy, robust lad, the pride of his beloved parents.

{314}

He {315}never had much schooling, as it was only three months each winter that his parents could send him to the district school, but most excellent use he made of his scant opportunities. At fourteen he was apprenticed to a carpenter, and three years later he worked on the canal. When he was a mere lad, he longed to be a sailor, but he fell sick, and after that he never seemed to long for the sea.

The little village of Orange, Ohio, where he was born on the nineteenth of November, 1831, was soon to see him no more as a resident, for in March, 1849, he left home and entered Geauga Seminary at Chester, and soon was fitted to teach a district school. But he had to work at his trade (the carpenter's) to help pay his way, his mother not being able to assist him, save by a loan of $17.00 which she furnished him the first term that he was there. Every morning and evening, and Saturdays, as well as his entire summer vacation, he spent in labor at the bench. The next three years he passed in the Eclectic Institute at Hiram, and here his finances still continuing low, he willingly acted as student and janitor, and afterward as student and teacher. He was unable to earn enough to pay for his tuition at William's College, and although he practised the closest economy, when he graduated he owed that institution $500, a debt which he afterward faithfully discharged.

He accepted the Professorship of Ancient Languages and Literature in Hiram College, at twenty-six becoming its president, which he continued to be until he entered the army in 1861.

In 1858 he married Lucretia Rudolph, who was a teacher, and a very cultivated woman, who proved a valuable companion in his literary career. He had studied law while President of the college, and was admitted to practice in the Supreme Court cf the United States in 1866.

His {316}military services were large and valuable. He was an authority upon American finances. He held many important positions and was honored by all his colleagues. He was made an honorary member of the celebrated Cobden Club of England.

He made many able speeches in Congress, and was elected to the Thirty-eighth Congress in 1863, and reelected successively {317}to the Thirty-ninth, Fortieth, Forty-first, Forty-second, Forty-third, Forty-fourth, Forty-fifth and Forty-sixth Congresses.

The year 1880 was an important one to James A. Garfield, for in January he was elected by the Ohio Legislature Senator for the term beginning March 4, 1881, to succeed Allen G. Thurman. But on the 8th of June a still greater honor was shown him by the Chicago convention, which nominated him for president, and the November election showed him to be the choice of the people.

His public life was destined to be a short one, for on the morning of July 2, 1881, with bright expectations of a pleasant trip to New York and the White Mountains with his wife and several members of the Cabinet, he started from the White House for the Baltimore and Potomac station. As Secretary Blaine and he entered the station, arm in arm, they passed through the ladies' waiting-room. As they walked briskly on, two pistol shots were fired in quick succession, one of which took effect in the President's back. He sank to the floor, but was conscious. Dr. Bliss was summoned, and took charge of the case, but he named three other surgeons as assistants. Later two very celebrated physicians were added to the list of medical advisers. Their united opinion was that the ball had grazed the liver, and lodged in the front wall of the abdomen, but that it was not necessarily fatal. Still they did not deem it wise to extract it.

The assassin who struck down a good man, was Charles J. Guiteau, a crazy, disappointed office-seeker. After suffering for weeks, and fluctuating between hope of recovery and unfavorable symptoms, he died at Elberon Park, New Jersey, whither he had been removed on the 19th of September, 1881.

His life, with its early struggles, is a lesson to the boys of this age, to show them what great possibilities are within the reach of an American citizen.

EVENTS FOLLOWING THE CIVIL WAR.

THE ATLANTIC CABLE.

ARLY {318}in October, 1851, the first effort at laying a cable for a submarine telegraph was begun by the United States brig Dolphin, which carried a line of soundings across the Atlantic. At that time there were but eighty-seven nautical miles of submarine cable laid, while now there are nearly 200,000 statute miles. Some of these cables merely connect islands with the main shore, others are thousands of miles long. A cable is laid so far below the surface that neither storms, tides or currents can disturb it. But the ends touching the shore are made much stronger and heavier, so that the waves will not impair them, and in some cases, near landings, they are heavily weighted to keep them in place--a thing it is not necessary to do in deep water.

In 1854 Cyrus W. Field obtained a charter for laying a cable, and when the first attempt was made at Kerry, Ireland, in 1857, the occasion was made a very brilliant affair. It was honored by the presence of a vast squadron of British and American ships of war. Representatives of many nations were there, as well as the directors of the Atlantic Telegraph Company, and most of the magnates of the English railroads. It was a momentous undertaking, but after laying 335 miles of cable, and causing the heart of its projectors to beat high with hope, {319}the strands suddenly parted, and their hopes were crushed.

The next year another expedition was commenced, which ended in a similar failure. But nothing could dampen the ardor of its friends, and on the 16th of August of the same year another cable was successfully laid, and on the 17th Queen Victoria sent the President of the United States congratulations upon the successful termination of this great international work, to which Mr. Buchanan returned the courteous wish that the cable might “prove to be a bond of perpetual peace and friendship between the kindred nations.” The two continents held great rejoicings, but disappointment was again their portion, for about the 1st of September the cable throbbed no more.

In 1865 a further attempt was made, and after 1,200 miles had been laid, the cable broke again. So grand an undertaking was not to be given up lightly. Mr. Field's perseverance was unconquerable. A strong, flexible cable was shipped on board the “Great Eastern,” and on the 13th of July, 1866, this gigantic boat started from Valentia, Ireland, and two weeks later it “glided calmly into Heart's Content, Newfoundland, dropping her anchor in front of the telegraph house, having trailed behind her a chain of 2,000 miles, to bind the Old World to the New.” It then went back to the mid-Atlantic, grappled the end of the broken cable of 1865, a splice was made, and the line was continued to Newfoundland by the side of the other. These lines have never failed to work. The cable having thus become a fact, the world was astonished and gratified. Mr. Field had worked heroically, and by our own land, by England and by France he was enthusiastically praised. The first message which passed over this line was a worthy one--the announcement of the treaty of peace between Prussia and Austria.

The charges for telegraphing were formerly very high, twenty pounds for a short message being asked, but as rival companies began to spring up, competition reduced the price considerably.

Marine cables have multiplied so fast that where there was originally but one or two, there are now eight, owned and operated {320}at a vast benefit to the entire world with which we are in communication. The events occurring in the most distant climes are brought to our doors through this medium so perfect is the system. Cyrus W. Field received a gold medal from Congress in recognition of his services, and the gratitude of the world, as well.

ALASKA

|Few can realize the magnitude of this far Northwest territory. To most boys and girls it seems a cold, barren, desolate country, a perpetual scene of ice-bound rivers and frost and snow the whole year round, with nothing growing. When Secretary Seward accomplished the purchase of this vast tract of land from Russia, he showed great wisdom and foresight. No wonder that, in view of its immense size and valuable resources, he declared the conclusion of this affair the crowning triumph of his life.

Russia had been anxious to sell for a long time, but many feared that she had drained all the value from the territory, and wanted to get rid of it. There was bitter opposition in the United States to the plan of buying what every one considered would prove but “a field of ice and a sea of mountains.”

We want to tell the young folks how great a mistake these sort of reasoners labored under, and how we came to be the fortunate buyers of this vast stretch of land.

Many years ago a party of American explorers conceived the idea of establishing a telegraph between our country and Asia, and they went to Alaska for this purpose. Fancy their surprise when they saw what they had supposed was a desert waste, producing the largest pine and cedar trees in the whole world, and the most extensive seal-fisheries, with here and there a town, with {321}its churches and buildings. They at once saw how rich it was in natural advantages, and they became very anxious that our government should confer with Russia as to its purchase. They presented good reasons for this desire to Congress, and Secretary Seward saw at once what an acquisition it would be to us, in many ways. So in March, 1867, the treaty between our country and Russia looking to its sale was ratified. It had at that time a native population of 60,000, and since we have come into possession of it, the United States Commissioner of Education has started schools and appointed teachers to care for the education of the young. There are now twenty-four of these schools in the different settlements, two of them in Sitka and a manual training school has been organized here also, where they receive instruction in the various trades. This school must be very popular, for it has a large attendance for a small city like Sitka, it numbering over 200 pupils on its list.

The chief city, or capital, is Sitka, very romantically situated on the shore, while high mountains rise behind it, forming a beautiful background for the streets and dwellings. It is an old-fashioned, quiet place, when compared with bustling American towns, but it boasts a lively weekly paper, and the Russo-Greek church has a good edifice there, showing that the religious education of its people has not been forgotten. The harbor is very beautiful, being deep, and affording safe shelter for vessels.

The purchase of this territory has extended our northern boundary from the 49th to the 71st parallel, and added to our growth westward by sixty degrees of longitude. It can boast of the highest mountain in America, Mt. St. Elias, which rises 14,000 feet above the sea. The magnificent Yukon river runs through the territory, and steamers of light draft can sail on its waters for 1,500 miles. We have gained 600,000 square miles, and this vast area really cost our government the trifling sum of two cents an acre, the sum paid Russia being $7,200,000. It would require thirteen of our States to equal its extent. As a writer jovially remarked, “It is a gilt-edged real estate investment.”

The {322}climate is quite endurable. The winters in the northern portion are excessively severe, but on the southwest coast it is warmer at that season than either Maine or Dakota.

The salmon are very plentiful, as well as mackerel, cod and herring. The streams are full of them. The salmon rival those of the Columbia and Fraser rivers, and immense canneries are daily in operation in the summer, preparing them for the markets of the world. The Chinese do this work principally, and they are brought up from San Francisco for this purpose and taken back there in the Fall. Fish are mostly caught in fish traps and nets, but the natives spear them.

The largest stamp-mill on this continent for reducing gold-bearing quartz is in operation near the town of Juneau.

Agriculture does not flourish on account of the shortness of the summers. Gardening on a small scale goes on, and plenty can be raised for home use. The region so long remaining almost unknown, has suddenly become the desired bourne for men and women of all classes. It has always been known that its mineral resources were fine, and gold has been found there in small quantities, but the hardships endured in getting it from the soil were too great in proportion to the amount, but a new impetus to the labors of the gold seeker has been given by the discovery of the precious metal in such large quantities that thousands have rushed to this field eager to dig for the yellow ore. Steamers are leaving Pacific ports weekly, laden with those who are willing to brave the terrors of the Chilkoot Pass. If the tales are true, it is surely a land of' untold riches, as the entire region is gold-bearing, and for some years to come, that metal will be found by some, in paying quantities. One authority, Dr. Becker, states that the beach sand all along the Alaskan coast contains enormous quantities of gold. But even though there was not an ounce of it in the whole territory, Alaska has paid back to our commerce its price several times over.

CENTENNIAL EXPOSITION.

|The {323}United States, now in the midst of prosperity concluded to hold one of the most notable fairs any land has ever enjoyed. The first one was held in commemoration of the one hundredth birthday of our nation, and was projected on broad lines, and carried out in the same manner. It was opened May 10, 1876, and continued 159 days. It was a general invitation to all the world to bring their productions to our shores for admiration and instruction, and caused a unity and sympathy between the severed parts of our country such as no other event could have succeeded in doing. People flocked to Philadelphia from every land, and the North and South met in a friendly rivalry as to which section should be most fully represented. Over 61,000 visitors attended each day of the Fair, and at the close of the Fair the receipts were, in admissions, concessions and royalties, in round numbers, $4,307,749.75.

It had been the desire of many patriotic people for ten years to make a showing of our resources, and to invite, as it were, the whole world to see us at home. The hope had never met with favor, but by repeated representations as to the importance of the idea, the people of the United States were at last {324}aroused, and worked so faithfully and rapidly to carry it out, as to surprise the world.

President Grant, on behalf of the United States, asked the nations to take part in our rejoicing, and they responded promptly, by sending commissioners to attend to the details. Congress appropriated large sums, and all the States entered into the undertaking with hearty good-will.

City governments and private individuals also contributed freely. A site was chosen, Fairmount Park, Philadelphia, one of the most charming locations which could have been found. Five large buildings were constructed, covering an area of twenty acres.

Each State erected a building, as did many foreign nations, within which to exhibit the products and manufactures of that particular State.

The exposition was opened by President Grant, with Dom Pedro, Emperor of Brazil, and his empress, by his side. Theodore Thomas' orchestra furnished the music, playing eighteen airs at the opening, the last of which, Hail Columbia, met with tumultuous applause. A cantata came next, a prayer by Bishop Simpson, and a hymn followed written by Whittier, the Quaker poet. General Hawley presented the buildings and their contents to the President, who accepted them in a few words, announcing that the exhibition was open. The two ponderous Corliss engines which were to put the whole machinery going, were set in motion by the President and the Emperor.

The exhibition was formally closed November 10, 1876, after a season of unexampled prosperity, in the simplest manner. Addresses were made by General Hawley and several others, the entire audience sang “America,” and President Grant declared the International Exhibition closed. But it had taught foreign powers a lesson of respect for our republic, and caused wider intercourse between the Old World and the New.

EDISON, THE GENIUS OF THE AGE.

|To-day the old system of illumination is giving way to the splendors of electric glow. With man's progress came the much needed {325}question of artificial light.

Electric lights not only adorn the streets of our cities, but grace our parlors, furnishing a stronger, a cleaner and more healthful light than any other known. {326}To Thomas A. Edison, who was born in Milan, Ohio, in 1847, belongs the glory of bringing electricity for lighting purposes to a successful basis.

Other scientists before him had experimented, {327}but to Edison remained the work of removing the final difficulties. Electricity is to-day furnishing the motive power for street cars, railroads, engines, etc., and it is predicted that before the dawn of a new century more wonderful still will be the achievements of this untutored and remarkable man.

With no less possibilities in scientific research comes the Kinetoscope, his latest invention, which by a thousand instantaneous pictures one is enabled to see the lifelike motions of “a child at play,” “a distant battle,” or the varied scenes of a “County Fair.”

CHICAGO FIRE.

|The terror which fire excites exceeds all other causes for fear. It is a subtle power that the average person cannot cope with. Its exhibitions are so terrible, so changeable, and so unmanageable, that it temporarily unnerves or unbalances the calmest brain. Great conflagrations have raged in many lands, and in all ages, doing exceeding great damage, but it is yet to be recorded that a fire ever swept over so wide a territory, and swallowed up so large an amount of wealth and products, sacrificing so much life as did the great Chicago Fire.

The history of the prominent events of the times would be incomplete were not the attention of the boys and girls of to-day directed to an occurrence so startling as to arouse the sympathies of the entire world.

The fire started on the night of October 8, 1871. The previous summer had been especially dry and hot, and was prolific of fires, many cities and towns having suffered in this respect, and the lumber districts of Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, and the forests of New York State, having been visited by the destroying element. Many causes have been assigned for this fire, but its origin will probably remain forever unknown. It burned with unabated fierceness for two days, and three-fourths of the city were literally reduced to ashes.

On the evening of Saturday, the 7th, a fire had broken out in {328}a portion of the West Division of the city, and consumed property to the value of a million of dollars. This was thought a terrible fire, and was heralded in all the Sabbath morning papers; thousands visited the spot on that day, and commented on and shuddered at the loss. Little did they apprehend that the same evening, Sunday, October 8, a fire would take place which would do the most deadly work, ruining business, licking up homes and property, destroying human life, and almost wiping out a whole city, whose prosperity and energy had become famous.

Nothing escaped. Private homes, public buildings, churches, banks, theaters, the postoffice, courthouse, newspaper edifices, hotels, {329}all fell before it, and not until General Sheridan ordered the blowing up of buildings, was its progress stayed.

At half-past three in the morning, while a strong southwest wind was blowing, the anxious citizens were informed that the North Side was attacked by the fire fiend, and one of the first victims to its wrath was the engine house of the waterworks, thus cutting off the supply of water for use in fighting the flames, and driving the terrified people to despair. From here it leaped northward, taking in the elevators on the river banks, with their millions of bushels of grain, setting fire to vessels lying at anchor, then to the cemetery nearest the city, and to the beautiful park known as Lincoln, in short, to every conceivable object which could furnish food for the monster of destruction.

The tramp of hundreds of people fleeing from the fire, the shrieks of terror, the noise of the engines, the hoarse shouts and calls of those who searched in vain for their dear ones separated from them in the mad chase for life, the thunderous fall of stately structures, the roaring, crackling, howling flames, made a wild scene that Pandemonium was silence compared with. The fire burned the North Side until there was no trace of a building left standing save one, the residence of Mahlon D. Ogden, which stood in a large plat of ground, entirely detached. On the site of this house has since been erected a fine building of stone, devoted to a public library, and called the Newberry. The northern city limits and the lake were the only barriers to the further encroachments of the fire.

Blazing brands were seen sailing through the air, and, falling in some spot as yet untouched, they would kindle a new fire. The heat was intense, the very air one breathed almost scorched the throat. One vast sea of flame melted marble and stone till it crumbled and fell. But oh, blessed relief! The thousands who camped out on the prairie that night welcomed the torrents of rain that fell, even though it chilled them through. People went nearly mad with terror on that dreadful night. Robbers and thieves were busy plying their trade, taking everything they could {330}carry away. Some of these perished with their ill-gotten gains. The lake was a welcome refuge, and hundreds waded out as far into its waters as they dared, to escape the heat that lay behind them. It was said that many were drowned through their temerity.

The 10th of October rose upon a waste, whose dwellers were clothed in the apathy of despair. For eight days after the fire, the city was without water, and the dread of a second outbreak hung like a pall over them. The city came under military rule, citizens patroled the streets, and every stranger was looked upon with suspicion, lest he be an incendiary. General Sheridan, by virtue of the fact that he was commander of the Military Division of the Missouri, took charge of the city, to protect it from the thieves and incendiaries who were at work. He ordered two companies of regulars from Omaha, three from Fort Leavenworth, and one from Fort Scott, here. General Halleck also furnished him with four companies from Kentucky.

A hundred men were put to work on the engines of the waterworks, and in a week the mains were filled by pumping water into them from the river. Some sickness resulted from drinking this water. But eight days' labor resulted in forcing water from the pure lake into the pipes, and once more Chicago could drink its fill. Meanwhile peddlers had dipped water from the lake and sold it from house to house at a shilling a pail. Mayor R. B. Mason, on the 10th, forbade any fires kindled for cooking, and “cold victuals,” and in many cases no victuals at all, for a day or so, until the Relief Committee could distribute the stores pouring into the desolated city, were the order of the day.

And then the great heart of the world beat with noble generosity. From every city, and town, and village, and from foreign lands, the beneficent gifts flowed in, and food and clothing. From New York, Boston, Cincinnati, St. Louis, London, England, and all over the world, generous contributions of money were poured into Chicago, to feed the starving--not the “starving poor,” but the starving people, for all were made beggars by the {331}calamity. Banks were destroyed, local fire insurance companies were wiped out of existence, and for months our fair city was kept alive by the noble and unstinted liberality of the world.

The loss in property was over $290,000,000, at the lowest estimate. How many lives were laid down no statistics have ever been positively given, as there was such a large floating population, of whom no account could be made, but accepting the lowest computation, at least 250 people perished on that fearful night, and over 100,000 were left homeless, and without a shelter.

A writer, speaking of the great loss of the fire of 1871 says that $1,000,000 of property was consumed every five minutes, and 125 acres of buildings every hour.

THE TELEPHONE AND PHONOGRAPH.

|No invention of modern times equals in interest the Telephone. It has remained for an American to solve the problem of communication between persons at a distance from each other. Scientists, by means of electricity and sound, have devised an apparatus for transmitting the voice to a distance of hundreds of miles. To Alexander Graham Bell, of Massachusetts, and to Elisha P. Gray, of Chicago, is due the honor of originating this wonderful invention.

Closely following the telephone is the Phonograph, an invention based on the same principle of science, but brought about by different means. The phonograph is made to talk and sing, thus enabling one to read by the ear instead of the eye.

THE JOHNSTOWN FLOOD.

|Fly for your lives! The dam is going!” Such was the warning the inhabitants of the towns received from the lips of a man who rode madly through the valley, warning every one he saw, on that sad afternoon of May 31, 1889. It was five in the afternoon. The people were beginning to think of leaving their {332}work and going to their peaceful homes, when this dread news broke upon their ears. They could not credit it, and as they heard the news, they looked doubtingly at each other. To most of them, it seemed impossible. The dam was away up in the mountains, on private grounds, and few had ever seen it or dreamed how vast it was. Besides, they reasoned, it had broken once or twice before, and no great harm was done. All these causes served to lull their fears. But even when they were warned, it was too late, so impetuous was its course. Nothing could have stayed the mad waters in their descent into the doomed valley.

The Johnstown flood followed a long rain storm in the Alleghanies--a storm of several days' duration. All the rivers running east were swollen, and the immense dam of the huge Conemaugh valley burst with a thunderous report. The reservoir was a large one, four miles long by one broad, and over seventy feet deep. This vast body of water swept a wave twenty feet high at the rate of twenty miles an hour, right down into {333}the narrow and deep valley, where were eight villages boasting a population of 58,000. Johnstown, Pennsylvania, the largest of the towns in the valley, lay at the junction of Stony Creek and the Conemaugh river, and had extensive iron works, banks, and many business houses. This and all the villages were swept out of being in two hours, so rapid and vehement was the coming of the torrent. Thousands were drowned, and nearly two thousand people were burned to death by means of a mass of wreckage which was caught and held at a new bridge near the town. The houses were all made of wood, timber had floated down the current and stacked up, and hundreds of trees were piled up at this bridge for a space of sixty acres. It is presumed that some furnaces set fire to this mass, and the poor creatures whose helpless forms had been entangled in the débris, met an awful death by fire. There was no chance for escape; the raging torrent was ready to engulf them, while the fierce flames were eager to lap up all that the waters spared.

Railroad tracks were swept away, telegraph poles leveled, and though Philadelphia and other cities sent help and food at once, it was impossible to reach the helpless victims for forty-eight hours, and when at last soldiers and navvies on rescue trains reached the scene, there was nothing to be done but to feed the living and bury the dead.

Nearly 10,000 perished, and all who had escaped with their lives tried to succor the sufferers, save a few Hungarian Slavs and Italians, who plundered the dead, but who were shot at once as a reward for their greediness.

It is not possible to picture the condition of the Valley after the waters receded. In many places the whole town was swept as bare as though a gigantic broom had passed over it, nothing but sand and gravel being left. Where a house chanced to be left standing, it was filled with mud and slime to the third story, while trees, broken timbers and debris was piled up to the second story. Not a house was fit for occupancy. Dead bodies were found in cellars, and in some dwellings horses had been forced into the rooms by the rushing waters, and lay there putrefying. {334}They all fared alike. A few citizens were held prisoners in their frame houses, and floated over two miles to a place of safety, but these fortunate ones were the exception.

Medicines, clothing, money and food were liberally poured into the unfortunate region. Men and women from all over the country offered their services to care for the living and the dead.

The dam whose bursting caused this awful loss of life was very carelessly constructed, and had no stone work in its makeup. Indeed, it might well be called a vast embankment of earth.

EARTHQUAKE AT CHARLESTON.

|Charleston, South Carolina, seems to have more than her share of misfortunes.

This thought occurred to me when the papers all over the country on the morning of September 1st, 1886, {335}gave to the world an account of that dreaded convulsion known as an earthquake, which had taken place the night previous, just as the hour for retiring had come. The first intimation that the Signal Service Bureau at Washington city had of this catastrophe was only a surmise. They knew that something was wrong, for communication was not to be had. All the telegraph wires were suddenly cut off. Without a moment's warning the city had been shocked and rent to its very foundation. Hardly a building escaped injury and almost a third of the city was in half or total ruins. The whole Atlantic coast was more or less affected, and for leagues from the shore the ocean was thrown in a turmoil.

People fled from the tottering houses to the parks and public squares, where they erected tents and remained for weeks, afraid to return to their own homes. It was soon discovered that these shocks were only the dying away of great convulsions and that further alarm was unnecessary, so they returned home.

With true American energy the debris was in a few months cleared away, business was resumed and to-day were it not for a few cracks and fissures in buildings we would never know that anything had happened there to disturb their peace.

INDIAN WARS.

ATING {336}from the time of the discovery of our continent there have been disturbances between the whites and the Indians. The first Indian war was between the colonists and the natives, and dates back to 1622.

At the beginning of the nineteenth century the Sioux Indians held all the lands between the Mississippi and the Rocky Mountains, north of the 40th parallel of latitude. These lands were grassy, rolling prairies, with a plentiful supply of timber growing along the rivers and creeks which abounded. The government established reservations thirty-two years ago for the purpose of keeping those Indians who are hostile, separated from the peaceably disposed ones, who only went upon the hunt for game for food and sale. When buffalo and large game grew scarce, the United States furnished them with food and clothing, and placed the means within their power, to support themselves.

The Indian question is full of interest, and comes forward constantly to perplex our government, which regards them as its wards. Articles by the hundred have been written about the red man, his possibilities and capabilities set forth; plans have been proposed to subdue, or rather civilize him, and still the fact remains that the savage nature, save in exceptional instances, is as untamed as the first day he came upon the scene. {337}

The {338}first mail to California from the East was carried by the overland route, in stages, and lucky was the party that made the lonesome journey across the plains unmolested by the Indians, who swarmed about them and sent showers of arrows into the coach which was carrying its bag of mail and the trembling passengers. The stage was always guarded by United States soldiers, but in spite of this the half-naked savages would press closer and closer, hurling their sharp arrows with unerring aim, as the stage went plunging along, the horses half-mad with fear, but straining every nerve to outrun the screaming foe. The settlers of those early days were brave men and women, or they would not have risked falling into the hands of the roving bands who were always on the war-path on some pretext. Many a brave man has died defending the mail which the government intrusted to him.

While our land was torn with dissension, the Indians cunningly planned a general uprising. This was in 1862. The Indians in Minnesota and Dakota massacred the settlers everywhere, In Minnesota the Sioux attacked outlying towns, committing {339}terrible atrocities. They pounced upon New Ulm, a small but thriving village, and killed 100 of its people.

They turned their attention to two other villages, but were driven away. {340}Colonel Sibley was sent after them, and met several bodies of Indians, whom he defeated. They fear cannon greatly, and two were turned upon them, much to their terror.

The garrison at Fort Kearney was surprised by Indians December 21, 1866, and 100 soldiers were slaughtered.

The Indians have many peculiar customs. One of them is, their habit of daubing on the war paint and indulging in a war dance whenever they resolve to attack the whites.

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Once seen they {342}can never be forgotten, for their lithe forms, hideously painted faces, and demoniac yells would startle the bravest.

September of 1867 the Indians on the North Platte called a council to confer with General Sherman. They demanded that the building of several roads should be stopped, and particularly the work on the Southern Pacific, as it interfered with their hunting. The General would not accede to these demands, but promised that any loss they suffered should be made good to them.

September 18, 1868, the 'Indians attacked our troops at Republican River, and Lieutenant Beecher and several other officers were murdered. In 1871 the Apaches killed over 200 white settlers, not in battle, but skulking in ambush, and shooting them wherever they met them.

The whites met the Indians at Washita River, and defeated them, November 27, 1868.

Thus the continual outbreaks of the Indians, have been a source of trouble and anxiety to the government, which has sought to adjust the claims of the red men in a fair and just manner. That the latter have often been cheated and robbed by unscrupulous agents and traders, no one can deny, but the fact still remains that the Indian nature is peculiarly hard to subdue, and their natural instincts are cruel. {343}

There are, fortunately, many bright examples among several tribes, {344}of the beauty of civilization, and its beneficial influence upon them.

The Modoc massacre was a cruel return for intended kindness. This tribe had for its chief Captain Jack, a very intelligent man of fine abilities. Their removal to another reservation was violently resisted by them, and they retreated to the Lava Beds, where trouble was anticipated. At last a peace council was arranged for and although Colonel Meacham, the peace commissioner, urged the whites not to attend it, they paid no attention to his warning, but went. The Indians had concealed weapons, and they rose in a body, and attempted to massacre every white man present. General Canby and Dr. Thomas were killed, and Colonel Meacham received a dozen wounds, but survived them. Three months afterward the band surrendered, and Captain Jack and some of the other leaders were executed at Fort Klamath, Oregon, October 3.

GEORGE A. CUSTER.

|A the close of the war of 1861 most of the boys in blue went back to their homes--but not so with General Custer. He was one of the most brilliant soldiers of the war, and had the distinction of being the youngest general in the army. His graduation from West Point took place just about the first year of the conflict, and he was made lieutenant, but before the close of the last year he had attained the rank of major-general, and assisted in some of the most remarkable victories.

He was not allowed time to visit his home in Michigan, but was ordered to lead a cavalry command through Texas, to teach the people there that the war was over, and to check the ravages of the “bushwhackers” who still infested that beautiful State. On his return home he accepted the lieutenant-colonelcy of the Seventh United States Cavalry, and nine years were passed in service at the frontier posts of Kansas and Dakota.

His wife lived with him through those scenes of interest. She {345}had the gift of transmitting to paper the vivid pictures of this wild and daring life. She passed four months in an army wagon, and rode the long marches which her brave husband was forced to make. He was a hero, she also was a heroine, for the hardships and privations which she endured so uncomplainingly, were worthy of so grand a spirit.

The Sioux (Soo) is the most powerful tribe of red men on our continent. They preyed upon all alike--with the defenceless settlements of our Minnesota frontier, with the Pawnees, the Cheyennes, the Arapahoes, and the Shoshones and, indeed, with all the other tribes, far and near.

They spared no one. At the end of the war of 1861 our army was called on to protect the peaceable settlers of the far West, for the Sioux were more hostile and bloodthirsty than ever. For ten years the cavalry regiments knew no rest. The Indians were on the war-path continually. They were always rash fighters, but when in 1874 they obtained breech-loaders and rifles, they became a foe more to be dreaded than ever. They burned our forts and massacred the small garrisons in a most atrocious manner.

Our government used every method to subdue them, feeding, clothing and coaxing them. Agencies and reservations were placed at good points, but this care for their comfort had no effect. The old worn-out Indians, women and children lived on these reservations, partaking of the government's bounty, while the young and vigorous warriors sallied out to murder and pilfer the whites wherever they could find them. The soldiers of the United States were not permitted to attack them on their reservations, and so they kept out of their way, and escaped punishment.

An Indian in his wild state has no respect for another of his race who has no scalps to show. There were, however, some who made treaties with the whites, and kept them. But among the many who never made any promise to behave was a powerful medicine chief known as “Sitting Bull.”

In March, 1876, General George Crook was sent against this {346}renowned warrior, who had entrenched himself in the hills with 6,000 “bad Indians” around him. From the south General Terry was sent with a strong body of cavalry and infantry, and General Gibbon with a small but brave band of frontier soldiers. They approached the stronghold of the chief. Major Reno left camp to reconnoiter, and was readily convinced how rash it would be to attack Sitting Bull, who was daily receiving accessions to his numbers.

General Terry thought, however, it was time to start an expedition to discover and dislodge the enemy, and he gave the command to the brave and fearless soldier, General Custer. He named the 26th of June as the day when he and Gibbon would be there to assist Custer, but the latter, impatient to open the conflict, had urged his horses and men to their utmost so as to reach the scene. He started on the trail with the Seventh Cavalry, riding sixty miles in twenty-four hours. His aim was to have a bout with the Indians and defeat them single-handed. Coming within sight of the village on the left bank of the Little Big Horn River where Sitting Bull was encamped, he observed such tokens of excitement and hurrying away of ponies as to him had but one explanation--that the chief and his warriors were running away. Dashing forward with panting chest and the fire of courage flaming in his face, he placed himself at the head of his men, plunged hastily into the valley, and the last that General Reno, who followed him closely, ever saw of the brave Custer and his three hundred, was the cloud of dust their trail had left behind.

The valiant Custer had gone to his death! Expecting Reno would make a dash such as his own, he had gallantly ridden forward, to be met by a perfect storm of flame and lead. In an instant he saw how vain was his attempt, and giving orders to mount he sought a way out, but the red men swarmed around his followers. Boys and even old squaws were firing at him and his band most viciously. {347}