Chapter XVI: Part 16

A long line of ladies had been invited by President Arthur to help him receive. The innovation of numbers was inaugurated by Mrs. Julia Grant, when she presided at the White House. It is not known whether Mrs. Grant meant to emulate Eugenie surrounded by her court, yet the effect is somewhat the same. The leading lady who modestly stood at the head is Mrs. Frelinghuysen, dressed in black silk, without the slightest pretense of doing anything but her duty. How tired and worn every feature of her face seemed, turned into an interrogation point, which asked, what does it all amount to any way? Then came the wife of the Attorney-General. Mrs. Brewster wore a royal robe of ruby velvet. Another lovely face was that of the wife of the young Secretary of War. Mrs. Lincoln wore Spanish lace over old gold satin. Although the youngest of the cabinet circle, Mrs. Lincoln’s whole childhood was associated with official society at the capital. Room only for one more of the stars that compose President Arthur’s galaxy of assistants--Mrs. Senator Logan, most queenly in appearance of all. Slightly taller than the others, with a face lighted with flashing black eyes and snowy hair rolled back in Martha Washington style, with rosy cheeks and pearly teeth, a veritable picture of “roses in the snow.” The saddest picture is Mrs. Blaine in the background, bereft of her official crown, disappointment peeping out of her face covertly, as the picket guard watches for the foe.

The Supreme Court marches by, but some of its members are absent. Afterwards file by the veterans of the Grand Army of the Republic, wearing a badge which indicates devotion to a cause. Now a cold, sad wave comes down the long corridors following the gay throng which has just passed. It is the Oldest Inhabitants Association--encased in the frozen armor of age. There is a brush. A sigh that seems to breathe from everything around. It is gone. The beautiful ladies who stood by President Arthur are gone, because all that is “official” has drifted by. There is a muffled sound--the crowd, the strangers, the citizens of the District are coming. Policemen begin to appear, they are strewn around as though a siege were about to begin, but President Arthur shows not the least sign of weariness; he shakes every offered hand. “Where are the ladies who were to receive with the President?” is anxiously asked. “Gone to their own receptions,” is answered from somewhere. A bit of a woman appears leading a little child. It is such a tiny speck, but its sweet face peeps out from its fleecy hood as an angel’s might from under the mist. There are no grand dames around--only the people. President Arthur takes the little one in his hands, then he lifts it high, and gives the humble little tot a kiss. It was so exquisitely done that it seemed the work of inspiration. With this incident the ceremonies came to a close, whilst the Marine Band was playing its choicest airs, composed by its talented leader to inaugurate the new year.

OLIVIA.

AT THE TRIAL OF GUITEAU.

ANECDOTES OF THE JUDGE, JURY, AND AUDIENCE.

WASHINGTON, _January 5, 1882_.

A strange tale comes floating down the surface of the centuries. Its strange points assimilate with those associated with the unique criminal trial of to-day. During the period that the Roman inquisition was at the zenith of its power, a Catholic priest invented an instrument of torture. It was in the shape of an iron room, long and narrow, and with seven small windows looking toward the rising sun. By means of noiseless machinery the space contracted so that the wretched prisoner would see by the first light of dawn that a window had disappeared. The torture of the infernal machine could be lengthened or shortened according to the mercy of the executioner. But on the last day, or rather night, the iron bedstead would assume the form of a box, and as the sun appeared in the east the muffled tones of a bell would fall on the ear of the doomed, whilst the lid would fall, and after the clang there would be heard the fastening of screws if insensibility had not previously intervened. To prevent the existence of this instrument being known, the Doge of Venice seized its unfortunate inventor and put him into the machine, that everything connected with it should be destroyed, even to the inventor. Just as the Catholic priest created an instrument of torture and destruction, Guiteau has woven a web from which there is no escape.

The mercy or weakness which Judge Cox is accused of exercising toward the prisoner is the same sort of kindness which the executioner had for the Catholic priest. The windows of the iron cage are a little longer in disappearing. A thoughtful spectator watching the countenance of Judge Cox will see that he carries all the weight of responsibility which goes with the judicial ermine. Cool, calm, inflexible, he seems to realize that his course in this celebrated case will be put on record to stand as long as the archives of the Republic. No opportunity has been given for the defense to obtain a new trial; no chance for ill-timed sympathy to accuse him of want of clemency or withholding that which is decreed the humblest citizen on trial for his life. In this most trying position in which a man could be placed, Judge Cox has filled all the requirements of the case in a manner which unbiased, unprejudiced posterity will applaud.

Coming to the jury, taken altogether, a clearer-headed set of men could not be found. If the writer was on trial for her life and allowed the privilege to select a jury, a large proportion of those now serving would be chosen for this painful and thankless duty. One of the jurymen has had honors paid him accorded only to the most distinguished men of the world. He has been met at the threshold of the Winter Palace of the Czar of Russia, the great Nicholas, standing with a silver salver in one hand, upon which was placed corn bread, and a golden chair in the other, the seat of which was hollowed out to hold salt. He has sat at the same table with the Emperor, amidst all the splendor and pomp of the Russian court. This gentleman (Mr. Heinline) was engineer of the monitor that carried Assistant Secretary Fox, of the Navy, when he went to take President Lincoln’s dispatches to the crowned heads of Europe during our late war. In charge of this wonderful war craft, he received as much attention and in one sense more than Mr. Fox, for the Czar, like his ancestor, Peter the Great, had unbounded respect for the science of mechanics. During the lifetime of the monitors only the highest talent was employed to manage their machinery. Cool and brave must be the men who went to sea in these iron pots, and who would not choose such a juryman? And yet fate or accident has determined this man should be one to bring his strength of mind to decide in the matter of the assassin’s responsibility. It would make this article too long to make sketches of the different jurymen, but all enjoy the respect of those who know them best, so far as the writer has been able to ascertain. Few men, whether their crimes have been heavy or light, have been so fortunate as the assassin. No mortal hand was extended to help Guiteau in the selection of a jury. To the credit of all the citizens of the District, not a man was chosen that did not bewail his fate and hope that something would prevent his selection. It was claimed at the time that no jury could be impaneled because all had expressed opinions as to the guilt of the prisoner; but whether the assassin was insane or otherwise placed the trial in a different light, and only the repulsion remained in the minds of the people of the capital.

It is cruel slander on the women of the District when it is claimed it is “the same old set” of theater-goers that have gone to the Guiteau trial every day. A very few faces, less than a dozen, have been daily attendants, but these are the suspected adventuresses who come to Washington in advance of Congressmen to get the winter nests well warmed. They stop at the leading hotels, where they behave with that becoming modesty that secures them from molestation. When the real work of the Congressional season begins they flit to the different “boudoirs” in some of the most respectable quarters of the city where carriages going and coming attract not the slightest notice. The women wear “seal skin” and have all the attractive airs of “official life.” Excitement they must have, and the Guiteau trial is an excellent preliminary to the winter festivities.

It is this class of female adventuresses who dog the footsteps of the virtuous Congressmen as well as the other kind. They even have the “cheek” to attend private receptions uninvited, and claim to be on intimate terms with those who compose our most refined circles of “official society.” When these women are excepted it will be found that the surging crowd that fills the court room is composed of strangers visiting the national capital. Our ladies had a desire to look once upon a man who could murder a President, but the desire was gratified with one visit. A glance at the newspapers will prove that this pardonable curiosity pervaded all ranks of the people. Even clergymen have been seen in the small space allotted to spectators of this criminal trial.

All the “star” actors or actresses who have appeared on the stage in Washington since the trial began came to the court room--the Florences, Mary Anderson, Lotta, and a troupe of lesser lights which have escaped the writer’s memory. All seemed seeking to try to solve the problem, whether the assassin is insane, and, with scarce an exception, all believe, as did Frederick the Great of Prussia, that cranks “are responsible.” When Frederick ruled his subjects assassination became a familiar crime, while insanity became the bridge which carried the criminals to safety; but the far-seeing, irrepressible Emperor thought it would be a good plan to crush out this kind of dangerous material by the extreme penalty of the law, and the result was that fanaticism did not bloom out any more in this kind of way. Whilst “experts,” or those who have had experience in the management of insane people, can give their belief, that has little to do with the actual and proper settlement of the question as to the responsibility of the “crank.” An honest man or woman who has been insane, yet restored to health, should be the ones to decide this most important point. Shakespeare settled the subject when he asked “Who can minister to a mind diseased?” Now, this most superior of human beings did not dare to answer his own inquiry. If the “experts” could take hold of a broken mind as the surgeons do of a shattered limb, possibly they might cure it; but if a human soul by some inscrutable means, like a ship at sea, finds its bottom covered with barnacles, or a terrible rent in the hold, torn by a hidden rock, only the Builder can plunge into the vast ocean of mystery and mend the sinking wreck.

Taking the testimony of the “experts,” Dr. Gray seemed wisest and best informed, and he was very careful not to commit himself. He conscientiously let the jury know how very little we know about insanity, but he did bear out the fact that a mind a little off color, or what is vulgarly called a “crank,” for the want of a better term, is not relieved of responsibility and should be punished for crime committed the same as other criminals.

Notwithstanding the prisoner has been allowed better food and has had the stimulant of excitement imparted by his trial, there is a change gradually stealing over his features, which, rightly interpreted, means despair. His naturally pale face has assumed a kind of ashen hue which makes a sombre background for the lightning play of the fierce passions with which he is continually interrupting the court. There are no particular points to mark this man. He is like the great masses of the human family who resemble each other almost as much as do the leaves of the forest.

There is something very touching in the appearance of Mr. Scoville, brother-in-law and counsel for the assassin. He seems to have advanced ten years in age since the trial began. He has grown very much thinner, and a painful, eager, anxious expression is stamped on his otherwise kindly face. And the sister, who comes so regularly and shares the odium and disgrace of the brother! It is said her husband was very much averse to having anything to do with the trial, but when so many lawyers refused he yielded to the earnest entreaties of his wife. But instead of becoming an object of loathing to the ladies of Washington, like her brother, the assassin, her womanly devotion is appreciated. It is true she has not been crowned with laurel or welcomed to hospitable boards, but woman’s heart at Washington beats in sympathy with this sister, for no place can be so vile that it is not purified and uplifted by the presence of the same spirit that qualified Mary to become the mother of Jesus.

John W. Guiteau, the brother, has also won the respect of the community. He is trying to make the public understand that only an idiot or mad man would be guilty of the crime which a brother has committed. He feels the disgrace so deep and burning that all facts connected with the assassin’s life should come to light. Unlike his sister, he has pity, but no affection, and if he can be made to believe his brother is responsible, he, like Mr. Scoville, under the same circumstances, will be among the first to approve the carrying out of the extreme penalty of the law.

OLIVIA.

ARCTIC EXPEDITIONS.

CAPTAIN DE LONG’S DEPARTURE--THE POLARIS AND HER COMMANDER.

WASHINGTON, _January 7, 1882_.

Since the cablegrams of James Gordon Bennett to the authorities at Washington, no further news has been received of the ill-fated survivors of the _Jeannette_, who are now supposed to be traversing the frozen waste of Northern Siberia in dog sledges to reach once more a welcome home. Sad as the fate of all those who have undertaken to penetrate the secrets which Nature keeps eternally locked in her Arctic jaws, the moment a new expedition for the same purpose is mentioned, the spirit of adventure stirs within the naval breast, and more officers and men are found to offer their services than would man a fleet.

When Commander De Long, of the _Jeannette_, drew the awful prize in the lottery of Arctic exploration, his ambition rose to fever heat. So much so that in a measure it dried away the tears of his almost heart-broken wife, who felt the fate of Lady Franklin wrapping her mind as a dead body swathed in a winding-sheet. Just before Commander De Long left the capital, husband and wife decided to go to the White House and receive the Executive prayers and blessings ere the doomed vessel should unfurl her sails. Arriving at the proper morning hour, they waited and waited until patience was gone, when a messenger returned bringing the sad intelligence that “The President could not be seen, but Mrs. Hayes would soon be at leisure.” Another period of precious time passed, when the rustling of silk was heard in a distant corridor, and at last a huge bouquet “hove” in sight, with a remarkably smiling lady behind it. Without giving Captain De Long an opportunity to get a word in edgewise, Mrs. Hayes seemed determined to let the visitors know that she had mastered the situation and knew all about it; but imagine the consternation of the brave naval commander to find that he had been mistaken for a charlatan who had invented what he believed to be a method of freezing out yellow fever on board of ships irrespective of the vessel’s latitude.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Hayes, her soul palpitating with devotion to her fifty million loving subjects, “if you have only succeeded in ridding the world of yellow fever.”

“Breakers ahead!” thought the embryo explorer, whilst the little wife was struck dumb to think her captain, whose name was to be enrolled with Franklin, Kane, Hall and others, and which will last in the world’s archives so long as civilization remains on top, should be the victim of a mistake. It is not known whether Commander De Long piloted Mrs. Hayes from the tropical regions of the yellow fever to the Arctic barriers of the North Pole, but it is certain that both husband and wife left the Executive mansion wiser if not happier than before.

A good sharp taste of Arctic adventure can be obtained by gazing upon a picture of the _Polaris_, of the late Hall expedition as she lay locked in her frozen bed in the cruel polar sea. The artist has caught the icy atmosphere, with all its bleak, horrible surroundings. If the _Polaris_ remains undisturbed by beast or savage, the centuries will roll by, leaving the vessel intact, like the mastodon, now extinct, but preserved by the glaciers of Siberia. A fiery enthusiasm took possession of the late Capt. C. F. Hall, and he came to the capital to plead his cause before Congress, as did Columbus before Ferdinand and Isabella. This same kind of flame is what lights up the path of progress, and keeps civilization from going down to the tomb. It made Isabella sell her jewels, and it forced our Congress to give Captain Hall an ear, and the consequence was the purchase by the Government of an ice vessel of the Delaware, _Periwinkle_ by name. She was brought to Washington, where Secretary Robeson caused her very ribs to be taken out and others of the greatest strength put in the place. To finish all, he added to the long rakish sailing body an iron nose. In nautical language seven feet of “dead wood,” or solid timber, protected the forward part of the ship and this was strengthened by a plating of iron. Her sides were from twenty inches to two feet in thickness, whilst she had just twice the number of iron bolts in her carcass that are used for ordinary vessels for whaling purposes. Nearly every dollar of the appropriation was used in the purchase and strengthening of the ships, leaving nothing for ornament; but everything in the shape of comfort and luxury was contributed by the wealthy citizens of Boston, even to musical instruments, which were to pierce the solitudes with cultured airs. The _Polaris_ was rigged as a foretop-sail schooner, and was able to sail and steer without aid from her engine. The engine could burn either coal or oil, but it was not expected to be of much use in extreme northern latitudes, as the danger was imminent of breaking the paddle-wheels on the ice; and the propeller was arranged in such a way that it could be lifted on deck through a shaft or “propeller-well.” But if the propeller was broken a new one was provided. The cargo was made up of duplicate articles to insure its progress and safety. Most wonderful life-boats were provided. One in particular attracted attention because it was made for sledge journeys. It was constructed of hickory and ash, and folded up like an umbrella, thus occupying one-eighth of the space as when opened for use. It takes only two or three minutes to spread this boat on the water. Its weight was two hundred and fifty pounds. A life-preserving buoy was placed on the outside of the stern of the _Polaris_, and in case a man fell overboard it could instantly be lowered by touching a spring somewhere near the pilot-house. By touching another spring an electric light was elevated two feet above the buoy, and this would light up the water for yards around.

The vessel was loaded with pemmican, dessicated vegetables, canned meats and fruits. The pemmican was the life of the expedition. The latter is an ugly brownish compound to the eye, disgusting to the taste in civilized regions; but an old whaler says: “It is an entirely different article in the Arctic regions. When exposed to the intense cold it becomes pale straw color, and melts in the mouth like a peach, only ten thousand times more delicious.” It is said to be worth a journey to the North Pole to be able to eat pemmican accompanied by raw walrus liver.

All this frozen knowledge is vividly retained in the writer’s mind, because it was her experience to sit at the same table with Captain Hall at the National Hotel during the time the vessel was being fitted out for her last voyage. This enthusiast had already spent five years of his life with the Esquimaux and looked upon it as the happiest period of his existence. There seemed to be a delightful thrill in his mind when he would relate his escapes from freezing. “One night,” said the Captain, “I had gone to pay a visit to an Esquimaux lodge. I had gone to bed and was enjoying the most sublime dreams. It seemed as if the whole sky in every quarter was blazing with auroral lights, when all at once I felt myself trampled on, rudely shaken and beaten with small fists. For a time I could not collect my mind or understand what it all meant, but as soon as consciousness asserted itself I learned that my kind friends had discovered that I was freezing to death. The lodge was colder than the one I had been accustomed to, and I had foolishly decided to sleep alone, but I had been watched as a mother looks after her child.”

“How did you get through the night, Captain?”

“After that experience I was willing to share the beds with the Esquimaux, their favorite dogs included. The proprieties of civilized life are entirely wiped out in the Arctic regions. It is merely the animal fighting for existence.”

“But what good will come from this vast expenditure of precious blood and treasure?”

“The stars and stripes must float from the icy pinnacle of the North Pole. Congress has given me the means, and with God’s help I’ll nail our banner there.”

Now that we have so many brave men battling for their lives on their return from the ill-fated _Jeannette_, the writer thought the readers of _The Times_ might wish to see recalled a picture of the _Polaris_, with her intrepid commander, whose bones have been left to crumble in the awful “ice field,” for soil there is none to be reached with pick and shovel--only a snow grave.

The _Polaris_ left her moorings at the Washington navy yard with nothing omitted which would detract from her success. Captain Budington, the old whaler upon whom devolved the safety of the vessel, left nothing undone. It was this indomitable seaman who floated the fragment of Captain Hall’s crew home on a cake of ice. The experience of this little band reads like one of Hans Andersen’s fairy tales. The cruise of the _Jeannette_ makes a good advertisement for the New York _Herald_, but what has the Government or nation gained by its outlay in the Bennett scheme? Hereafter the fools must not be permitted to fall into the _Herald’s_ trap if the Government is expected to pay the greater part of the bills. Judging the future by the past, an incipient Arctic explorer should be treated as a lunatic and be placed where the contagion can be treated with the freezing process such as Mrs. Hayes understood so well.

OLIVIA.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.

Several occurrences of the name ‘Phoebe’ have been changed to
‘Phœbe’ for consistency.

Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained: for example,
mid-winter, midwinter; broad-cloth, broadcloth; god-mother,
godmother; corruscated; pom-pon; geegaws; traditionary; sublimatic.

Pg 7: ‘superb porportions’ replaced by ‘superb proportions’.
Pg 37: ‘so betwitching for’ replaced by ‘so bewitching for’.
Pg 45: ‘to a Budhist’ replaced by ‘to a Buddhist’.
Pg 47: ‘some resemblence to’ replaced by ‘some resemblance to’.
Pg 53: ‘exceding distaste’ replaced by ‘exceeding distaste’.
Pg 56: ‘Presidental picture’ replaced by ‘Presidential picture’.
Pg 60: ‘a strong resemblancce’ replaced by ‘a strong resemblance’.
Pg 61: ‘platform of equalty’ replaced by ‘platform of equality’.
Pg 88: ‘tarleton, with pearls’ replaced by ‘tarletan, with pearls’.
Pg 117: ‘Inteview with One’ replaced by ‘Interview with One’.
Pg 118: ‘the Saint coldy’ replaced by ‘the Saint coldly’.
Pg 159: ‘an have we not’ replaced by ‘and have we not’.
Pg 163: ‘Susan bottonholed’ replaced by ‘Susan buttonholed’.
Pg 172: ‘_Harper’s Bazar_’ replaced by ‘_Harper’s Bazaar_’.
Pg 184: ‘corresspondent, it’ replaced by ‘correspondent, it’.
Pg 235: ‘favor you you would’ replaced by ‘favor you would’.
Pg 279: ‘and appropirates’ replaced by ‘and appropriates’.
Pg 301: ‘lies somewere’ replaced by ‘lies somewhere’.
Pg 347: ‘one day to kill’ replaced by ‘one way to kill’.
Pg 366: ‘the artifical heat’ replaced by ‘the artificial heat’.
Pg 384: ‘to tintillate the’ replaced by ‘to titillate the’.
Pg 390: ‘Afterwards is was’ replaced by ‘Afterwards it was’.
Pg 401: ‘of the Tuilleries’ replaced by ‘of the Tuileries’.
Pg 408: ‘doops until the’ replaced by ‘droops until the’.
Pg 437: ‘could be impanneled’ replaced by ‘could be impaneled’.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Olivia Letters, by Emily Edson Briggs