The story of an American, dedicated to the memory of Theodore Roosevelt

Introduction

^^HIS IS THE STORY of an American. But it also ^^ deals with a great many other subjects and things. In one sense it is no story at all, but is a rambling, disconnected series of essays and observations and sermons. I say "sermons" and the term is correctly used, for the story, or whatever it may be called, deals primarily with religion. I say "primarily" and I believe that is correct, though many other subjects are discussed and analyzed. Though the story deals primarily with religion and with kindred subjects, it also deals with men, and the men discussed and analyzed are Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson. You will see, or have already seen, that I have dedicated the story to Theodore Roosevelt. Of course, therefore, in the discussion and analysis of Roosevelt and Wilson, I favor Roosevelt. I have attempted in the pages that follow, to preach Americanism and I have discussed the League of Nations and its bearing on Americanism, and I have attempted also to pronounce a eulogy upon Mr. Roosevelt. Mr. Wilson is not to my liking at all and Mr. Roosevelt was my beau ideal. We are inestimably poorer for his having gone, and to contribute somewhat, (if possible) toward keeping his memory alive and to contribute somewhat, if possible, even if but to an infinitesimal degree toward keeping the principles for which he stood before the American people today, I have written this story.

But as I have said, the story rambles all over creation (literally) and deals with many subjects, of which perhaps religion is the primary one. And in the discussion of religion I have even discussed Christian Science, thinking that in its great effort to suddenly abolish disease and all the bodily ills which flesh is heir to that there is a certain analogy with the effort on the part of the League of Nations supporters to abolish war and the ills that governments are heir to. The analogy may be entirely fanciful and my attempt to show that it exists may have entirely failed, but in any event, I have made the attempt and I offer no further apology.

I might explain a little further, however, by saying that I believe a little in some of the hopes held out by the Christian Scientists. That is, I believe that humanity will not always be doomed to the fate here on earth that has in the past ever been its lot. I believe that somehow, somewhere, sometime, there will be a getting away from the ills that flesh is heir to and I believe there will be such a getting away from them right here on earth. But the point which I try to make in the pages which follow is that the time when any such desired end will be realized in any substantial manner here on earth is so inconceivably remote as to be practically of no consequence at the present time. But the great faith of the Christian Scientists and their great enthusiasm for the new idea is to my mind of much the same nature as the faith and enthusiasm of the League of Nations supporters. It is wonderful at first and is unqualified and inspiring and then as time goes by it gradually and surely becomes disillusioned and slowly but also surely comes back to a realization of things as thev are. This idea I have attempted to carry out in the following story. The great faith of individuals and nations in a better order that is to come out of the chaos that exists to-day I have attempted to portray. And I have attempted to show that in this respect the affairs of individuals and nations are much the same.

I have said that religion is the primary theme of my story, and that is true at least so far as the effort of humanity to get up to higher and better things may be termed a religious effort, is concerned. And I might add that I consider this effort of humanity the all-absorbing and the all-important thing in human affairs. How can we best make progress — how can we get away from war and pestilence and disease? These are the things that concern us all and that concern us vitally.

In the leadership that we have had in America during the past decade, I have considered the Roosevelt leadership as best adapted to the problem of carrying the race of men on and up. I have indeed considered it a very wonderful leadership and I think that by all means all of us who believed in it should attempt so far as possible, to carry that leadership or rather the things for which it stood, on and up. Such is the purpose of this story, or of this narrative and collection of essays combined, or whatever else it may be called.

The story is without literary merit for the reason that it is a combination of narratives, essays and orations. It is the story told as a personal narrative of an old man who has lived considerably beyond the allotted three score and ten, and who has lived his entire life upon the American continent and who has learned to passionately love America and the things for which America stands.

It is the story of an old friend and an old neighbor of mine with whom, in nearly all things both individual and national, I have always agreed, and whose life history and faith and philosophy and whose patriotism and devotion to America and the ideals of Theodore Roosevelt I have attempted to describe in the pages that follow. I do not, of course, mean to say that he told me verbatim or even in substance, all of the things which I have written in the following story, for he did not. Some of the things which I have written I have learned from others than the old man himself. But I have attempted to tell his life story substantially as I have learned it from himself and from others and I have attempted in what I have written to convey his meaning and to tell of the observations made by him on present day problems and aifairs even though I use language that he never employed. His faith, his ideals, his beliefs and his enthusiasm are the things which 1 have attempted to make plain.

In conversing with me, the old gentleman frequently read chapters from his favorite authors to illustrate his meaning, and frequently quoted poetry to convey his thought, and in the story that follows I have done the same. This, in the method which I have employed, I have suggested does violence to all literary rules but if I can nevertheless contribute something to the cause of Americanism and the things for which Theodore Roosevelt stood, I shall be happy. With the hope that I may indeed contribute something to this cause, the following pages are submitted.

Chapter I

XCAME to Iowa from New York in 1856, and the circumstance of my coming was one of which I am not very proud. It was, however, something which was no fault of mine, and which I could have in no way avoided.

After going through the usual course of schooling as a boy, I enrolled as a student in Yale College. There I took up the study of law, and pursued that course of study until the happening of which I am to tell you. There also I became acquainted with two young fellows from the State of Virginia, one by the name of Lee, and the other by the name of Allen. They came from that part of the state which is now West Virginia. Lee was a dashing young fellow, of fine physique and appearance, and Allen was a fine fellow, though not so striking in his physical make-up. I suppose that I might as well say at the outset, that the trouble which I got into arose over the fact that this man Lee and I were both interested in the same young lady. The name of the young lady in question was Julia King. Her home, like mine, was in New York City. Her father had been a professor in Yale for a good many years previous to my going there, but at the time that I enrolled in the college, he was practicing law in New York City, having resigned his professorship. He was, however, desirous of having his daughter become acquainted with many of his friends associated with the college, and much of her time while I was a student there was spent in the college town. Lee and I made her acquaintance about the same time, and Allen also became acquainted with her, though without manifesting the particular interest in her that was manifested by myself and Lee.

After having spent the first half of the year in college, I, in company with Allen and Lee, went to my home in New York City to spend the Christmas holidays. Allen was in truth a good friend of mine. I always enjoyed his friendship, and never doubted his sincerity. Lee professed great friendship, but I always felt that there was something sinister in his make-up, and I never trusted him. However, much to my subsequent regret, I included him in the invitation to my home, and the holidays found the three of us in the city. We had been there but a day or two until Lee's true character manifested itself. We were walking down one of the streets of the city when we came to a place where gambling was going on on the second floor of the building which we were approaching. Lee at once became very anxious to go upstairs and try his luck. Allen and I protested, but for some unaccountable reason, finally yielded to his request, and finally went to the gambling room. We spent some time there watching the changing fortunes of the gamblers. Lee engaged in a game of faro and after we had been there some time, changed his place at the table to the lookout's chair at the end of the tables. Much to my regret and surprise, Allen finally yielded to the request of some of the gamblers, and took his seat at one of the tables to take part in the game. I watched the game until I became tired of it and was becoming very anxious to leave the place when I suddenly saw Lee pull a revolver from his pocket and shoot Allen in the top of the head, killing him instantly.

Of course the room at once was in an uproar. I was standing near a stove which stood some few feet to the right of Lee's position in the lookout's chair. Behind the stove was a large iron poker and Lee had no sooner pulled the trigger than I brought the poker down on his arm and knocked the revolver from his hand. I suppose I was somewhat excited, and I know I was indignant as it was possible for anyone to be, and I picked up the revolver, and probably would have ended Lee's miserable life on the spot but for the fact that three policemen burst through the door and seized me just as I was about to fire the shot. Well, it of course did not need any words to explain that my position was an extremely awkward one. There I was in a gambling den with a dead man on the floor in front of me, and with a revolver in my hand in an attitude of attack, and with three policemen appearing on the scene in time to see me in that attitude. I was of course taken into custody at once, and in a few days was indicted for murder. In due course of time the case came on for trial, and as I had expected, I found the chief witness for the State to be none other than Harry Lee. His story which explained in detail just how I had killed Allen, was corroborated in every detail by half a dozen other witnesses who were subpoenaed from those who were in the gambling room at the time. My counsel did the best he could, but he had no chance, and T was convicted and sentenced to the penitentiary for life. I was committed to the States Prison and was incarcerated there for a year, when for some reason which I never clearly understood, two or three persons came to my rescue. They were persons who had been in the gambling den at the time of the killing, and had precipitately fled and the State was never able to get their names and use them as witnesses. They had seen the whole affair, however, and knew the truth of the matter, and at the end of a year's time, caused an investigation to be made and told the story exactly as it had occurred. The result was that so thorough an investigation was made that it became apparent to the Governor of the State that it was quite probable that a great injustice had been done. The Governor came to see me personally twice while I was in prison, and I felt that he really believed that I was innocent. My belief was justified after a few months, for I received an unconditional pardon from the chief executive of the state.

The result of this experience, however, caused me to become considerably soured upon the world in general. I went to my home in New York, and for some time considered carefully the matter of returning to College. I decided, however, to stay in New York and study law in my father's office. After having done this until I felt that I could pass the examination for admission to the bar, I took the examination and was admitted. My practice, however, did not amount to anything. Civilization had come to appear to me in a rather grewsome light. In my soul I was very bitter against society and a good deal of the time I actually hated human kind. This being true, I was not in a fit frame of mind for successfully carrying on my profession. After a short time, I threw up the whole business and decided to go west. The institutions of civilization and the crowds of people that seemed to swarm and eddy about me constantly palled on my senses and I felt that I wanted to do nothing so much as to get completely and entirely away from all of them and everything connected with them.

Of course in my mind's eye all of the time there arose the vision of Julia King. I had not heard from her since my leaving college for the Christmas holidays. I learned however, while I was in prison, that she had gone abroad, and at the time that I was released, I did not know whether she had returned or not.

Another thing I suppose that caused me to desire to get away from business and society was the condition of my health. At the time that I entered college I was not very strong, and had little endurance and not a great deal of vitality. This of course was accentuated by the year spent in the States Prison. I think this, more than anything else, prevented me from finding out definitely whether Miss King had returned to this country or not, but without investigating the matter further, I packed up bag and baggage and left New York for the State of Iowa.

In the town of Adel in that state, I had an uncle by the name of Frank Perkins, who had taken up his residence there two or three years before. He had been a California forty-niner and had crossed the plains at the time of the discovery of gold on the Pacific Coast. He had spent two or three years in the West seeking his fortune and having been reasonably successful, and having tired somewhat of the life of a prospector and miner, he had returned across the mountains, but instead of returning to his old home, he decided to settle down in central Iowa. His home was on the right bank of the North Raccoon River, about a quarter of a mile below the little village which I have mentioned. His home previous to going west had been in what is now the State of West Virginia. He had never married, but was a man approaching middle age when I set out to visit him in his home and to spend the summer or perhaps a year there.

When I arrived at my uncle's home on the banks of the Raccoon River, I found the town of Adel to be a little village of a few straggling houses and stores. Hazel brush grew almost to the doors of the scattered dwelling houses, and the entire village had all the appearances of a frontier settlement. The river at that time was much different at that point from what it is now. During the spring when the water was high, it generally extended from the bank of the river at the east edge of the village, a quarter of a mile or more to the eastward to the very foot of the line of hills on the east edge of the bottom land. In fact, at all seasons of the year except in the very dry ones, the river was much wider then than now. The greater part of the stream, however, which covered the bottom land to the east, was not deep, the main channel flowing close to the bank at the edge of the town. This main channel was some fifty or sixty yards in width, and was of considerable depth.

The morning after my arrival at my uncle's home I was strolling along the banks of the river toward the little town. It was a delightful morning. All of the freshness of spring was in the air, and the sunlight shone and sparkled on the broad bosom of the river. Strolling along the river bank, amid such surroundings, exerted an uplifting influence upon me and filled me with a new inspiration and a new love of life. It made me feel strong just to contemplate the fresh primitive surroundings. I was accompanied as I walked toward the village, by a friend of my uncle's by the name of Joe Burgess. He, like my uncle, had formerly lived in what is now the State of West Virginia, and had there become a fast friend of Frank Perkins, and from there had accompanied him on his trip across the plains to California. He had also returned eastward with him and had settled with him in his new home on the banks of the Raccoon River. He was a man some forty years of age, who had never married, and who like myself, was a keen lover of outdoor life. This being true, I found myself at once delighted with his company, and we were congratulating ourselves on the fact that we were in a new land far removed from the throng of overburdened life that surged in the city upon the Atlantic seaboard. Earth, sky and water, and an occasional cry of a waterfowl overhead seemed to fill our souls and expand our thoughts in a way that could not be done in civilization's crowded centers.

We were nearing the ferry landing on the west shore of the river when my companion called my attention to a boatload of people coming across the river from the east shore. There was, of course, no bridge across the stream at that time. A ferry plied between the two shores, being operated by a sweep and poles and by the aid of a rope stretched across the stream where the channel was swiftest and deepest. I had not, however, paid particular attention to the approaching boat which I could see only imperfectly on account of the shrubs and trees that grew along the bank, and was looking toward the scattered buildings of the little town when my companion suddenly caught my arm and with a quick exclamation, pointed toward the boat in the river. 1 looked in time to see that it had suddenly capsized and that its occupants had been thrown into the water. Two of the occupants of the boat were women, and a quick glance sufficed to show that one of them, a young lady, was being carried rapidly down the swift current of the stream. Without hesitation I threw off my coat and plunged into the water.

What followed may seem rather strange, and to a certain extent unbelievable, but what I am about to tell you actually occurred nevertheless. The young lady was able to keep herself afloat but utterly unable to make any progress toward the shore. She was going down the channel facing down stream, and as I approached her from behind I could not see her features or in any way gain any idea of who she might be. I swam with all my might, and was almost on the point of reaching out to seize some part of her clothing when I was dimly conscious of something striking me on the head, and remembered nothing more until I found myself lying on my back upon a little island a hundred yards or more down stream. Joe Burgess was bending over me and peering into my face with an anxious countenance. I sat up and looked about me, and as what had occurred came to my mind, I asked my companion what had happened since I was swimming toward the young lady in the river. Much to my surprise I was informed that a young man who had also been an occupant of the boat that had overturned, had struck me on the head with an oar just as I was coming within reach of the young lady. My friend informed me that this particular fellow had climbed upon the overturned boat and had recovered one of the oars and with it had propelled the boat swiftly down the racing current. As he approached myself and the young lady, and came within reach of us, he deliberately laid me out with the oar, and then jumped from the boat and swam toward the shore. The young lady had been rescued by a boat which put out from the shore, and as to what further had occurred, my companion was unable to say.

My friend then swam across the river and procured a boat and coming back for me took me to the shore and to my uncle's home. I spent the rest of the day there and the following night, recovering from the effects of the blow on my head, and the next morning my uncle's friend and I set out for the village to ascertain if we could, who it was that had been in the boat, and who it was that had struck me on the head with an oar, and why he had done so. We proceeded to the stage station in the east edge of the village, and were there informed substantially as follows as to how the accident in the river had occurred.

I must say in the beginning, however, that there were of course no railroads in that part of Iowa at that time. There was a line of railway extending from Davenport to Iowa City, and from that point westward across the state to Council Bluffs, passengers traveled entirely by stage. The stage line ran through Des Moines and Adel, as it proceeded westward. In the spring of the year of course the roads were bad, and in some places well nigh bottomless. The stages also carried the personal belongings of their passengers, and also carried the United States mail. The trunks of the passengers and the mail bags were carried upon a sort of endgate on the rear of the stage, and were also placed on top of the vehicle.

We were informed that a stage load of people were traveling from Des Moines to Adel, and that when they arrived at the east bank of the river that flowed by the town of Adel, they discovered that the ferry was not being operated. It seems that the ferry man had gone on a spree and left the travelers who came to the river bank by stage to get across the stream as best they might. More than twenty miles of soggy prairie and black heavy mud had not added to the cheerfulness of the stage driver. When he arrived at the river bank, he was in an extremely irritable state of mind, and when he discovered that the ferry was not running, his irritability was increased many fold. It happened however, that a boy in a boat appeared at the landing on the east bank about the time the stage arrived, and offered the stage driver the use of the boat for getting across the stream. The offer was immediately accepted and the driver immediately took charge of the boat and himself took the oars and began rowing across the stream. He had ordered his passengers into the boat and they had meekly complied with his orders. The boy, however, he left on the bank, promising to return the boat to him after he had taken his passengers across. The boat was a flat bottom affair about sixteen feet in length and as there were four passengers, he had piled a trunk in the bottom of the boat and had also piled into it three mail sacks which he had been carrying on the stage. It seems that he had ordered the young lady whom I had attempted to rescue, to sit upon the trunk in the bottom, so as to make room for the other passengers upon the boards that answered for seats. All went well enough as he rowed across the more shallow part of the stream, but when the boat's prow reached the main channel of the is river, the racing current immediately whirled the boat around and headed it down stream. The stage driver in his furious effort to right the boat, knocked one of the mail sacks overboard, and in a sudden effort to recover the mail, had upset the boat. His four passengers consisted of two young men and a middle aged woman and the young lady of whom I have spoken. The middle aged woman immediately proceeded to almost drown one of the young men in her frantic effort to keep from being drowned herself. She had clung to him desperately and he was barely able to get her and himself ashore safely. The stage driver immediately struck out for the shore, and abandoned his passengers to their fate. What occurred after that is as I have already told you.

We could get no other information than this at the stage station, except that every one present seemed to be considerably impressed with the good looks of the young lady, and were very much interested in the whole affair, though apparently being as much in the dark as to the motive of the young man who had attacked me, as I was myself.

We left the station and proceeded up the street toward the little store buildings that were situated two or three blocks farther westward. As we neared one of the stores, I noticed a young man and a young woman coming down the street toward the store from the opposite direction in which we were going. Something about the young man's appearance attracted my attention. I could not take my eyes from him, and as he came nearer, I saw what I had at first thought was true, that the young man was Harry Lee. He and the young lady made a splendid appearance, and this seemed to doubly incense me. As

I have said, Lee was a fine looking fellow. He was six feet or more tall, and was as lithe and strong as a panther. His hair was jetblack and his eyes of an almost equal shade. The young lady was as handsome as he. She had beauty as most people understand it, and she had what appealed to me more, a splendid physique and abounding good health. She was none other than Julia King.

Of course I was almost completely overcome, and was fairly blind with rage. Lee and Miss King stepped into the store, and Joe Burgess and I came up quickly and stepped in after them. I stopped with my back to the door, and waited until Lee turned and faced me. As he did so he recognized me and a cynical smile curled his lip and illuminated his countenance. I waited no longer, but struck him full in the face with all the force of which I was capable. He went back upon his hands, but quickly recovered himself and came at me like a demon. Instantly the little store was in an uproar. Pots, pans and kettles were knocked from the shelves, show cases overturned, the stovepipe knocked down from the stove, and the whole interior of the store became pandemonium. We however, did not stay there long, but burst through the door in each other's embrace and rolled struggling and fighting into the street. There the superior physical strength of my antagonist became at once apparent, and almost before I realized it, I was upon my back in the street, and Harry Lee's knee was upon my breast and his hands upon my throat. I saw his wicked, evil eyes looking down at me and saw a knife flash above my head. I closed my eyes, expecting the impending stab, but as I did so I felt the weight upon my breast suddenly released. As I opened my eyes I saw Lee rolling many feet from me, and saw Joe Burgess on top of him.