Trails of yesterday

Contents

CHAFTEB PAGK

I. Advent into the World — Birthplace — Bread Riot. . . i

II. Childhood Memories — Sunshine and Clouds — The

CHAPTER I Advent into the World — Birthplace — Bread Riot

ON the 9th day of August, 1842, in the town of Leek, Staffordshire, England, the writer of this book first saw the light of day, at the time the bread riots were so prevalent in many parts of England. I have often heard my parents speak of those exciting days and say that my advent into the world at that particular time was probably the means of saving our home from destruction, because father, in his capacity' of minister of the gospel, had incurred the enmity of the mob. He had remonstrated against lawless and violent acts in the destruction of life and property, and the angry rabble, enraged at this, set upon and beat him into insensibility, after which they started to demolish our home in which lay my poor sick mother with a two-day old babe in her arms. When this became known to them, it appealed to their better nature and our home was spared.

Chapter II

Childhood Memories — Sunshine and Clouds — The Ministry is Not My Calling — Early Education

UNDER the kind fostering care of good and pious parents, loving sisters and brothers, my child life developed into boyhood with the usual incidents of joy and sorrow attending it; part sunshine and part clouds.

While in short dresses I remember joining some neighboring children in a hunt for blackberries in nearby woods, and in my anxiety to keep up with the others, I took off and laid down my skirt, which I failed to find when ready to return home.

I remember going in swimming with some other boys and all our clothes being stolen, so that we had to wait until dark before we could return to our homes.

I remember my first attendance at Sunday school, also at day school, the latter kept by my aunt, and how a pretty, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed miss took special pains to teach me to knit garters. I also remember sending by my father a small basket of fruit to my little instructress, for which thoughtful act I was greatly teased by my sisters.

I well remember falling into the river Churnet when it was a raging torrent. A plank, used by workmen at the silk dyehouse owned by a distant relative, had broken its fastenings, and in my boyish efforts to push it back I fell into the river. While spinning and rolling around like a chip in the swift current I thought of all the mean things I ever did. I made a grab for my Scotch cap, and as the torrent rushed me under the stone-arched bridge I wondered if the large crowd of people standing on the battlements would see me and rescue me. While these thoughts were passing through my brain I felt myself crowded against a hard substance, when the current began to whirl me around like a spinning top and my hand caught the branches of a tree, to which I clung

^M

1*^ f

/ Well Remember Falling into the River Churnet tenaciously and got my head above water. Then I saw that I had been washed against a pile of refuse dyestuflf, up which I climbed, and thanks to my lucky star, was soon on terra firma, glad that I was out and all conceit taken out of me. I fully resolved, while picking up my bowl and stick and stealing my way home, never to bother that plank again, especially during high water. I experienced no bad effects from this ducking except a slight deafness in my left ear, which bothers me yet. Mother scolded me, made me put on dry clothes, and kept me in bed the rest of the day.

We Became Bitter Enemies

I also well remember about this time the mean tricks of a certain goat that loafed around the dyehouse stables. He seemed to take pleasure in lying in wait for me in any dark corner on my return home at night, when he would rush at me and chase me, often attacking and hurting me. The result was that we became bitter enemies and it was a source of great reHef when I heard he was dead. He had simply tackled the wrong fellow and had died in his efforts to be boss,

I was not a bad boy, but I often wished that my father was not a minister, so that I could be free to act and play hke other boys. My parents often advised me to be careful about my words and actions. They wanted me to be a model boy and an example to other boys of the town. Father would often invite me to accompany him to nearby villages where he would preach and en route talk about religion and encourage me to join him in his work. This was all very good but sometimes, I must confess, rather distasteful to me. I often longed to be free from the restraint that surrounded me. My parents were very strict about the company I should keep.

They had allowed me to become a fifer in a drum and fife band belonging to a temperance organization known as "The Band of Hope." I was fond of music, both vocal and instrumental. I was a singer in the Chapel Choir and sang at many entertainments before I was twelve years old. I had also been permitted by my parents to take part in the public presentation of a temperance piece known as John Barleycorn, in which I took three characters, one the part of a woman, "Eliza Brokenheart" (the wife of a drunkard), a bartender and another character.

Occasionally I was allowed to play with other boys when my parents were satisfied that they were the right kind. At one of these gatherings I became mixed up in a quarrel, taking up the rights of another boy who had been imposed upon by a larger one. The latter challenged me to fight. I tried to avoid this but a cousin, who happened to be there, gave me to understand that I must fight the boy and whip him, otherwise he would whip me. Preliminaries were quickly arranged and before taking off our coats, the fight was on in dead earnest. Under the earnest backing of my cousin and other young men present we were just getting warmed up to our work when, to my surprise and humiliation, my father appeared on the scene and marched me home where I received further punishment, together with a long moral lecture from both parents, who said that I had brought lasting disgrace upon them. This bad break on my part was no doubt the cause of my becoming fully resolved that I would never become a minister.

After attending my aunt's school I was sent to a very strict sectarian school kept by a Miss Turner, who was a prominent member of father's church and a friend of our family. What she lacked in good looks she made up in discipline. I got along nicely with her until one day one of the school boys unintentionally broke a pane in one of the windows with a snowball. Miss Turner became very angry and threatened to punish all if the guilty one did not go to her desk and acknowledge it. She finally called me up and asked if I knew who had broken the pane. I told her I thought I did. She commanded me to tell his name. I told her I could not do that. She said I must or I would receive the punishment. I replied that she could punish me but I

Father Appeared on the Scene

would not give the boy's name. At this remark, and without a moment's warning, she struck me on the side of my head and knocked me to the floor where I saw stars for a few moments. When I got up I made a rush for my books, slate and cap. She tried to prevent this but could not. I went home and told my father what had occurred. He said I ought to have told the boy's name and he ought to be punished; that he was not a manly boy or he would have acknowledged breaking the pane, especially when he saw I was being punished for his act. Father said he would see Miss Turner that evening and explain matters to her so everything would be understood in the morning. I told father that he could talk to Miss Turner if he wanted to but I would not go to her school again. He said I must not talk to him that way. I told him he could do what he pleased with me, even to cutting me up into strips, but I would never go to that school again. And I did not, but was sent to St. Edwards Parish School, taught by a Mr. Cannings, my parents paying a stipulated weekly tuition fee for this privilege.

St. Edzvard's Parish School

CHAPTER III Ambition^An Apprentice to a Merchant — Youth in Business

America and its Opportunities — Why Not? — Tears and

Good-bye

1WAS in my twelfth year, had attended the Parish school for some time, had read the Bible through, had taken an

active part in Sunday School work where I had taught a class of little ones, sang alto in the Methodist Chapel choir and was an active worker in the Band of Hope and other good moral organizations. All of this had encouraged my family, especially father, to hope that I would yet study for the ministry, but my fight with Arthur K and the consequent disgrace in the minds of my parents, changed this and assisted me materially in following my own inclinations.

It was about all father could do to support our family, yet he would persist in aiding every poor person he knew. When I would appeal to him for better clothes, he would tell me not to worry — that the Lord would provide them. Sometimes, however, I must confess, I thought the Lord had forgotten me. It was this, combined with other circumstances, that caused me to urge and finally persuade my father to allow me to adopt a business career. I was accordingly bound out for five years as an apprentice to a merchant, a friend of our family. This merchant had two children, a son and a daughter, the latter a little older than myself. I was taken in and treated as a member of the family. The daughter was a tall, beautiful girl with dark hair and eyes, and a fine form. She was a great lover of pets, among which were a parrot and a cat. The latter was an especial favorite and was permitted at times to eat beside her at the table. This daughter became very kind to me and often assisted me in my studies before and after attendance at night school, where I was taking up special branches. I had won the confidence and esteem of my employer and his good wife and was permitted to accompany the daughter to and from church and other places. In our constant association a brotherly and sisterly feeling sprang up between us. Young as I was, I could see from the actions of our parents and others interested that it would not be objectionable should this brotherly and sisterly feeling ripen into love and ultimate marriage, for perhaps unknown to either we had, in a measure, been plighted to each other by our respective parents who later on gave us to understand that at the proper time, no serious objections intervening, we would be expected to seal our friendship with our marriage vows. Occasionally when alone, the daughter — whom I will call my adopted sister, as that term better describes my own feelings in the matter — would refer to our future. She had wealth, social position and was highly educated, while I was a poor boy, trying to make my place in the world, an employee of her father. A great gulf was between us and I had fully determined, should I ever learn to love her, never to ask her to marry me until I could properly support her in the station in life to which she was accustomed. While I was her Sir Knight in every sense of the word, anticipating her every wish and doing everything in my power to please her and further the interests of my employer, yet never for one moment did I act the role of the lover, believing that such a course would be unmanly and unworthy of the confidence placed in me by her family.

I was closing my seventeenth year, my apprenticeship was ended, and I was offered a position at a fair salary by my late employer, which I declined for several reasons, contrary to the wishes of my former employer and my family. After a short vacation and a trip through the Potteries in Staffordshire, Manchester and other places, I concluded to go into business with my brother-in-law in Manchester, opening a general provision store on the Oldfield Road, Salford. A few months' trial at this proved unsatisfactory. The business was too top heavy. In other words, too many bosses for the work and the location was not the right one, so I decided to sell my interest or buy that of my brother-in-law. I bought his interest, then looked around for a better location which I soon found on Ludgate Hill. I sent for my youngest sister to come and keep house for me. Here I remained and did well until I was twenty-one years old.

I had read every book and newspaper article I could find that told anything of America. I had read "Uncle Tom's Cabin." Though opposed to slavery, my feelings went out to a certain extent to the Southern people, who, I believed, were fighting for their rights — the right to govern themselves. This sympathy was shared by seven-tenths of the English people. I had listened to the talks of Henry Ward Beecher and other Northern advocates and I became interested in the Civil War, termed in England "The Rebellion in the Northern States." Civil war was raging and it was a question at that time which side would win. War or no war I had made up my mind to close out my business as soon as I reached the age of twenty-one and go to America, that home of the free and land of the brave, where one man was as good as another and where I would not be obliged to bow and doff my hat to the country squire and give him three-fourths of the road. I had always loved America. Its large, red apples that came to my home town in barrels had made a great impression on my child mind, its republican institutions, its mighty rivers, broad prairies, gold mines, its undiscovered wealth, and its great possibilities ! Who would not want to emigrate to such a free and glorious country and get out of the ruts trodden by my forefathers generations ago ? I had already written my parents of my intention to close out my business and go to America. Letters arrived thick and fast, trying to persuade me from such a foolish step.

Why not wait until the war was over? How foolish to give up a good business for an uncertainty ! I was doing well. Mother knew I would be killed and she would never consent to my going unless I promised not to join the army or navy. Nothing but disaster was in store for me. Even my adopted sister opposed this uncalledfor step and my old employer thought there was a good opening for me to remain in England and said, "When you think of it, John, remember you are going to a new country where you have neither friend nor relative. It is being devastated by civil war, all the country under martial law. You will be drafted into the army and rushed to the front at the point of the bayonet the moment you land, if not captured by the 'Alabama' during passage. Think of the wild Indians and other lawless men you will meet. Why not think the matter over more carefully before you decide?" Many letters I received from relatives and friends who no doubt wished me well, advocating the abandonment of the contemplated move, all of which I took courage to ignore and brush aside. I finally sold my business in Manchester and took my sister home, where I bade my family good-bye. My poor mother was much grieved and would not let me go until I promised that I would join neither the army nor navy of my own free will. A special dinner was arranged for me and my parents by my old employer. Here I was for three long hours subject to all the eloquence that could be used by my parents, my employer and his family. The pictures portrayed were dark if I went. If I remained, hints were thrown out which meant a closer union than a copartnership. I could fill a chapter of very interesting reading if I gave full particulars of what occurred in that last farewell, but, with the reader's permission, I will draw the curtain here. With tear-filled eyes I bade my employer and his family good-bye. It took tact and courage to say good-bye to these good people without displaying some hidden emotions that had been fostered and encouraged by five years of uninterrupted kindness on the part of these very kind people.

Chapter IV

Leaving England for America — A Trip into Ireland — O'Brien — A

True Lover — Funeral at Sea — Land Ahoy!

AFTER converting all my little property into gold coin, bidding my family, relatives and friends a last farewell, with as little baggage as possible I left Liverpool on the Steamship "City of Limerick" on the 22nd day of June, 1864, for New York. I was not twenty-two years old, my fellow passengers were all strangers to me, and not until we had left the dock and were plowing our way through the English Channel for Queenstown did I begin to realize my loneliness. The knowing ones among my relatives and friends had shaken their heads and predicted all kinds of ill luck and disaster to my adventure, going to a strange country where I had neither relatives nor friends and where civil war was in full force, and where some wise (?) English statesmen predicted that the South would conquer the North. A few others had given me words of encouragement, admired my pluck, as they termed it, and told me I would come out all right in the end. These prophecies, together with thoughts of the future, gave me food for thought, but on the whole I found my time well occupied during the voyage.

We arrived at Queenstown in the evening, and since our ship had to remain there until the following morning, I was invited by the ship's physician to accompany him to Cork. The evening was ideal and our ride in a jaunting car over a beautiful road along the banks of the River Lee to the old city of Cork was grand. The scenery was superb. Arriving before dark, chaperoned by the doctor, who knew the city well, I saw many of the old but substantial buildings. We stayed at the best hotel and after a good supper, attended the theater. The doctor, probably for a joke, ordered the best room in the house for me — nothing less than the bridal chamber. The furnishings were beautiful — the bed a dream.

A blue silk canopy top covered the high bed posts. The bed proper was not less than four feet high and one climbed into it by means of several steps covered with rich carpet. I hesitated for some time about climbing into this luxury but with the thought that the best was none too good for me, I dropped into the center of the downy mass, which not only enveloped me but which I thought would smother me before morning. But it did not. The previous wakeful night, the sea air, the jaunting car ride and exercise made me sleep like a log until called for breakfast the following morning. After breakfast

An Irish Jaunting Car

and a stroll through the principal streets, I left with my friend, the doctor, on another jaunting car for our boat which was scheduled to leave Queenstown at 1 1 :oo A. M. My impressions of what I had seen of Ireland and its people on this quick trip to Cork were very favorable. The scenery was beautiful and the roads that I saw were good. Cork is a quaint old city, surrounded by many points of interest. Its people seem happy, good natured, vivacious, and with the mother brogue, are very interesting to converse with. We took aboard quite a number of passengers, nearly all, like myself, going to America to seek a home in the land of the

free, Where a man is a man and is willing to toil,

To earn with free labor the fruits of the soil.

I became well acquainted with an Irish gentleman named O'Brien, who embarked at Queenstown, and owing to lack of room, I allowed him to share my stateroom. We soon became congenial friends. His only failing was drink. He had given up a good business as a corn merchant at Youghal and was desperately in love with a pretty Irish girl of wealthy parents, who opposed his suit on account of difference in religion. This opposition drove O'Brien to drink. The parents had compelled the girl, much against her will, to marry a young physician of her own religion, who had sailed for America with his unwilling bride about a month previous. O'Brien, heartbroken, had hastily closed out his business and was now in hot pursuit. The poor fellow would sit down and weep like a child. Naturally my heart went out to him and while his lady love had written him that the marriage was against her will, she, like a sensible girl, had advised O'Brien to give her up for the present, although she hoped that some day she might be his legally in the eyes of the world. I advised him to try to forget her, but he would say, "No, I cannot. She is and shall be mine. Life is blank without her." O'Brien was a scholar and a gentleman. He had many accomplishments, was a natural-born actor, had a splendid voice., could play the piano, tell a good story, dance a jig, preach a sermon, or make a political speech. He was in demand everywhere and cabin and deck seemed lonesome without him. When not in our cabin sleeping or reading, we would be on deck watching or participating in the games or amusements. We were all a happy family. The sea was mostly calm and our ship, though slow, was making what was for her a good daily record.

On the seventh day out from Queenstown a sad event occurred on the ship, casting a gloom over all, including the sailors. A steerage passenger, formerly a mail carrier from Birmingham, England, died during the night of delirium tremens. At the peep of day many sharks were seen following in the wake of our ship. At 1 1 :oo o'clock A. M. the body had been prepared for sea burial. Passengers, officers and sailors who could be spared from duty had been summoned on deck to attend the burial service, which was performed by the captain. The body had been placed In a rude box weighted with shot or coal at the foot. The service was very Impressive, passengers, officers and sailors joining In the songs "Rock of Ages, Cleft For Me," "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," and other well-known hymns. When the captain came to the words, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the end of the plank on which the body rested was gently raised and the box containing all that was mortal of the poor fellow slid off and dropped Into the ocean, only to be torn to pieces In a second by the school of hungry sharks following us. The box had scarcely struck the water when It was smashed to splinters and the body torn limb from limb and the flesh into shreds, leaving a trail of blood as far as we could see. This was a sad day for all on board. It left a depressing effect on all for several days and on some until we reached New York. Except for this sad event our trip across the Atlantic would have been a pleasant one.

On nearing the Grand Banks of Newfoundland we ran Into a heavy fog and nearly struck some icebergs. Our captain used every precaution by going slowly and using the fog horn continuously. Perhaps the only thing that saved us from accident and probable disaster was the sudden lifting of the fog, when the ship's engines had to be reversed to avoid striking a monster berg that towered over our ship like a huge mountain.

Well do I remember the glad cry, "Land Ahoy," as we approached the American Continent. What joy ! How glad many of our passengers were — those expecting to meet friends, relatives and loved ones. For me it was somewhat sad news. I had made some nice acquaintances. We were a great, big, happy family about to separate, perhaps forever. O'Brien was glad and quite impatient to get ashore.

Before going into the Narrows the pilot and Customs House officers were taken aboard. These gentlemen, with their square-toed shoes, were Americans. They told us the latest war news from a Northern view, namely: that the Rebels, as they termed the Southerners, were whipped and all ready to surrender.

The officers and seamen of the ship had been very kind and considerate to all of us during the trip. The customary resolutions had been drawn up, adopted and presented with a present to the captain and chief officers of the Limerick. I had passed through the ordeal of bidding my relatives and friends good-bye on leaving England, but to leave and say good-bye to my newly made friends on the "City of Limerick" was almost equally as hard. No doubt the thought of being a stranger in a strange land and alone except for O'Brien, whom I had decided to help in every way possible, made me doubly sad when I bade some of my fellow passengers good-bye as we neared the landing at the ship's pier in New York on the 9th day of July. As previously stated, I had brought but little baggage — the same with O'Brien — so the Customs House officers were soon through with us. A long, last look at the old ship and we took our turn marching down the gang plank and were soon lost in the stream of humanity surging on the pier in New York City.

Chapter V

/Arrival at New York — J Search for O'Brien s Katherine — Civil War — Westward to Chicago

THE happiest and most anxious man to leave the "City of Limerick" was my friend O'Brien. We had no sooner registered and checked our baggage in one of the down-town hotels than he invited me to accompany him in search of a certain number at Fifty-third Street with a view to finding his old sweetheart, now Mrs. Katherine Ragan. We found the address but were told that Dr. and Mrs. iRagan had left there about ten days previous for parts unknown. O'Brien asked question after question about them but gained little or no information. He sat down on the curb of the walk a short distance from the house and cried like a child. He said he had nothing more to live for and wished he could die. I did all I could to encourage and brace him up. On passing the first saloon he left me abruptly, saying he would be out in a moment. After a short time I went in and found him standing by the bar draining the contents of a second glass of whiskey. After a lot of persuasion I got him into the street but had not gone far before he began to act silly like all drunken men. Fearing he would be arrested, I called a cab and took him to the hotel, where after a time I got him to sleep, during which he was very restless, often calling the name, "Katherine! Katherine!"

While I had been devoting much time to O'Brien I had not been unmindful or unobservant of the new scenes that I came across in the great city of New York; its crowded streets, its jam of traffic, its ever busy, rushing, pushing citizens full of energy, not only in the streets but at their meals. It was not an uncommon thing to see them finish a four or fivecourse meal while we ate our soup and fish. Its large, beautiful stores thronged with customers, its great theaters filled with enthusiastic audiences nightly, its well-filled churches and lecture halls would not indicate that not far from this great city civil war was devastating the country. The only indication of this was the "Extras" issued three or four times a day, giving the latest war news at the front, and now and then a company or regiment of troops either going, returning or being changed to different localities. I was offered $1500.00 for ninety days' service as a substitute — but, no, I could not accept it. That promise to my mother barred that. Every issue of the papers was full of war news. Yesterday Harrisburg was in danger of being captured by the Rebels — to-day Washington — to-morrow would be some other place. Such is war. Rebel and Northern spies were everywhere. Copperheads, as the Northern people called the people of the South and their sympathizers, were thick; and dozens, sometimes hundreds, of these were marched off to different forts to be kept under surveillance or shot. Martial law was supreme. All were afraid to talk to strangers, and to express sympathy for a band of sick, emaciated Southerners just captured at the front and being sent to nearby forts, meant being taken along also by the provost guard without any ceremony.