ah ey aA ‘ ne ae ee wi fs | a sre ses Se See eee SS fee oe SSS CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND GIVEN IN 1891 By HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE | A Editors I Have Known SINCE THE CIVIL WAR (Rewritten and Reprinted from Letters in the Clarion-Ledger) * ILLUSTRATED BY R. H. HENRY Fifty Years Editor and Owner of the Clarion-Ledger JACKSON, Mississippi. TR bese ata 4 5 Little Frame Building where R. H. Henry began Setting Type, still standing at Forest, Miss—Page 16. Copyrighted 1922 by R. H. HENRY 1922 Press of E. S. Upton Printing Company New Orleans LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Rich s Héntys 32 Oo) ooo ee Frontispiece Simeon R. Adams_____-_._-__________.------------- Page 10 EB. Barksdalesceas os 2.04 cea ao alte 26 Jie JeeShannonus..c ica eee ee oes 42 Nis ep RO Wet Stee Se nee BPA ata ce i he 58 Aye Ktant?:2cs2c ose 2 cesses ese ease sees 74 W..H; McCardle: 2 ee te eee eee ees 90 Buk Mayersiccccec-oasoss 2c cca sec eecece oe osooS 106 Jamies A Stevens: 22 owen S22 s2eee rece ae seneeedses 122 Bishop Charles B. Galloway___.-.-----.------------- 138 JeiSi MGNeyscnc) 4a a ey Ce eS 154 DrisB. Gambrellc 2.4 25 oo ee see Be 170 Charles FE. Wright_._. 445-4 eee eee ne 186 He Wie Werpet.c2c2c 50555 2c Sete Gn Sc ec Sco seosSe as 202 Géo. W... Harpeti soe cc a sce eee eee Se eee ees 202 BSTC OO Pe i ears apse asc saan tet hea eran ah eee 202 Bimmett L. Rosso. ee ee eek 234 H. 8. Bonney_____-_------------------------------- 234 ViGe Cashinany e522 sada sh enee een deiescesees 234 Charles N. Dement-____-_-_-_----------------------- 234 Wo As Hetty cess eee csee aces eee CRESS 266 Bi cD Ob Deke date ea eencus ance aes 266 S. Bi Browiisi 6 es tee ls 266 Bibs Joness.ccs.cs5es ses ceccesc casas setae ese 298 e- We am betti.d2225 24a 5812525552 one eacs sess 298 James HH. Dukes occ ancecasascceatceaGest esas 298 Th Mi Garretts keep eas sat eases GEO 298 Ba Bellini ger ec eo ees ea rere ee 298 Col. Henry Watterson_____-_-_--------------------- 314 Page M.. Bakers... 2c See ees eue cacao 330 Clarion-Ledger Building_--_.._._.-_----------------- 362 R. H. Henry and Bride fifty years ago______---------- 394 R. H. Henry and Wife today_____------------------- 426 TO MY WIFE The Partner of My Joys and the Sharer of My Sorrows for the Last Fifty Years, This Book Is Affectionately Dedicated FOREWORD. AM writing these prefatory remarks with the full knowl- edge that the average reader generally skips the Preface, regarding it in the same light as the public does the “intro- ducer,” who tires his audience with extravagant praise and fulsome compliments to the speaker; though D’Israeli says “a preface is the attar of the author’s roses.” Under the title, “Editors I have Known Since the Civil War,” I have endeavored to tell, in an easy style and simple manner, the story of editors I have met and associated with, from my youth to mature years, covering a period of more than a half century. In every instance I have tried to describe and picture them as I saw and knew them, giving some of their character- istics—their striking traits, their peculiarities and idiosyncra- cies—without regard to my personal feelings or social relations towards them, seeking to be just and fair to all, “Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice.” My purpose has been to show favoritism to no one—to extol the virtues of no friend beyond his deserts, nor mini- mize the merits of those I did not admire. The book must needs be largely autobiographical, as it begins with my first introduction into a printing office, and concludes with my retirement from the active duties of the editor’s chair. So in preparing sketches of my editorial 2 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN friends, I have necessarily written into them some of the history of my own life, especially my newspaper life, for I have been a newspaper man, and naught else, for over fifty years, and never intend to entirely abandon the editorial forum so long as God gives me strength to write. While the purpose of these memoirs has been to discuss editors who have completed their life work, and passed to the other side, some few exceptions have been made, especially of my older associates, who are still writing for the press and those who have retired; but their number is small. A good deal of political and other historic matter has been blended with the memoirs, for who could write of editors of Mississippi and omit the War Period, the Dark Epoch of Reconstruction, the Civil Revolution and the Bright Days of the Restoration of the State to its own people? In writing these memoirs I have sought to clothe them with a touch of human interest, to make them more enter- taining than a dull, dead recital of facts, however important; to brighten them with appropriate anecdotes, humorous refer- ences, apt illustrations and side remarks of mother wit, to impart to them a breeze and life that historic narratives do not always possess. It is a long retrospect, this looking backward over one’s life of fifty years, without variable pursuit but I have been so intensely interested in my life work as editor and publisher, so determined to succeed, that the time has not seemed too long, for every day of work has been one of pleasure and the years have slipped by only too swiftly. I have made diligent effort to procure photographs of departed editors, and use such as were obtainable. As each chapter is complete within itself, no effort has been made to arrange them in chronological order. I trust the reader may find something of interest in these memoirs, and that in their perusal the author shall not be entirely forgotten. R. H. HENRY. Jackson, Miss., Nov. 22, 1921. CHAPTER ONE. Met My First Editor in the Person of Mr. Ferris of the Hillsboro Argus.—Became Inoculated With Newspaper Virus When a Boy.—War Breaks Out Between the States. “It has been said that any man, no matter how small and insignificant the post he may have filled in life, who will faithfully record the events in which he has borne a share, even though incap- able of himself deriving profit from the lessons he has learned, may still be of use to others—sometimes a guide, sometimes a warning. I hope this is true, J like to think it so, for if I cannot adorn a tale, I may at least point a moral.’”—Charles Lever. Trusting that Lever is right in his conclusions, I shall briefly attempt to give my experience as a newspaper man, having recorded many events in which I bore a part; telling how and why I became an editor and publisher; with sketches and references to the host of editors I have met and known since entering the journalistic field more than fifty years ago. But in the chapters to follow, it shall not be my purpose to exploit myself, my work or achievements, but to discuss co-workers, editors and publishers, great and small alike, wilth whom I have come in personal contact, and with whom I have spent many delightful hours as we travelled down the road of life together. 4 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN In such recital the personal pronoun must necessarily figure frequently, and while this work must, from its very nature, be somewhat autobiographic, the purpose will be to faithfully describe and do full justice to those whom | shall call up from the past and discuss in a fair and impartial manner. II. The first editor I met was named Ferris. He established the Argus at Hillsboro, Miss., the year before the Civil War began, and became a staunch supporter of John C. Brecken- ridge for President, as most Southern men did. I was a small boy at the time, but large enough to go around with the carrier, Charley Ferris, and assist him. Charley was an expert kite-builder and supplied the boys of the town with fancy kites. The Argus secured its printers from the Eastern Clarion at Paulding. An uncle of mine, J. A. Chambers, was fore- man, and under his instruction, I ‘learned the boxes,” there- by getting my introduction into the printing business, my first newspaper inspiration, unconsciously becoming inoculated with the virus that was to develop in after years and shape my future life. Ferris had a partner named Duke, as I recall, who looked after the business of the office while Ferris edited the paper and practiced law. He was regarded as a good writer, and got out an interesting local paper, which the community appreciated. The Argus had practically no opposition, its nearest competitors being the Eastern Clarion at Paulding and the Republican at Brandon, and naturally had a fair circulation. Brandon was the eastern terminus of the old Southern Railroad, running from that place to Vicksburg, and was building towards the Alabama line, for at that time no such place as Meridian existed, Marion being the county site of Launderdale county. EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 5 The Argus was a red-hot Rebel paper, which predicted all sorts of evil things in the event of Lincoln’s election, Ferris accurately prophesying that war would follow. Lincoln was elected, the Democrats having two tickets in the field, one headed by Stephen A. Douglas and the other by John P. Breckinridge, the Democrats doing in 1860 what the Republicans did in 1912, putting out two National tickets. While Lincoln did not defeat both Douglas and Brecken- ridge, in the popular vote, the electoral college gave him a majority of 57 over all opponents—Douglass, Breckinridge and Bell; and on March 4, 1861, the control of the government passed from President James Buchanan, Democrat, to Abraham Lincoln, Republican. Il. But before Lincoln’s inaugral, the secession movement had begun in the South, the States of South Carolina, Mis- sissippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana and Texas having held conventions and declared themselves out of the Union, Texas going out one month before Lincoln had taken the oath of office, administered by Chief Justice Taney. On February 18, 1861, the “Confederate States of America” were organized, with Jefferson Davis, of Missis- sippi, as president; troops were called for and companies were being formed all over the South; and the shadows of the Hillsboro Argus began lengthening. Its foreman joined the first company organized in Scott county, known as the Forest Rifles, T. B. Graham, Captain. Its printer and office boy Charley Ferris, joined the colors, and Ferris securing some position in the government service, the Argus quit blinking its “hundred eyes,” and gave up the ghost, much to the regret of the writer, who was in those boyhood days dreaming dreams of journalism that afterwards became true. The material of the office was sold and shipped to Louisville, Miss., where it 6 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN was permitted to sleep until after the war, when it was used in printing the Winston County Index. Iv. Ferris was a genius in his way, and could do a little of everything. He was a man of some means, decided ability and could hold his own in any company. He was accounted a good lawyer, was a fluent speaker and successful business man. He was fond of theatricals, and was regarded as the star of the home company, which gave frequent entertainments when Hillsboro was in its prime. Ferris would attract attention in any crowd. He was a man of medium height, as dark as an Italian and graceful as a French dancing master. He always dressed in the height of fashion, wearing a Prince Albert every day in the year. He was a genial, social fellow and when through with his office work could be seen around the courthouse or on the public square. He always had his hands deep in his pockets, stood with his legs wide apart, assuming a very important air, and reminded me of pictures of Lord Byron, without his club foot. He left Hillsboro during the war and I lost track of him. I supposed he was related to the Ferris family of Macon, who have been publishers for three generations, and have owned the Beacon at that place for over a half century. Vv I remained in Hillsboro with my mother and the children during the four terrible years of war, all of my relatives being in the army, some in the 20th Mississippi, others in the 36th, and a number in other regiments. There was little opportunity to go to school, for the very simple reason that there were no good schools, and the minds EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 7 of the people were more on the war, and on making a living, than on educational matters. In fact schools were at a low ebb, for the men around Hillsboro ran off a number of Yankee teachers who had been too free in expressing their opinions, and few Southern teachers were available. Spinning, carding, weaving and quilting bees took the place of literary societies at night. Occasionally there were singing schools or spelling bees, but as such entertainments neither clothed nor fed the families of Confederate soldiers, left at home to scuffle for a living, their popularity waned and they fell into disuse. VI. Occasionally a Jackson or Vicksburg paper reached Hills- boro, and some one was appointed to mount a dry goods box and read the war news to the public. Well do I remember how proud I was when that task fell to me, for I was always “rather fond of my own voice,” as Henry Watterson would say, and I had a passion for newspaper reading, which has doubtless had much to do with leading me in the paths of journalism. I was allowed to visit my father and uncles in Joseph E. Johnston’s army, and having learned to beat a kettle drum at home, and rally the home guard, to which I belonged, I was frequently permitted to sound the reveille or beat “an ad- vance” when the division was on dress parade. That naturally interested me, but the “army press” and the single font of type used to print orders, bulletins, etc., enchained me. The virus was taking. I could not pull myself away from the “printing office department.” I frequently saw Gen. Joseph E. Johnston and Gen. W. W. Loring riding up and down the line, and some of my relatives being commissioned officers, I was presented to them in person, and felt as proud as if I had been introduced 8 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN ‘to Napoleon, for Johnston’s men regarded him as the genius of the war, and all had the greatest love for dear old Loring, whose armless sleeve attested his bravery in battle, and who was afterwards commissioned a General in the army of the Khedive of Egypt. CHAPTER TWO. Hillsboro a Prosperous, Delightful Town Before the Civil War.—Burnt by Sherman’s Army.—Awful Carnival of Crime.—The Hardys Ambush Yankees by the Score. In the preceding chapter I referred to Ferris of the Hills- boro Argus as the first editor I had known, but said little of the town near which I was born and where I lived till the year after the war, and where I obtained the rudiments of an education, to be completed afterwards in a printing office, and so far as I know only two of my first school mates are alive today, Eliza Eastland, now Mrs. Glover Earbee, and Lizzie Smith—Mrs. T. B. Graham—of Forest. Several of my school mates who attended the “new academy” are alive, but I only know the whereabout of four of them—Mote Christian of Forest, H. H. Harper of Harpers- ville, George Clower of Columbia and E. R. Manning of Jack- son. The academy, built by negro labor, was finished at the breaking out of the war and was conducted for awhile by Professors Wofford and Walker, Southern men, the former a Mississippian and the latter from South Carolina. They took the place of Yankee teachers who had been run off for their abolition sentiments, which they had too freely expressed with Lincoln’s election. But the academy was forced to close during the war, as many of the students were drafted into the army. 10 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN II. Hillsboro was a prosperous, delightful, inland town of 1200 or 1500 people. It had an active, thrifty, intelligent population, an exceptionally fine local bar, good church and fine school facilities; also open saloons, a race course, ten pin alley, etc. It had some fifteen or more stores, a majority being conducted by Jews, sure sign of a live and prosperous community. It was one of the main stands for the coach route run- ning from Brandon to Alabama, and the arrival of the old stage from “Buck Horn Tavern,” near what is now Morton, was one of the big events of the village. One day in midwinter the well trained team of four stopped in front of Cain’s tavern, where passengers were dis- charged, mail exchanged and the inner man refreshed; for there, under one roof, were located a post office, a saloon and a hotel, the swinging sign reading, “Accommodations for Man and Beast.” The local postmaster waited for the driver to descend from his high seat and bring in his mail bags, but he moved not. There he sat with lines in hand, stiff and rigid as one of Mrs. Jarley’s wax figures. He had frozen to death between Hillsboro and Buck Horn—sometimes called Buck Snort for short. The four horses knew the road so well they pulled the coach on to town, and stopped at their accustomed place, unguided by rein or voice. The reader may imagine what a sensation the incident caused in the town, which only received a ten-line notice in the Argus. My! what a great story Frantz, Sullens, or Jaap— for years my best local editors—would have made of that event—two columns or more with a “stud head” in “thirty-six point.” But those were primitive days in journalism, when the editorial dominated the local department, when opinions were regarded with more favor than sensational events. Simeon R. Adams EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 11 Ill. Hillsboro was a fine place until Sherman burnt it as he was pursuing Joseph E. Johnston eastward, after the fall of Vicksburg, who in his retreats did his opponent more harm than he sustained himself. Johnston’s men did enough damage to the people of Hills- boro while retreating before Sherman. They burnt up the fences and foraged on the community, killing such cattle and ‘hogs as they found running at large; but they did not break open smoke houses and corn cribs and destroy the substance of the old men, the women and children; neither did they burn up the town. But Sherman’s soldiers—well perhaps they were not as bad as the Huns on their invasion of Belgium and France; but they were bad enough, and at the time regarded as devils incarnate, doing many acts of vandalism, wholly unwarranted by the rules of civilized warfare. They robbed the stores of everything they could carry away, groceries, dry goods, liquids, etc., and then set fire to the buildings, the flames in their wrath spreading to and con- suming many private homes. Their one thought was to pilfer, pillage and plunder. The court house, with all its valuable records, where Prentiss, McNutt, Davis, Foote, and other great leaders had charmed listening multitudes, was fired and burnt to the ground, not even a scrap of paper being saved. Col. John D. Hardy, father of the celebrated Jack Hardy, owned race horses and kept negro dogs. A squad of Yankee soldiers fired his home and stables, throwing the dogs in the flames, screaming in ghoulish glee.as they saw them burn to death, and the horses perish in the flames. But the Hardys made the Yankees pay dearly for their vandalism, for father and son scouted through the hills and 12 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN hollows around Hillsboro, knowing every foot of the land, waiting for an opportunity to kill Sherman’s soldiers as they foraged through the country, or left the main body of the army, bushwacking them without mercy. I have heard Jack Hardy say that he and his father killed from 75 to 100 Yankee soldiers—poor recompense, he declared, for the destruction of the old ancestral home, the mental anguish his mother and sisters endured, and the loss of his fine stable of racers and blooded negro dogs. IV. Sherman’s army killed and destroyed every edible thing that moved on foot, oxen, milch cows, hogs, goats and poultry of every kind. His soldiers broke open smoke houses, cribs, and pantries, and took away not only edibles, but silver plate, jewelry, chinaware, guns, pistols, everything they could find of the least value. I remember a brute drew a gun on my invalid mother, because she could not give him something to eat, when there was not a crust in the house. I attempted to shield her and was knocked down. She told me to run to the nearest officer’s tent, as the army was resting there, and report the outrage. I did so. The Colonel, whose name I never knew, and which I now sincerely regret, for he is worthy of recognition in these memoirs, heard my story, not failing to ask, “Where is your father?” I replied, “At the front, fighting Yankees.” “Good boy,” said he, “and I suppose you would be there also, if you were old enough.” “I would, sir.” My candid answers seemed to please the Colonel, and he forthwith ordered a guard put around our home, also sending us a supply of flour, bacon, sugar and coffee—luxuries we had not known for a long time. EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 13 We were bothered no more, and were disposed to be- lieve the Yankees better than we had supposed—and the officers were. It was the riff-raff, the foreign substitutes, and the criminals that creep into all armies that were doing most of the meanness—firing, looting and robbing. V. Hillsboro having been destroyed by Sherman, was never rebuilt, and the mercantile interests dwindled to small propor- tion. Quite a number of the Jew merchants, peddlers, horse- traders and men who owned allegiance to no country, and had never declared themselves naturalized citizens of America, exempt from military service, and being utterly demoralized, with nothing to do, their fortunes having gone up in flames, were induced to join with Sherman’s army on its return march to Vicksburg, not as soldiers, but as people in search of homes, places of business where they could support their families. Vicksburg had fallen, July 4, 1863, and the outlook for business in the Hill City was reported good with prospects for the future bright. Grant, the commander-in-chief of the Federal armies, having captured Vicksburg, and knowing how difficult it would be for Sherman to stop Joseph E. Johnston, ordered him to abandon the pursuit and return to Vicksburg. VI. Sherman’s raiders burned towns and villages from Vicks- burg to Meridian, and destroyed thousands upon thousands of dollars worth of property, the work of destruction being complete and awful. I remember as a boy how shocked I was to see so many men, whom I had known all my life, loading up their wagons with their families and household effects, and “joining the Yankees.” 14 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN My mother, who owned an old carryall, and a little nag that had escaped Sherman’s raiders, as they marched east- ward, for they did not misbehave on their return march, was asked if she would not join the caravan going to Vicksburg, with promise of sustenance on the way and a home at the end of the journey. Drawing herself up proudly, and with Spartan courage, she said, “I thank you, men of the North, who are doing your duty as you see it, but rather than desert my little home, and my people, while my husband and relatives are fighting for their country, and go off with the enemies of the South, I would starve with my children, for under no circumstances could I be induced to join the ranks of the deserters.” Many Confederate soldiers believed that Pemberton, the General commanding at Vicksburg, and a Northern man by birth, sold that city to Grant. My father, who was in the siege of forty-five days, and “thought no evil,” did not be- lieved that Pemberton acted treacherously, but that he was loyal to the government, whose commission he bore. CHAPTER THREE. I Move to Forest With the Family and Enter the Office of the Forest Register—James P. Dement Its Publisher; J. B. Blackwell and J. A. Glanville, Editors. At the close of the war, my father returned home, and as Hillsboro was not only dead but doomed, he engaged with others in the building of Forest, which was getting fairly started when the war broke upon the country, and stores, residences, school houses and churches were left unfinished, and were used for the storing of government supplies. Several of the merchants of Hillsboro, who were doing business in cheap, cramped quarters, moved to Forest at the close of the war, as fast as they could secure stores, promin- ent among them being M. D. Graham, Hi Eastland, W. W. Lowry, Rev. “Pap” Lack, William Lack, and others from the vicinity. Hillsboro lawyers, doctors, mechanics, shopmen and an army of laborers, for business was good, work plentiful and wages high, moved to the growing town of Scott county. Flush times had come: every one seemed to have money, and the demand for dry goods, groceries, wagons, farm imple- ments and household necessities was so great that the mer- chants had difficulty in supplying them. The prices were high i6 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN and cotton sold for one dollar per pound, in exceptional cases going to one dollar and a half. The demand could not be met as there was little cotton in the country, none worth mention- ing being raised after the first year of the war. II. In 1866 the family moved to Forest. I attended such schools as the village afforded, and was progessing finely until my teacher, old Prof. Johnson died of apoplexy. That ended my school experience. Then a great change came into my life, which my loving mother welcomed as a bright omen. The Register was moved from Carthage to Forest in 1867. It was set up in a little California frame building in the yard of what was then known as the Simmons Hotel, Uncle Johnnie Simmons being the rotund and ruddy happy and jolly boniface. The house is still standing, though hotel, livery stable and other buildings nearby have been several times destroyed by fire. The little shack seems to bear a charmed life. The news that the Register had moved to Forest, spread with the rapidity of neighborhood gossip, which generally travels faster than telegram or phone messages I was on hand at the unloading of the material, which made “a full wagon load;’ saw the plant installed and helped to place the cases on the racks. And then I realized that the virus with which I had been inoculated in the office of the Hillsboro Argus had not only “taken” again, but was breaking out in big spots. My mother wanted my father to agree to allow me to enter the Register office as an apprentice; he objected, on account of my small, delicate frame. He voted no; my mother voted aye; I cast the deciding vote; majority controlled, and the die was cast; for there, in that humble home, on that EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 17 warm summer night in 1867, my horoscope was made up, and it read, “You are to be a printer, publisher or pauper,” and I feel that I have just about run the whole gamut. My salary was fixed at $11.00 per month for the first year, and I had trouble spending it, my wants being few. III. James P. Dement was the owner and publisher of the Register, and the best printer I ever knew, before or since; but that was all he knew. He had no conception of newspaper publishing, was utterly devoid of business ideas, and wholly incapable of editing his paper, his old editor, a lawyer named Raymond Reid, having declined to move with the outfit, re- mained at Carthage to practice his chosen profession. Mr. Dement knew a printer associate named Worth Black- well, who had a brother named Major J. B. Blackwell, a lawyer who had recently moved to Forest from Smith county. He sought him out and the deal was soon closed, I don’t know whether on a fixed salary, for “part of the crop” or for the glory and honor of the position, but I am inclined to be- lieve the latter stipulation controlled, as Blackwell was an embryo politician and had designs on the circuit clerk’s office, which he succeeded in capturing and holding as long as he cared for it. Joe Blackwell, as he was best known, was a prince of men. He came from a fine old family, and had been well educated. He used his left hand entirely, his right arm having been injured. His writing was a beautiful sloping back hand, as plain as copy-plate, and the delight of the printers. Black- well had had no experience as an editor, but got out a very creditable local paper. We had politics then as now. B. G. Humphreys was Governor, but there was continual strife between the Federal and State authorities. The Freedman’s Bureau was doing 18 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN much to put the negro up to devilment. The military was fast superceding the civil authorities, and under the Recon- struction Acts of Congress a Constitutional Convention was called, which gave Major Blackwell and other editors themes for many editorials. He was elected circuit clerk and later resigned the editor- ship of the Register to enter upon his official dutis. He had a splendid family of daughters, two surviving him, and worthily uphold the family name. IV. Capt. Jas. A. Glanville became the second editor of the Register and imparted to the paper a deal of individuality. He was from Missouri and had served under Gen. Sterling Price and was proud of his Confederate record. His mind was a storehouse of information: he seemed to know everything and was always ready to respond to any question propounded to him. He had some money and increased his wealth by marrying the highly accomplished Pattie Davis, daughter of Dr. Stephen Davis, and wrote simply as a matter of pleasure for Dement had no money to pay him. While a brilliant man of letters, Glanville was what was known as a “crank” in that he was always writing strange and unnatural things, a kind of Rider Haggard. He wrote a serial entitled “A Dam Flea” that made maidens blush and mesdames scold. Glanville chased the flea from toe to head, making of him an ever-present hero. He was also author of a Klu Klux Klan serial which had a large run, as that was when the Knights of the Invisible Empire were doing their best riding. Having “known Robin- son” Glanville knew what he was writing about, and his Klu Klux articles were read far and near, several extra hundred copies being necessary each week to supply the demand. I “knew Robinson” afterward and am proud of the fact. EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 19 To Capt. Glanville is the writer largely indebted for many valuable suggestions, for he taught him expression, con- struction and rhetoric. The business of Forest increased rapidly, its merchants extending their trade in all directions, and the place was made the principal shipping point for north and south Scott. Mor- ton had enjoyed that distinction for quite awhile prior to the breaking out of the war, that being the eastern terminus of the old Southern Railroad. CHAPTER FOUR. Dr. Stephen Davis Becomes Owner and Editor of the Forest Register.—Loved Wit and Humor, Puns and Jokes Better Than News.—My Introduction to Col. A. J. Frantz. Headquarters for the Freedman’s Bureau were estab- lished at Forest, and hundreds of little board shacks were erected for the accommodation of the negro soldiers, west of what is now court house square. Negro soldiers, inflated with sudden honors and a little brief authority, were mean and insulting to white citizens, especially rude at times to white ladies. They drew their salaries regularly and blew in their money for whiskey and fancy articles that the government did not furnish, and thus set afloat a good sum of money, and the merchants and busi- ness men of Forest were the beneficiaries. Then began a discussion among radical leaders for a constitutional convention, as the new rulers of the land, did not like the constitution adopted in 1865, which was the work of Confederate soldiers and loyal sons of the State. Negroes were afterwards qualified as voters under a supplemental reconstruction act, and outvoted the whites, and elected a majority of the delegates to the convention, Novem- ber, 1867, before the adoption of the Fourteenth or Fifteenth Amendments. EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 21 Il. About this time Dr. Stephen Davis sold or leased his big farm on Shockalo, out near the Morton and Hillsboro road, finding it unprofitable to work free labor. He was a highly educated physician, and well read in literature, a high-class gentleman of the old Southern type, who had been a large slave owner, and was now land-poor. He set up an office and a drug store and re-engaged in the practice of medicine, which he had abandoned before the war to give his personal atten- tion to his planting interests. I recall an incident that set the town talking, and almost resulted in the death of Dr. Davis. He received a call one night to go to the Brisco home, about one mile west of Forest, and accompanied by the negro messenger, he was proceeding on his way when he was attacked in a deep railroad cut known as the “old trunking” and almost killed. He was knocked senseless, and remained in that condition till discovered by passers-by when he realized that he was minus his gold watch and small change. The doctor, who had vivid imagination and fine descriptive powers, used to relate the incident with great gusto, to his groups of friends, who revelled in the recital and rejoiced at the wonderful escape of their old friend. III. Dr. Davis, with little to do, for he cut out night visits after his experience in the ‘old trunking,” became associated with his son-in-law, Jas. A. Glanville, referred to in last chap- ter, in the editing and managing of the Forest Register having bought Dement out. He was the fourth editor the writer had known, and the brightest wit on the Mississippi press. He was never very serious in his editorials, preferring to indulge in ridicule rather than in facts. Many of his humorous articles and witty sayings would have done credit to Geo. D. Prentice of the old Courier-Journal. 22 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN Dr. Davis had a penchant for punning on the names of newly-weds. He would print wedding notices, giving the names of the groom, bride and minister, and then get off some of the funniest, broadest puns possible, some of them being positively shocking, but always witty and amusing, and en- joyed by everyone except bride and groom. His punning on wedding couples became so notorious that many persons about to commit matrimony dodged, fearing the wit of the “Old Youth,” as the doctor was called, and held their notices away from the Register, if their names permitted punning. IV. A long-legged, gangling country youth called at the Register office one day and asked for the “Old Youth.” The Doctor answer, “Aye, aye, My Lord of the Sticks,” for he said whatever he pleased, and his broad, good-natured smile protected him? But “My Lord of the Sticks” did not relish his wit, and said to him in a very positive manner, “Doctor, my name is John Henry Bottomfelt. I am soon to marry Miss Nannie G. Oat, and I called to serve notice on you that if you get off any of your vulgar wit on our names, I will hold you personally responsible and I will beat you worse than that free nigger did at the Briscoe cut.” The “Old Youth,” who was as brave as Napoleon, without moving a muscle, yelled out, “The h—1 you will! Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” and John left realizing that he had made an awful mistake, for the “Old Youth” just let himself out on the marriage of “Mr. John Henry Bottomfelt and Miss Nannie G. Oat,” which he corrupted into Nannie Goat, and the puns must be imagined, for I do not feel war- ranted in printing them here. In the parlance of the day, nobody but Dr. Davis could have used the puns he employed and “gotten away with it.” EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 23 V. Dr. Davis was an original man, always cheerful, agree- able and ever entertaining. Everybody liked him. He was a natural humorist, and his humor knew no bounds, but he could, if necessity required, write in a serious vein, especially when he was abusing carpet-baggers, scallawags, renegades and rapscallions who turned traitor to their people. He wrote a miserable hand, which always made printers swear, but he never got mad and abused boys in the office when they made mistakes, as Judge A. G. Mayers would do when his copy was not set up letter-perfect in the Brandon Republican office. The “Old Youth” would laugh at the ludicrous mistakes in proof, and while he would always demand a “revise,” a habit that the writer has practiced near unto fifty years, but not always with success, the Doctor would sometimes say to the foreman, “Jimmie, while I did not write just what you make me say, I believe your mistakes are better than my humor.” But Jimmy knew better than to fail to correct the proof and give the old Doctor a revise. VI. While working in the Register office I learned to make wood cuts. They attracted the attention of Col. A. J. Frantz, editor of the Brandon Republican, and who also had been run- ning some cuts, taking off radicals, carpet baggers and scala- ways. Frantz called at the Register one day and asked Glanville who was making his engravings. He replied, “A boy in the office, who picked it up.” Frantz said he would like to make me a proposition if it were agreeable to Glanville, who told him to go ahead, that my time was about up anyway and he did not expect to be able to hold me much longer. I was introduced to Frantz, and a contract was entered into on the spot, subject to approval of my parents. That was my first introduction to one of the most remarkable editors of the State. CHAPTER FIVE. “Breaking the Home Ties.’—A Sad Parting.—Leave Home to Take a Position on The Brandon Republican.—Meet Dear Mrs. Jennie Frantz, Who Influenced My Future Life. A small, unpretentious looking picture, simply framed, hung in an obscure corner of the Art Gallery at the World’s Fair at St. Louis in 1904, and attracted more attention than any painting in the grand collection assembled in that spacious building, by the great artists from every country of the world. It was entitled, “Breaking the Home Ties,” and was a picture of intense human interest, a soulful painting, a poem of pathos on canvass, a heart-throb, that claimed the attention of passers-by, and those who saw it were impelled to return and look upon it a second time, or more, for it was so realistic, so absolutely life-like in its pure simplicity, its sublime natural- ness, that its hypnotic power was irresistible. It represented a family scene in a humble country home, where father, mother and children were about to tell a youth good-bye. The boy was dressed for the road, and carried a small pack over his shoulder, for he was going out into the world to seek his fortune among strangers; he was “Breaking EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 25 the Home Ties.” He was receiving the blessings of his parents before taking his leave, and the little children looked up to him, lovingly, sadly, wistfully, as though taking a final farewell of the elder brother. There were tears in every eye, love in every expression; sweet old mother wept as she was telling her first-born good-bye. It was a picture that appealed to all parents, to every man who had left home in youth, to go out into the world on his own account. Crowds were before the little painting all the time, and the tender and endearing words there spoken, by the rich and the lowly, by the worldly and the devout, would make a book of sweet and loving sentiment. II. A similar scene was enacted in the town of Forest, Sep- tember 5, 1868, when I was preparing to “Break the Home Ties,” to journey to Brandon, where I had accepted a position with Col. A. J. Frantz, to work on his paper, the Republican— to make wood cuts, set type, run his press, and do any other work that might be considered necessary. None of the family, except my father, had ever been out of the State; in fact had never been beyond the limits of Scott county, and looked upon a trip to Brandon as a big event, quite a long journey. There was no levity in that scene, for sadness was on every face, solemn expressions everywhere, serious thoughts in every mind, for the family knew I was going away, “Breaking the Home Ties,” and might never return. I toid the children goodbye, and as I took my sainted mother by the hand, (she has long been'in Heaven, for she left us fifty years ago), she threw her arms about me and sobbed like her dear old heart would break. That excited and started the children crying, and I was so overcome for the 26 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN moment that I] felt like throwing up the engagement and announcing my intention of remaining at home. But I did not think that I could afford to violate my contract with Colonel Frantz, so with a throbbing heart, I rushed from the room, accompanied by my father, who was to go with me to the train. Though that scene was enacted more than fifty years ago, and since then I have wandered far and wide, visiting home and foreign lands, and seen many of the grand sights and great men of the world, the picture made in that humble home, that bright autumnal morning, as I was taking my leave, “Breaking the Home Ties,” with a heavy heart, is as vivid today as it was real then, and it will never fade from memory so long as life shall last. It was a sad and solemn scene, and one I often recall with profit, but have never before attempted to describe. It is well to live over occasionally the sad hours of youth and experience again the heart-throbs of life. Let us draw the curtain and shut out the picture, for we are treading upon sacred memories, personal and dear to me, but of no special interest to the reader. III. We had but a short time to wait for the train; my ticket was bought, my trunk checked. I bade goodbye to friends at the depot, and entered the train with my good, old Christian father, who remained with me until the conductor halloed “All aboard.” With tears in his eyes he clasped my hand and said in a choking voice, as he retired, “My boy, do the best you can in life; do your duty as you see it; live uprightly, don’t forget your home and your people, and remember the fourth and fifth commandments.” The engineer blew his whistle, reversed his throttle and turned on steam; the engine commenced puffing, the pistons Major E. Barksdale EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 27 began sliding into the cylinders, increasing their speed with every stroke, forcing out white, hot spray; the drivers were revolving fast, the train getting under full speed, and soon the little town of Forest faded from sight to which I was never again to return except as a visitor. The train was in charge of Conductor Holbrooke, to whom I soon introduced myself, making various inquiries about railroading, Brandon and its people, for he had married Miss Fannie Gunn of that place and described it as the great- est town on earth. He was the father of Mrs. Carl Seutter, and retired to his farm at Holbrooke, Rankin county, after leaving the service of the railroad, where he passed the latter years of his life quietly and happily. Holbrooke stopped and talked with me several times as he passed through the train, for he was a social and com- panionable man. My mother had prepared me a lunch, and I had no trouble in persuading the conductor to eat with me, for I was satisfied it was good and bountiful. As I remember, it consisted of biscuits, linked sausage, fried chicken, boiled eggs, and a bottle of coffee. It was evident my mother did not intend I should starve before reaching my destination. IV. On arriving at the Brandon depot, a mile from town, I took passage on Jim Cunningham’s hack, and was soon in the heart of the place, which looked larger then than Jackson does today, for in youth everything is magnified, while villages, towns and objects diminish in size with age. I got off the hack at the old Shelton House, so long one of the landmarks of Brandon, but now alas, is no more. There I met the proprietor, D. H. Brown, father of Mrs. E. E. Frantz, of Jackson, then little Sudie Brown, and a bright, frisky child she was. I inquired the price of board, and when given the information replied, “That is more than my monthly wages.” 28 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN I asked the way to the Republican office, when Mr. Brown said “Over the store of Maxey & Co., south of the Wilkinson’s block.” Seeking my bewilderment, for I had no idea where the place was, Little Sudie generously offered to pilot me, for which I thanked her, and am now reminding her of the fact that she and her father were the first people I talked with in Brandon, over 53 years ago. - I met Colonel Frantz at the top of the steps, which lead directly into his editorial-business office. He recognized me and remarked, ‘Well, you have arrived.” I told him I had, but was in great trouble, as I found my board and lodging would cost me more than the salary I would receive, and did not know what to do, when he replied, ‘““Why, dam it boy, I expected you to board at my house with the other printers, and I never intended to charge you. Where is your baggage? get it and send it up to my house, on College street,”—better known as Silk Stocking. If he had said he lived on Champs Elysees, the boulevard upon which his home was located would not have been more greatly magnified in my youthful mind. I hunted up a drayman, Old Spencer by name, and negotiated with him to deliver my trunk to Colonel Frantz’ residence; and then returned to the Republican office, and announced myself ready for business. The Colonel asked “Are you going to work before you have dinner?” I replied, “I had a snack on the train and can hold out till supper.” I shall never forget his answer. “But the boys are getting ready to go to dinner, and you will be alone in the office.” I answered, “I shall not be lonesome if you give me a case and some copy.” Frantz called to his foreman, fat, jolly, good-natured, waggish Robert McDonnell, saying, “Here, Bob, give this boy a case and some copy.” The foreman asked me, ‘Can you set manuscript, or shall I give you reprint?” I never felt so out- EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 29 raged in all my life, and replied in defiant tone, “I can set anything that you or any printer in the office can set.” “Bob,” as everybody called the big, overgrown Irishman, grunted and said, “No offense, young man; but you have a pretty good opinion of yourself.” I pertly replied, “And I am ready to prove my words by my acts.” I afterwards heard Bob saying to the boys while washing up for dinner, “Better be careful, fellows, for that new kid has got no more sense than to work like a country nigger. He has evidently made an impression on the old man.” V. That evening about sun-down, all the hands quit work, and Ben Carrol! was directed to show me the way to the Frantz domicile, where Ben boarded. He was such a dressy, stilted, stuck-up fellow, that I did not fall in love with him then or afterwards. : On reaching the Frantz home, I was presented to the members of the family, and fell in love with dear, kind Mrs. Frantz, who expressed herself as glad to meet me, and hoped my sojourn in her home might prove pleasant. I assured her I knew it would, for I felt that any home presided over by such a gracious queen as Jennie Frantz must be an Arcadia. She was a lady of culture, well educated, inately refined, pos- sessed the noblest ideals, a true Christian if this world has ever known a real Christian. She did much towards shaping my future life, for which I shall always feel grateful. She was devoutly religious, was a regular attendant upon the Presbyterian Church, which she helped to build from the sale of her writings, and insisted I should go also, being informed my people were Presbyterians. She took the place of my mother and guided my youthful steps over the right paths, and without her teachings, I might have gone as wild as some of the other Brandon boys. But of that further on. 30 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN Mrs. Frantz wrote almost as much as her husband, and could discuss any subject, being a constant reader of news- papers and magazines; but she never dabbled in politics, allowing her husband to occupy that sphere alone. She wrote, largely on religious topics, and her articles on “Charity,” have never been equalled in this State. Her poems covered a large range, but were generally along serious religious lines. She wrote sonnets, cantos, fugitive pieces, personal poems, in fact everything of a poetic nature. In later life she arranged her writings in book form, which is now one of the most cherished volumes in many libraries. The Mississippi Press Association several times elected Mrs. Frantz as annual poetess, but having an aversion to publicity, she never appeared to read her poems herself, delegating that duty to her daughters, Nonie or Eva, the latter also being a clever poetess. Mrs. Frantz was of great assistance to her husband in the publication of his paper and often in his absence furnished the copy: but of an entirely different nature, for no one could write like Frantz, and his style could not be copied, for he occupied a field all his own with no imitators. CHAPTER SIX. Col. Frantz’ Paper Had the Largest Circulation in the State. Poured Hot Shot Into Carpet-Baggers and Scalawags. My First Experience With Beer Proved a Blessing. In writing these memoirs, covering the dark days of re- construction, or as is best known, the civil revolution, when the “bottom rail was on top” when vice stalked abroad at noonday and ignorance set in the temples of justice, it will be necessary to throw around them a local political coloring. In the days that tried men’s souls, there was wavering in the minds of some men native and to the manner born. Even old Confederate soldiers, who had offered up their lives for their country, seemed willing to sell their “birthright for a mess of pottage” being “almost persuaded” to join the ranks of the enemy, hoping to enjoy the fruits of the spoil. To this class belonged lawyers, who had their eyes on judge- ships, and editors who were willing to change their politics for the usufruct the “district printing bill” would confer. But I am glad to be able to testify that no such allure- ments were sufficient to cause A. J. Frantz to change his policies or his plans, or to let up in the fight he was making upon the carpet-bag government that was degrading, disgrac- 32 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN ing and humiliating Mississippi and its people. He denounced the district printing bill in unmeasured terms, which was a device of the Radical government then in control of the State, to furnish “pap” to a number of papers to maintain them while they advocated the cause of the despoilers—the district printing bill being nothing more nor less than a reward to papers for treachery to their party and country. II. The Constitutional Convention of 1868, known as the “Black and Tan,” called under the Reconstruction Acts of Congress, had finished its session in Jackson and adjourned, after passing a resolution to submit the draft of the constitu- tion to the people of the State for ratification, having no doubt it would be adopted, for all negro men over twenty-one had been enfranchised and qualified as voters, even before the adoption of the Fifteenth Amendment. Frantz had been pouring hot shot into the proposed con- stitution, and urging its defeat, and to assist in the good work I was called to Brandon, to make woodcuts of the lead- ing members of the carpet-bag-scalawag-alien government, to burlesque them and associates in every way possible. He made life a burden for B. B. Eggleston, Hook Nose Fisher, Millinery Bill Lake, J. Aaron Moore, negro delegate from Lauderdale, Bullet Head Ames, A. J. Morgan, Charles Cald- well, afterwards killed in the Clinton riot, Cy Myers, Fred Barrett, Hell Roaring Pease and others of the saturnalian brood. It is a notable fact that five members of the Eggleston convention were killed for their crimes against the people of the State, viz: Charles Caldwell, a negro senator from Hinds. county, was killed in Clinton, charged with instigating the riot of that place in 1875; Combast was hung by the Ku Klux in Sunflower county; Orr was killed at Pass Christian by P. EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 33 K. Mayers; Fawn was killed in the courthouse at Yazoo City, for incendiary speech, calculated to bring about race troubles: Fred Parsons, defender of Ames in his impeachment trial, was found dead in the road, having been killed by unknown persons. Frantz poked all manner of fun at the negro delegates and their carpet-bag and scalawag allies in the Constitutional Convention. He had special aversion to B. B. Eggleston, a carpet-bagger who misrepresented Lowndes county. He was president, having defeated Judge J. W. C. Watson for the place. Frantz had a cut made of Eggleston presiding, and printed underneath, “That thing in the box, nailed up to the wall, is Brindle Buzzard Eggleston, chief of them all,” and what he said of old B. B. was a plenty. II. Colonel Frantz was an interesting editor, and his paper had the largest circulation in Mississippi, having practically the field east of Jackson, south of Winston and north of Perry, with a scattering circulation in other counties. He depended largely upon horse-mails, as railroad facilities were poor, and he loaded down the mail bags every Thursday morning. The bulk of his circulation was in counties east of Pearl river, a section that had been dubbed “the Mighty East,’’ by Franklin E. Plummer. Frantz was a good dresser, and had a pleasing face, which always reminded me of the features of Simeon R. Adams, and like Adams he was short and corpulent, and fairly shook and wobbled as he walked. Both were Northern jour- neymen printers, who came South before the Civil War, Adams from Pennsylvania, and Frantz from Maryland. They became connected with insignificant country weeklies, which they made the most powerful papers of the State, Adams winning his reputation before and Frantz after the Civil War, 34 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN the mantle of Adams rather descending upon Frantz’s should- ers. They were well skilled in the arts preservative, and possessed extraordinary energy. There was one difference—Adams was a better business man than Frantz, but being a poor writer, employed editors to get out his paper while he looked after the business de- partments. Frantz was a thoroughly practical newspaper man, and could edit and manage his own paper. Both were persistent solicitors, each succeeded and built up fine news- paper properties. Frantz had a ruddy complexion, his cheeks, as spotted- red as a Norwegian girl. He had bright, sparkling brown eyes, a small, expressive mouth, and his smiling face was but an index to his genial nature and happy disposition. His hair was long and black as the raven’s wing, which he parted on both right and left side, when I first knew him, leaving a broad patch in the center, which he rounded up in handsome curls, much after the style of mothers who paid special care to combing the hair of their curly-headed children. IV. Frantz did not get full credit for editing his paper, the public being disposed to award that honor to Mayers and Lowry and Andrew Harper, when the truth is they furnished the Republican few editorials. It was no secret, they did occasionally write for the paper, as did some other lawyers of Brandon, but were in no sense its editors. Their style was wholly different from Frantz. He wrote simply, and indulged in no end of invective, abuse and slang when referring to the carpet-baggers and scalawags, and the way he could trim them up was a sight to behold. Occasionally Mayers would write a leader, but his principal forte was personal and humorous paragraphs, in EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 35 which he excelled. He also wrote amusing and telling dog- gerel. Lowry, fresh from the army, had a dignified, some- what stilted style, that could not be disguised, unless he stopped to satarize some carpetbagger in his own peculiar way. Harper was long-winded and tedious, his mind rurining on Chronicles. Mayers and Harper were the terror of the printers. Mayers could not understand why a ten dollar a week printer did not know as much as he did, and would raise Cain when- ever the slightest errors were made in his copy. Harper had a mania for commas, and stormed at Bob McDonnell so much, holding the foreman responsible for all omissions of his pet punctuation point, rubbing Bob so hard in the presence of the printers, that the old Irish Presby- terian would sometimes lose his religion and curse old Andrew black and blue, telling him to “Go to h—— with your d—— commas.” Dear, sweet-natured General Lowry, never complained, if he ever detected errors in his articles, for he rarely read proof. Frantz had an odd, original style which made his paper. He was called the “Brick Pomeroy of the South.” While their style was not dissimilar, when it came to abusing Re- publicans, carpet baggers and scalawags, both being past masters in the art, Frantz never saw the LaCrosse Democrat, which always fell to the writer. Truth is that while the Republican had a large city exchange list, Frantz rarely read a paper printed outside the State, holding to the idea that the way to make a Mississippi paper was to print Mississippi news, which he did almost exclusively. The only exceptions were on election nights, when Frantz made special efforts to get the news by wire—the first exception to be noted by the writer was on Wednesday night after the presidential election in 1868, when Grant de- 36 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN feated Seymour for President, Mississippi’s vote not being counted. In writing up the result Frantz paraphrazed the message sent by Commodore Perry to General Harrison, after the naval engagement, September, 1813, making it read, “We have met the enemy and we are theirs.” V. I was quite a verdant when I went to Brandon, and was dazzled by the strange sights and the stylish people, especially the young ladies, who put on their best dresses and paraded up and down Silk Stocking every evening, after the boys had finished their work in the stores and offices. I used to wonder if they met by accident or design, but they certainly met and had great times. I was slow in breaking in for I was a “young man from the country,” and had never visited a girl in my life. But under the leadership of the boys in the office, I soon caught on, and got in the swim, for in those days a printer boy ranked as high as a student, dry goods clerk or office man. But back to Frantz. He was by no means sociable with his men, and rarely had anything to say to them. He had his paper made up Wednesday afternoon, printed and mailed that night, in order to catch the horse mails next morning, the date of publication; for come what would the Republican must go out Thursday morning. We had no union hours, and worked until Bob said quit, and we never expected pay for extra hours, which came only on Wednesday night, mail- ing night, when we worked till the big edition had been printed, put in packages and sent to the postoffice. A half dozen boys took their places around the big table, each boy with a subscription book before him, with Colonel Frantz sitting at the head, doing as much work as any two, for he wrote with electric rapidity. There was no talking; nothing but work, till the Colonel, after pushing his pencil EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 37 for an hour or so, said, “Well boys, let’s stop and go round to Block & Ohyler’s and get some beer.” VI. That was a novel experience to me, for I had never been in a saloon in my life; but I did not feel that I could act prudish, and I went with the Colonel and his boys to the designated place—in the rear of the main store, reached by an outside door. A keg of beer rested at half-mast on the bar—bottled beer was unknown—and every one was invited to come up and drink. I could only swallow a half glass my first night, so bitter did it taste. Bob said, “Oh, you'll like it after awhile,” and so I did. That practice was continued every Wednesday night as long as I remained in Brandon. One night I took a little too much. Returning to the office, I felt a slight disturbance in my head. My brains and hands would not co-ordinate. I knew I was not tipsy, for I could walk and think, but there was an unrest in my mind. One of the boys, Ben Carroll, saw my dilemma, and con- sidered it great fun, and made remarks that irritated me, for he delighted in nagging. I got up, excused myself to Colonel Frantz, saying while I was not tight that I did not think I could continue writing. He was kind and considerate and said, “That is all right.” Ben roared with laughter, making unpleasant remarks, other boys joined in, and volunteered to take me home. I indignantly declined their offer, and made them a little speech somewhat after this fashion, “Laugh away, boys, laugh till your sides are sore. My laugh will come later, for here I vow that never more shall beer pass my lips. Go on, and die drunkards as some of you will.” Strange prophesy for a boy; but it came true. That object lesson was the greatest I ever 38 EDITORS I .HAVE KNOWN learned, and the most beneficial, for it may have saved me from a drunkard’s grave. VII. Ben Carroll was the pet of the Frantz household—after- wards marrying Mrs. Frantz’s sister, Miss Mollie Johnson—and I judged from what I saw around the house that he had “blown” on me, and made up my mind to get even with him. We occu- pied the same room and slept in the same bed, he on the front, while I was satisfied with the back side, next to the wall, which proved a strategic position. One morning while Ben was lying on his back, dead asleep, the thought occurred to me, “Now is the time to even up matters.” So I squared myself against the wall, drew up my legs, cantflever-like, and straightening them out quickly, kicked Ben out of the bed. He did not wake up till he landed, and from the sound his head made as it hit the floor, I feared I had cracked his skull. He awoke swearing like a trooper; he was so mad his oaths were not intelligible; but they were warm. I was too convulsed with laughter to re- spond to his inquiry, “What in the h—— do you mean?” He threatened to kill me on the spot, but I persuaded him to desist until after breakfast—and he desisted; but we never spoke again—never, till I gave him the mumps, which is referred to in another chapter. VIL. In the winter of 1860 Frantz went with the sheriff’s posse to arrest a fugitive named Gardner, who lived between Bran- don and Jackson. Gardner fired from his house as the posse approached and Frantz was seriously wounded in the shoulder and groin, the latter wound almost proving fatal, keeping him in bed several months, and on crutches over two years. He never entirely recovered. EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 39 Frantz boasted that he never missed an issue of his paper before, during or since the war. He anticipated Sherman’s raid, and moved a small press and two or three cases of type to the woods, and got out his paper on time in spite of all drawbacks. CHAPTER SEVEN. Frantz Lived Like a Prince and Entertained Like a Sovereign. He Goes to Jackson to Fight Editor Whipple.—Beautiful Brandon Girls and Fatality Hanging Over Them. One Big Event. When I went to Brandon in the fall of 1868, it was a beautiful and prosperous town, having an intelligent and progressive citizenship, surpassed by no place in the country. There was an air of culture and refinement there that im- pressed itself upon all visitors. On every hand were evidences of enterprise and prosperity. The people were of the better class, kind, generous and lovable, many from old aristocratic families of the wealthy, ante-bellum type, but all, regardless of caste, were sociable, happy and contented, forming a homo- geneous population, among whom it was a great pleasure, a never ending delight to live. I felt that my lines were cast in pleasant places, when I learned I was to become an inmate of the Frantz home—a home presided over by a pure, sweet Christian wife and mother, whose influence was wholesome and ennobling;: for while Col. Frantz belonged rather to the worldly set, having been a Bohemian of extensive travel, he had great respect for the religion of his wife, who exercised wonderful influence EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 41 over him, and had been to him as a beacon light, casting its rays of beneficence across his pathway in life. Frantz lived like a nabob, having not only a comfort- able, well furnished home, but a table “good enough for a bishop.” He prided himself on native grown products, both wild and domestic, meat, fowl, fruits and vegetables, raising much of the latter himself, being an expert gardener. His wine cellar was stocked with the best vintage of France, from Mum’s extra dry, to sparkling sherry and ruddy St. Julien; with a “wee drop of the crater” from Robinson county for his more democratic visitors. I. Frantz loved a newspaper controversy better than any editor I have ever known, and when once started he held on with bull-dog tenacity. Sometimes these controversies reached a very acute point, especially when conducted with a carpet- bag editor. He became involved in a controversy with Whippel, editor of the old Pilot, the Radical organ published by the firm of Kimball, Raymond & Co., at Jackson. It began very pleasant- ly, but Frantz became so severe and abusive as the controversy progressed, that Whippel, the carpet-bagger who had been imported here from the North to edit the Pilot, felt that he was warranted in denouncing Frantz, having no idea that he would be called to account; but he was. There was a council of war held in Brandon attended by Frantz, Lowry, Mayers, McCaskill, Henry, Cole and others, and the decision was that Frantz should go to Jackson, post Whippel, and notify him that he was on hand ready to defend his poster. Frantz took a position in front of the old capitol, armed with a double barrel shot gun, and notified Whippel that he 42 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN was ready for him. He stood there till he was almost frozen, puffing a long black cigar, and Whippel failing to appear, friends of Frantz told him he had done all that was necessary to vindicate his honor, and the whole crowd adjourned to the old Edwards house and had a big blow out. Frantz returned to Brandon after nightfall, and was hailed as the hero of the hour. After that he had no further trouble with the old carpet-bag editor, who had learned to respect him. An impression had grown that Frantz would not fight, and while I don’t think he yearned for the sport, I have seen Frantz in some rather tight places, and I never saw him show the white feather. For instance, he had been roasting a law- less character down in some of the counties south of Rankin, named Pryor Pryor had written a letter demanding an apology, in default of which he threatened to shoot Frantz on sight; which only called for another denunciation. That induced Pryor to come to Brandon. He reached there about one o’clock, and forthwith called at the Republican office and asked for the editor. I was in the editorial office at the time, and told him Frantz would return soon, asking him to take a seat, having no idea who he was. He told me his name, say- ing he had ridden up from below to whip Frantz. Hearing the Colonel’s footstep on the stairs, I went down and told him that Pryor was waiting for him. Without answer- ing me Frantz rushed upstairs and approaching Pryor gave him the worst cursing I ever heard mortal man take, abusing him for everything in the catalogue, and ordered him out of his office. Pryor simply smiled, without retorting, and dis- appeared. He never returned. I saw much of Frantz the three years I worked for him, and besides making his wood cuts, often assisted in editorial work when he was away. He had his fads and fancies, his bad and good parts, but was of great help to his State and country. He was patriotic, and will be long remembered Col. J. J. Shannon EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 43 for the good work he did in helping to rid Mississippi of carpet-bag rule. IIL. I recall the time when A. T. Morgan, a white renegade of Yazoo, which county had favored him with several official positions, came over to Jackson and married a negro woman named Carrie Highgate, the ceremony being performed by Rev. J. Aaron Moore, a blacksmith by trade, and who had been forced to leave Lauderdale coun'ty after a riot at that place. Frantz asked me if I could draw and make a cut of the marriage scene. I told him I would try. He wanted a three- column cartoon for his front page. I had never seen any of the parties, but made a stagger at it. I represented Morgan as a mean-looking white man, Carrie as a comely lady of color, dressed in the prevailing style. I drew her with a long flowing tight-fitting dress, short in front, with large bustle attachment and exaggerated bust, with chignon covering her kinky hair. She held on to the arm of Morgan with a look of grim death upon her dusky face. They were standing before a table decorated with flowers—crudest flowers that every bloomed in the spring—behind which stood a big, burley, rotund, thick lipped negro, holding a book in his hand, pre- sumably the Bible. He was marrying the mulatto and the renegade, for the marriage license was in evidence. A marriage notice of explanation was printed under the picture, and no picture was ever more in need of explanation, which was followed by a piece of doggerel written by General Lowry, which was exceedingly witty but just a trifle off color. That was the most famous picture I ever drew, and so pleased was Frantz with the effort that he had hundreds of them photographed by L. D. Greenlaw, who married Dora Runnels, sending them to his friends. I kept one of the photos for years, but like many others, it disappeared. 44 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN IV. Colonel Frantz made piles of money, which he spent with a free hand, living at the top of the pot; but he remained in the publishing business too long, till he got old, poor and feeble. He was forced to the necessity of putting on a patent outside, which he hated above all things. He lost his energy and ginger. Times changed; the people after “turning the rascals out,” in which good work Frantz was a leading factor, grew tired of his style of writing, which had lost its savor, and assisted in killing his paper by discontinuing their sub- scriptions. New railroads were built, mail facilities improved; local papers sprang up in every county, sapping his circulation and injuring his business; and when he died his paper had become but a shadow of its former self. His son, Ed., tried to con- tinue the publication. of the Republican, but, after giving it a fair trial, abandoned the task, having found it to be a losing game. And then the Republican followed the man who had made it, and gave up the ghost. Ed. secured a position on my paper as local and associate editor, and remained with me twenty years. V. Another brief reference to dear Mrs. Frantz, and I close the book of memory so far as she is concerned. One dark, rainy Sunday, she came in her library, where I was reading Hume, and said to me, “My boy, I am afraid you are disposed to be skeptical. I fear you are becoming under old Richardson’s influence, who is an atheist, and has done much harm in the world. I am really sorry that he is kept in the office.” I replied I might be a bit skeptical, as there were so many things connected with religious teachings that I could not understand. Then she argued this way: ‘It is a great blessing to me to believe in God and the hereafter. If it be a delusion, it is the delight of my life, EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 45 and fills my heart with over flowing joy: and, mark you, if it be a delusion, I lose nothing. But, my dear boy, if you do not believe in the immortality of the soul, and it proves to be a fact, you lose all. So you see, I am on the safe side in either event, while you take chances of losing your soul.” That was the best sermon I ever heard preached, and if I had ever before been disposed toward skepticism, with char- acter unformed, and mind immature, Mrs. Frantz’s logic saved me; and I have thanked her thousands of times for her little speech, and the repeating of it, has caused many a wayward boy to stop and think and get right in his heart, soul and mind with God. Should any skeptic read these lines, I admonish him to paste Mrs. Frantz’s sermon in his hat or scrap book; it may be the means of saving his soul and enable him to meet dear ones Up Yonder. VI. Meanwhile, I had branched out in society, and had be- come quite a ladies’ man. I paid diligent court to half a dozen or so pretty girls who were students at the old Brandon Academy—taught by Miss Frank Johnston, sister of Mrs. Frantz, assisted by Mrs. Julia Jayne, mother of R. K. Jayne— among them Annie Cocke, Anna Lee Maxey, Ella Lowry, Emmie Moore, Margie Cocke, Dora Runnells, Ada Lowry, Marie Stevens, Zella Hargrove, Flossie Jack, Sallie Patton, and last, but but not least, the brilliant Ida Johnson—who got me, to have and to hold, for 50 years and more. Strange fatality seemed to hang over those beautiful girls; all of whom married except dear Annie Cocke, and she died while in the flower of her youthful beauty. All the others were widowed except her sister, Margie, and the girl who bears my name. A similar fate seemed suspended over the set above me, Dora Lowry, Mamie Cocke, Mollie Lowry, Bettie Henry and 46 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN Laura Johnson, all of whom lost their husbands except the latter two. VII. In looking over the names of printers and boys with whom I worked on the Brandon Republican, | find that P. E. Williams and E. E. Frantz are the only survivors. Bob McDonnell, Ben Carroll, Willie Williams, Willie Estes, Jim Ware and P. Richardson, have passed over the river, all dying young, except the two latter. Ware walked off the long railroad bridge at Bay St. Louis and was drowned, while P. Richardson sleeps in an unmarked grave at Port Gibson, having spent his last days in the office of his old friend, Jas. S. Mason, founder of the Reveille at that place. CHAPTER EIGHT. Sorrowfully, But With High Amibition, I Bade Goodbye to Dear Old Brandon and Went to Newton to Establish My First Paper.—Met Several Editors Before It Appeared. Filled with the enthusiasm of youth, and ambitious to establish a paper of my own, even in my twentieth year, it was with deep regret and many heartaches that I made up my mind to say good-bye to dear old Brandon and its splendid people, among whom I had passed three happy, delightful years, where I had made many friends and gotten expanded ideas of life. There I saw the best and most intelligent citizens of the town, for to be a printer in Colonel Frantz’s office was an open sesame to the best circles, a passport into good society. I belonged to the literary clubs and societies, where I naturally learned much of history, for which I had a special penchant, even back in my school boy days. There might have been gambling and clubs of chance, but if so I never found them. Certain it is, there were no progressive euchre or society gambling clubs in Brandon, and while there was some drinking and occasional shooting, the town was regarded as a moral place. 48 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN I had a settlement with Colonel Frantz, and ordered type, rules, cases, and material sufficient to set up a country print- ing office. Meanwhile I had been over to Newton, discussed the establishment of a newspaper there and closed deals with merchants and business firms for one year’s advertising. IH. The people of Newton county had been greatly worried by carpet-baggers, scalawags and free negroes, backed up in their murderous designs by the Freedman’s Bureau. Swann, Howard and Harvey were the leaders of the negroes, all being imports from the North, who had come South hoping to find good picking; or, as Judge Harris once said of Bill Figures, in the celebrated Hamilton-Gambrel case, ‘Floating on the surface of an occasion, waiting for something to turn up.” Harvey, a carpetbagger, and teacher of negro schools, held the petty office of justice of the peace and hoping to improve his condition and ingratiate himself more firmly in the esteem of negro voters, disgraced a negro woman by marry- ing her, a la Morgan-Highgate episode. Then he attempted to lead the negroes into riots, till called down by the stalwart white Democrats of Newton. Swann had higher aspirations than Harvey. He had been a postmaster at Newton and chancery clerk under radical regime. He was by no means as bold as Harvey. Swann was the greater rascal, but possessed manners more suave and oily than his political partner. He lost his office when the Demo- crats were allowed to vote, honest old Eugene Carleton being his successor. Swann left Newton for Jackson where he engaged in the very laudable get-rich-quick occupation of counterfeiting. He was arrested, convicted and sentenced to the Federal penitentiary, but by some hook or crook managed to escape, and was last heard from in New Orleans, where he disappeared as though the earth had swallowed him up. EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 49 After being defeated for sheriff, Howard stole a negro’s horse and fled northward, never to return, to the relief of the white people of Newton county. Several white persons had been killed in race conflicts, some good white men and a number of bad negroes. Harvey’s last effort to bring about a collision between the races was played at Decatur, the day that Geo. C. McKee, candidate for Congress, and James Lynch, Canadian negro candidate for Secretary of State, had dates to speak there. Harvey had armed several hundred negroes and marched them into town, saying he would lead them into the court house. They approached court square, when the white people decided matters had gone far enough and called a halt. The Radical speakers were informed that if a single shot was fired that they would be the first men killed. Having a due appre- ciation for their hides, McKee and Lynch advised the negroes to disarm, come in the court house if they desired to, but that they must behave themselves. Harvey was unnerved by the sudden turn of affairs, and knowing that he would be killed should a riot follow, he ordered his negro soldiers to lay down their arms—and peace reigned once more. IIl. In those dark days, leading Democrats of Newton were subjected to all kinds of outrages and insults, and were arrested by order of the commander of the Freedman’s Bureau on the slightest pretext. The negroes and their carpet-bag friends were mortally afraid of the Ku Klux Klan, which had been organized to bring peace and order out of chaos in the South, and to make negroes and their associates behave themselves. It was known that Newton had many Ku Klux, for Robinson rode and had scared hundreds of negroes almost to death. 50 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN The white renegades, Harvey, Swann and others trumped up some charges against leading citizens of Newton who belonged to the Ku Klux, and succeeded in having a number taken to Jackson by United States Marshals. Prominent among them was the well known citizen, T. M. Scanlan, sterling old Confederate soldier. He was carried before the Federal Court and when asked certain questions about the order, refused to answer them. He was interrogated time after time, and told he would be committed to jail if he did not answer. He stood firm, refusing to give the Court the names of the members of the Klan or divulge any of its secret work. He was ordered to jail, where he remained three months, when he was released by order of the Court, but never gave away any of the secrets of the Klan. Excitement was at fever heat. This outrage so fired the people that they expressed a willingness to extend a liberal support towards the establish- ment of an outspoken, white-line Democratic paper; and amid such exciting scenes the Newton Ledger was born September 14, 1871, in the adjoining county to Jasper, where the Clarion was established in 1837, the two being consolidated at Jackson in 1888 under the name of the Clarion-Ledger. IV. Awaiting the material for the paper, I made a canvass of Newton for advertising, and secured from the merchants and business firms of Newton yearly contracts amounting to $1,080, payable monthly. I then visited Decatur, while Court was in session, with Judge R. E. Lechman, presiding, Thos. H. Woods, district attorney. It was there I met the first editor I ever knew in East Mississippi, in the person of Dr. John D. Woods, of the Scooba Spectator. EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 51 Dr. Woods was one of the brighest, as well as one of the wittiest editors I ever saw. He came to Mississippi from Kentucky, where he had edited a paper at Glasgow and being fond of writing, agreed to furnish the editorials for the Spectator. With his brilliant leaders and witty paragraphs, he soon made it one of the best known papers in the state. We discussed “shop” at length, and I got from him some good ideas regarding the conduct of a weekly paper. I remember, he said, “My son, get all the business you can from your merchants the first year, while your newspaper is a novelty, for my experience is that local advertising always drops off in a country paper after the first year.” and I found his prophetic words came true. He remained with the Spectator for several years, and, as I remember, returned to Kentucky and re-established rela- tions with his old paper. When it is said that Dr. John D. Woods, in gentility and intelligence, was the equal of his brother, Thomas H. Woods, whom Governor Lowry appointed a Supreme Court Judge, all is said that need be said. V. Tired waiting for the arrival of the material with which I was to print the Newton Ledger, I visited Vicksburg to solicit advertisements, the latter part of August, 1871. I called at the Herald office and for the first time met one of the truly great editors of Mississippi, Col. W. H. McCardle, a giant among his fellows, where I was received most cordially by that princely gentleman, the terror to radicalism in Mississippi, for he never let a day pass that he did not slug the carpet-baggers, scalawags and interlopers with all the power of his trenchant pen. He was sometimes arrested for pouring hot shot into them, but that made no difference for he never changed his course. 52 EDITORS | HAVE KNOWN McCardle was once arrested by General Ord for criticis- ing the arbitrary action of that official He was confined in a military prison, but released on a writ of habeas corpus. His case was carried to the Supreme Court of the United States, but never tried, Congress having repealed the law authorizing the trial of civilians by military commissioners. The radical horde hated McCardle with all the bitterness of their vile natures, and would have been glad to murder him if they had had the courage. He never left his office without a brace of pistols, for he did not know when he might be attacked. As a writer of pure, expressive English, McCardle never had a superior in this state. He could say harder things about the wolves feeding upon the bleeding carcass of Mississippi, than any man, and say it in the very best language, chaste and beautiful but as hard as steel, and his phillipics against the radicals were as strong as those of Cicero against Catiline, cutting his adversaries into mince- meat. McCardle could swear more artistically than any man I ever knew. It was almost musical to hear him rip out oaths about the radicals, and they came so thick, so free and so fast, and with such perfect smoothness, that they did not sound offensive, but there was really a charm about them that had the power to chain and delight. Vi. When I told McCardle who I was, on the occasion of my first visit to Vicksburg, and that I had come over to solicit advertisements for the Newton Ledger, he looked at me in surprise, and said, “Why, I never heard of the paper before; have you a copy?” I replied I had not, that it had not been printed yet. Then he gave me a penetrating look, EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 53 as much as to ask if I were crazy, and said, “My boy, do you really come to Vicksburg to solicit advertisements for a paper that is not in existence?” I answered, “It exists in my mind and will be printed in a week or two.” Turning round in his chair he ripped out an oath, as though about to attack me and exclaimed, “Well, of all the d—— cheek and impudence, this excels anything I have ever before heard of in my journalistic experience.” That almost floored me, but I held my ground. “That may be so, Colonel, but if you will give me a notice in the Herald, letting the merchants of the Hill City know I am in town, and what I am here for, I will be grate- ful to you, and I’ll let you know the result when I return.” Seeing that I was not to be put off or discouraged, McCardle quickly replied, “Well, I'll be d—— if I don’t do it, for I like your nerve, and will add, if you keep it up, and live long enough you will not only succeed, but you’ll become the leading publisher of Mississippi.” I thanked the Colonel, for the privilege of the interview and went to work—worked all day, without getting an ad, but the receptions I received did my youthful heart good. All the’ merchants asked me to call again, just as a matter of form, never supposing I would return; but I was on them again bright and early next morning, and before the sunset I had made contracts for $125.00, and had the copy in my pocket, for it is usually more trouble to get copy than ads. Just fmagine how proud I felt when I called again to see McCardle that night after supper. He heard my story, asked to see the ads, and when I presented the names of Ben. Hardaway & Co., John A. Peale, McCutchon & Co., Folkes & Co., J. D. Stiles, Lee Richardson, Jos. Podesta, and others, the Colonel said, “Good as gold; my boy you are a wonder; You are bound to succeed.” I thanked him, and replied, “I never doubted it.” 54 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN VII. Col. McCardle was one of the most agreeable editors I have ever known. He was genial as the sun, companionable and delightful at all times, an inspiration to ambitious young editors, with whom he was always on the best terms. He had no political ambition or personal interest to serve in the conduct of his paper, which was, therefore, free to express opinions in the most positive manner as to men and measures. While he and other Democratic editors of the state often disagreed, there was little bitterness or spleen in any discussions he might have with them. He was an instruc- tive and interesting writer, and adorned and illuminated every subject he touched upon. His sentences were never involved, but as clear as the tones of a silver bell on a frosty morning, strong but beautiful, chaste but virile, having about them a ring and rattle that few editors could command. I met McCardle frequently afterwards, and knew him as the editor of several Vicksburg papers, for he cared nothing about ownership and knew nothing about publishing, but gave his whole time to editing, in which line he achieved great success. I met him at Press Associations, political gatherings and public meetings of various kinds. I knew him in his days of prosperity and adversity, and after he had grown old and feeble. When he could no longer run the pace of morning paper work, he turned his attention to history writing, -he and Governor Lowry preparing the History of Mississippi, which bears the imprint of R. H. Henry & Co. It was a good work, but a poor financial success, though the proceeds helped to support McCardle the few remaining years he lived. Like Frantz, McCardle stuck to the newspaper business too long, dying poor in purse but rich in friends. He sleeps in Greenwood Cemetery, Jackson, with only a modest stone to mark his last resting place. EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 55 VIII. Returning to Newton, and finding that the material I had ordered for the Ledger had not arrived, I ran over to Meridian on a soliciting tour, hoping that I might duplicate my Vicksburg experience. I met the leading merchants, who seemed glad to encourage my youthful ambition, and gave me two or three columns of advertisements. While on that visit I formed the acquaintance of East Mississippi’s leading editors and publishers, Col. J. J. Shannon, of the Gazette, and Col. A. G. Horn of the Daily Mercury. I had heard much of Shannon, as he was continually on the go, but I knew little of Horn, who seldom left his office. Both were remarkable men, Shannon a distinguished publisher, while Horn was recognized as one of the greatest editors of his day, one of the few writers of the state in a class with Barksdale and McCardle—and that was to reach the top of Mississippi journalism. Horn was a trained editor, having been connected with a number of papers before he founded the Meridian Mercury, which was regarded as the best edited paper in East Mississippi, which spoke the sentiments of its editor, regardless of consequences. The business office of the Mercury had no strings on the editorial department. Col. Horn was an able and vigorous writer, and his trenchant pen was never silent when the interest of his country or party was at stake. He was a strict party man, and never flickered one jot or tittle during the dark days follow- ing the war, when so many Southern men were ready to go over to the enemy for the loaves and fishes offered them by the radical regime then in power. Horn stood steadfast, firm as the rocks of the mountains, immutable as the law of Moses. When the Democrats endorsed Horace Greely for President at Baltimore in 1872, after the Liberal Republicans 56 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN had nominated him at Cincinnati, Colonel Horn, though no admirer of the Tribune editor, decided to stand with his party, in view of the fact that Greely had advocated general amnesty for the people of the South, and had signed Jefferson Davis’ bail bond. And thousands of other Southern men shared the same views, the writer among them, who cast his first boyish vote for the man who had the nerve to say by his acts that he believed Mr. Davis was entitled to bail, pending his trial, which never occurred. Horn was a good editor, but paid little attention to the business end of his paper, the result being that he made barely enough to sustain himself and family; and when he passed away, his paper soon followed him, for he had no successors. CHAPTER NINE. The Newton Ledger Receives a Hearty Welcome and Cordial Reception.—First Paper of the County.—Visit Decatur and Have as Room-mates Shannon, Cooper and Others.—Night in Memory. When James Gordon Bennett, the elder, gave to the public the first copy of the New York Herald, May 6, 1835, he felt no prouder of the achievement than did the writer, when he printed the first edition of the Newton Ledger, September 14, 1871. Both were small, unpretentious-looking papers, and would attract little attention in these days of modern journalism. There was one difference, at least—the Ledger was twice the size of the Herald, but there com- parisons ended. The Ledger did have one advantage over the Herald; it was printed on the first floor of an old store building, and had fine ventilation—too much ventilation, in fact, as the approaching winter proved—while the Herald was printed in a close, stuffy cellar, meagerly and poorly furnished. IL. But the Herald did not receive a more enthusiastic reception on the first day of its publication than was accorded 58 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN the Newton Ledger when given to the public: the Herald was not a pioneer in the field of journalism, while the Ledger was. There was no novelty about one, while great curiosity and interest attended the appearance of Newton county’s first paper. The county was in the throes of carpet baggers and scalawags, and the Democrats had made up their minds to “turn the rascals out,” and they welcomed the Ledger as an adjunct in that laudable endeavor, welcomed it as an im- portant factor in the effort to elect Democrats to office. Democrats of Newton were smarting under outrages put upon their county by Republican leaders, the arrest and dragging to Jackson, to be tried before the federal court, some of its leading citizens, charged with belonging to the Ku Klux Klan, before referred to. They could not forget Swann, Harvey, Howard and other carpet-baggers who had come South to feather their nests, and who had given the white people no end of trouble. So the Democrats held a mass convention at Decatur, just about the time the Ledger was born, and nominated a full county ticket, and passing some stringent resolutions in which they declared their inten- tion to elect the ticket, from top to bottom. The Ledger espoused the cause of the white-line Democrats of Newton, ran up the county ticket at its mast-head and battled for its election. All of the nominees won, notwithstanding the efforts of Swann, Howard and Harvey to steal the ballots and falsify the election, the management of which was in their hands. HI. After working several days with the assistance of one printer and two boys trying to learn the printing business, I managed to get the office together, making the stands myself, assisted by Mr. Seth Selby, grandfather of Rev. Robert Selby, . Power L ie Col EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 59 now filling the pulpit of the First Methodist Church of Vicksburg, and got out the first issue on the morning of September 14, 1871. In that issue I laid down my platform, gave my idea of the kind of paper I expected to publish, and those who have followed the course of my paper for the last half century, will judge if the promise and pledges made in that first issue have been kept. The salutatory is printed in full below: To the Public: In appearing before the public as an editor, it is expected that we should indicate the course we shall pursue in conducting our paper. We know it is so often the case in all vocations that men promise more than they perform, that the world hardly expects of anyone the exact performance of what he promises. It should be the aim of all men to respect their obligations, and discharge them to the letter. We have had but little experience in the ways of the world, having devoted most of our time to the learning of the printing business. With a desire to do something for ourself, and a determina- tion to use all our energies, and whatever ability we may possess, to succeed, we have seen proper to start a newspaper, relying upon the generous public for its support, and knowing that if we deserve patronage, we will surely receive it. We hope to make THE LEDGER such a paper, on the score of morality, that no one will refuse it admittance into the family circle, and that if it is not edited with ability, nor interesting to the reader, it will be free from vulgarity and abuse, which too many editors now- a-days like to fill their papers with and which too many people like to read. We shall strive to make it emphatically a NEWS-paper, containing local items of interest and indeed everything interesting to the good people of Newton County, whose favor and assistance we hope to merit and secure. In politics it will be decidedly Democratic, believing as we do- that upon the success of the Democratic party depends the overthrow of Radicalism and the restoration of civil liberty to the people. “Everything for the cause and nothing for men,” should be the motto of all good and true men in the present crisis of our political affairs, and they should be willing to lay aside all personal considerations 60 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN and unite in their efforts to drive from place and power those who now rule us, and who will soon destroy the liberties of the people, as well as our material interests, if not checked in their career of misrule and corruption. In discussing political affairs, we hope we shall ever treat our Opponents with proper respect, and not subject ourselves to censure for indulging in personal abuse. We hope to conduct ourself toward our brethren of the Press, that whatever they may think of our ability as an editor, they will have no occasion to treat us as altogether an unworthy member of the “gang.” We may sometimes differ in our opinions, but we hope that difference will not make us personal enemies, or convert us into “dirt-daubers.” We shall do the very best we can to make THE LEDGER an acceptable paper to all who may chance to read it, and so conduct ourself as to merit the patronage of the public. R. H. HENRY. IV. Fifty years have rolled away since the above declaration was written, and readers of the Clarion-Ledger will render the verdict, and decide if the writer has not fought a good fight and kept the faith. And though he does not feel that he “has finished his course,” he would be happy to know when the end does come, that his life has been such that he had, at least, in some small degree, merited the admonition of St. John, “Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.” The Ledger was well received and was a success from its first issue, its initial number carrying over fifteen hundred dollars worth of contract advertising. It performed its part in life as its editor saw it, helped in an humble way to redeem Newton county from radical domination, and saw the last carpet-bagger, scalawag and alien driven from place of power, and the county named for Sir Isaac Newton restored to its rightful owners. EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 61 V. But I was lonesome over at Newton by myself, and after printing ten issues of the Ledger, and being satisfied that I could maintain it, and also sustain a wife, I returned to Brandon to keep an important engagement; when on Novem- ber 22, 1871, Dr. A. L. Kline officiated at a marriage in which R. H. Henry and Ida Johnson were the high contracting parties, which Mrs. Virginia Frantz chronicled in verse as follows: How beautiful it is to see Two happy, loving hearts unite, And blend in perfect harmony Their full sweet chords of pure delight. Life spreads before them bright and fair. May joyous love shine on their way And pleasure meet them everywhere— And sweet and new every day. And as the days and years go by Let love be tender, still and strong, And if they breathe a sorrowing sigh, Let it be lost in faith’s sweet song. And oh, remember life was given A jewel for our keeping here, And when you take it back to heaven In perfect light may it appear. A life of happy usefulness, A life of faith and hope and love, Be yours upon the bounteous earth, And may it be yours above. VI. The writer remembers the first court he attended at Decatur after establishing his paper. There he met Col. J. 62 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN J. Shannon, and Col. F. T. Cooper. Shannon had sold the Meridian Gazette to Cooper, who had moved up from Summit, having sold his paper, the Times, to Major Croker; and Shannon had established the Homestead, for he could no more live without a paper than a fish could exist out of water, Cooper seemed a little sore towards Shannon for start- ing another paper in Meridian after selling him the Gazette; but they tolerated each other. Shannon was at Decatur trying to collect his back subscriptions and Cooper was endeavoring to get new subscribers. There was only one hotel in the place, the Leslie House, and it was nothing more than a large old country residence. It was packed with court officials, lawyers, editors, and others. Some of the guests kicked at Leslie’s backwoods manner of crowding, but what difference did that make? None at all; it was simply stay with him and submit to his packing methods, walk the streets or roost in the court house, which many countrymen and pocr litigants did. I was scheduled to sleep in the “big room” with Shannon, Cooper and a half dozen lawyers, including S. B. Watts, Thomas H. Woods, T. W. Brame, and others. There were four double beds, one in each corner, with several mattresses on the floor. Did we have a bed apiece? No indeed, two men to each bed! and glad to get it. Vil. It was a cold winter evening, and by actual count 14 men sat around the fire all of whom were booked to sleep in that one room. Woods and Watts and other lawyers talked law; Shannon and Cooper talked newspapers, with the writer venturing in modestly, for what he did not know about news- paper management would fill several volumes. EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 63 Shannon and Cooper told of some marvelous newspaper experiences that greatly interested the writer. Woods, Watts and other lawyers cleared and hung more criminals that night than I supposed lived in the state. The litigants, witnesses and other court attendants had nothing to say—they were simply listeners, forming the audience for the real performers. One by one the guests began “shucking for bed.” I wondered if Shannon and Cooper would sleep together, and where I should “lay me down.” It soon became evident that they would not nestle together, for Shannon picked Woods, and Cooper selected Watts as his partner; and T. W. Brame, now of Macon, was my chum for the night. But being modest by nature, I waited till the others had gotten in bed before I retired. Then I witnessed a performance that was equal to a vaudeville act, and which would have been regarded as a top- notcher on any program. Shannon was stripping for his nocturnal rest. He tossed his coat, vest and pants into already overloaded chairs, throwing his shoes and socks right and left. He was soon asleep, snoring to beat the band. It was a sight to behold, for Shannon was a giant in size, large and tall, about 6 feet 3, weighing over 200 pounds, with all the development of a trained prize-fighter. Cooper was a nervous man, much given to terrible headaches, and could not sleep with “Shannon’s sawmill run- ning.” He yelled and swore at him several times, but all to no purpose, but to wake every person in the room except the snorer. Then the conversation became general all round, everyone saying hard things about Shannon, all declaring there was nothing to do except to sue old Leslie for loss of a night’s lodging, Watts, Woods and Cooper leading the chorus. Finally Shannon gave a snort as though he had hit a knot and overcome an awful obstacle, and then he simmered down gently as though holding his breath, when Cooper yelled 64 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN out, “Thank God he is dead.” Even that did not wake the sleeper. Daylight finally came, and there was stirring hither and thither, every man hunting for his clothes and complaining that he felt worse than when he retired. Shannon likewise awoke, and said “Well I hope all have had a good night’s rest. I slept like a top and did not turn over during the night.” “Sleep, you old hippopotamus! Not a soul in this room has slept a wink but you. You have kept every one awake with your infernal snoring, and you ought to be outlawed from hotels and boarding houses,” declared Cooper with asperity, and rising inflection of the voice. Shannon answered, “If I were a nervous old maid like you, Cooper, I’d stay at home—you’re not built for roughing it, anyway.” VIII. Shannon was lawyer, editor and publisher, and enter- tained the idea that he was also a good farmer, a fallacious and costly dream. He was accounted a good lawyer, a fair editor, but a better publisher. He was the owner of the Clarion, after it passed out of the hands of the Adams estate, and was one of the charter members of the Missis- sippi Press Association, being elected chairman of the first meeting held in Jackson, May 15, 1866, and frequent attendant thereafter. He was elected president of the Press Association at Jackson in 1884, dying a few years afterwards, loved, hon- ored and respected by all. He was a most companionable man, and while he towered far above the average editor, in intelligence as well as height, he was always agreeable and entirely at home with the humblest quill-driver in the state. Hence his universal popularity with editors. After remaining with the Clarion for several years till it was merged with the Standard, and became the property EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 65 of Power, Jones, Hamilton and Barksdale, the old journalist became the owner of the Gazette at Meridian, which he pub- lished for several years, till he sold the paper to F. T. Cooper. Shannon was a thrifty manager, and retired, well fixed in life. IX. F. T. Cooper had a varied newspaper experience. The first I knew of him he was publishing the Times at Summit, which seemed to be a success, though he had printed the Journal at Monticello and the Mississippian at Jackson. But he became ambitious, sold his Summit property and bought the Meridian Gazette, from J. J. Shannon, which he published, with indifferent success. The Republican legislature, under direction of Governor Alcorn, passed what was known as the district printing bill, the purpose being to give aid to newspapers supporting the Republican administration. So Cooper eased his conscience, unlimbered his democracy, and started two district printing organs, one at Brandon and the other at Enterprise, under the name of the Argus. Their lives were short and profits small, for the press of the state made such demand for the repeal of the district printing law, that the legislature soon wiped it off the statutes. Cooper then started the Comet at Meridian, which proved a very brilliant paper, for Cooper, when in the mood, could write with as much grace and ease as any editor of the state, and his humor was unbounded. He could write as well on one subject as another; but his last Meridian enterprise was not a financial success. Cooper moved his Comet from Meridian to Brookhaven, where he had many old Lawrence county friends, hoping to get the county printing, which he failed to do. 66 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN After remaining at Brookhaven a short while, he moved his outfit to Jackson and resumed publication of the Comet, but could never get a foothold, as his political tergiversations were never forgiven. The Clarion was the dominant force at the State Capitol, and after Cooper had struggled along a few years, barely making expenses, he was stricken down in 1881 and died a poor, heart-broken man. He stuck to the newspaper game too long. He sleeps in Greenwood Cemetery, Jackson, near his old editorial associates, Barksdale and McCardle. The Comet was leased to R. K. Jayne, who published it till the material was sold to the writer, and used on the State Ledger, which moved -to Jackson, 1883. CHAPTER TEN. Meet Henry Watterson and Have a Shop Talk With Him in His Office at Louisville, Ky.—Visit Murat Halstead and John McLean at Cincinnati.—A Good Editorial Story. “Backward, turn backward, oh time in your flight, and . make me a child again just for tonight.” While few of us would care to live our lives over again, with their joys and pleasures, their griefs and sorrows, one perhaps overbalancing the other, there are events in every life, bright spots, happy days and glorious hours, that all, regardless of caste or class, circumstance or condition, would be glad to live over again, and sip once more the joys that have fled, but still live in memory green. You, dear reader, will remember many hours of your life that you would gladly recall, days and nights spent with dear ones, the recollection of which still gives you infinite pleasure. You will never forget the caresses and advice of mother, the evening prayer she taught you as you knelt at her knees; the kind words and admonitions she gave as you kissed her good-night, and the joys and smiles with which she greeted you in the morning. You will never forget your first sweetheart, or the hour when you asked her the important question. You then felt 68 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN like the boy who, when accepted by his girl, was so happy that he could not refrain from saying, “Oh Lord, I feel so good, I ’haint got nothing gin nobody.” But the happiest time in life is when you lead a trustful girl to hyman’s altar, who pledges her troth to you, and there comes a time when you are equally happy, when the first child appears. Then you begin to realize that “Life is real; life is earnest,’ and that you are to assist in the wonderful plan foreordained by the Great Creator of men and évents. II. An incident of that kind had happened at my little home at Newton, when my first boy arrived, September 19, 1873. Then I decided I must hustle northward on a soliciting tour, and mapped out a route covering several cities, none of which I had ever before visited. But that made no difference, for men are but men, the world over, and while naturally a very timid and shrinking youth, which newspaper work was wearing away, and finally effaced altogether, I did not feel afraid to tackle business men North or South. My first stop was Louisville, Ky., and I did not feel that I could begin work till I had formed the acquaintance of Henry Watterson, and gathered inspiration from that great editor, the best writer in the United States. I found Marse Henry in his elegantly appointed offices on the fifth floor of the Courier-Journal. He was compartively young then, not over 35, and had succeeded Geo. D. Prentice, whose asso- ciate he was, as editor of the Courier-Journal. Watterson was a very handsome man, with pleasant, intellectual face, which indicated decided character and un- usual strength. He had rather small but penetrating eyes, overhung by drooping lashes. One eye being defective, entirely gone, as I afterwards learned, he concentrated all his force on the other, which gave him the effect of staring as he EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 69 looked at you, or perhaps it were best to say, he seemed to be giving intense attention to your face and words. I thought he would look me through when I first met him, and for the nonce I was embarrassed. But his genial disposition — and fluent speech not only attracted but charmed me, and soon set me entirely at ease. Il. When Watterson learned I was from Missisippi, he became interested and exerted himself to please and make me feel at home, saying: “From old Mississippi, home of Jefferson Davis? Why I know a good deal about your state; visited it during the war, and since. I was with Forrest and Polk in the early days of the war, but did much more as war correspondent than as fighter, though I was a private. “I was quartered for a while in the Governor’s Mansion at Jackson, where I wrote several articles which were printed in The Rebel at Chattanooga, which I had a contract to edit, at long range. Pettus was Governor, and L. Q. C. Lamar was regarded as the coming Mississippian, next to Jefferson Davis, who was President of the Confederate States. “While the guest of Governor Pettus I happened to see a copy of the Ordinance of Session, as adopted by the Missis- sippi Convention, which was reported by Lamar, who was understood to be its author. It was not so long as the Declaration of Independence, but it was well phrased and told the story in less than five hundred words, telling it well.” I feared I was taking up too much of Watterson’s time, and was preparing to leave, when he said: “No, no; I have more time than anything else. I write my editorials early in the day. I am through for today unless something extra- ordinary occurs.” 70 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN I expressed surprise that the editor of a morning paper would write his articles before evening, when he said, “Morn- ing is the best time to write, when the mind is fresh and clear, for you never know what may happen before night. Louisville is a social town, and I am inclined to be social myself. I don’t belong to the Sons of Temperance, and believe in the largest liberty of the citizen.” IV. I asked Watterson if he dictated his editorials to an amanuensis, as Prentice did, or if he wrote them out him- self, for in those days typewriters were unknown and stenography was in its infancy. “No,” he said, “I cannot dictate, for I am likely to become too fond of my own voice and draw out my articles too long and thin. I write them out with my own good hand—then I make them short and compact, concise and explicit. I do not believe in printing essays or theses in the editorial columns. You may remember that Alex H. Stephens almost killed the Atlanta Constitution with his long editorials, often writing articles of from three to five columns in length. The owners of the paper were compelled to let Alex go in self- defense. His was a brief but not brilliant career as editorial writer.” Watterson invited me around to his club, where there was eating as well as drinking galore. He was a perfect gourmand and ordered the best on the bill of fare; I noticed he never mixed his drinks. He had a passion for wild game and seafood, and could eat more than Bryan, and Bryan never suffers for lack of appetite himself and needs no vinous or spiritous liquors to wash down his food. V. I met Watterson occasionally after my first visit to Louis- ville, the next time at the National Democratic Convention at EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 71 St. Louis in 1876, when Tilden was nominated—Watterson, a great friend of the Sage of Gramercy Park, was elected chairman of the convention. The suffragets had just begun buzzing, and in some way, I suppose through pure courtesy, Phoeba Cousins was per- mitted to speak. She occupied the platform, and made a rather pleasing impression at first, which she wore out by her long-winded talk, for there was not a delegate present that gave a thrip for female suffrage, regarding it as a wild fad. The band was stationed at the opposite end of the hall, and played by instructions from the speaker’s ‘stand. There “was a push button on a post near the chairman, labeled, “Press once for music.” ‘Press twice for music to stop.” John Fellows of New York, was then in the heyday of his glory. He was chairman of one delegation from New York, while Boss Kelly headed the Tammany braves. Fellows knew that the committee on credentials was about ready to report and that Phoeba was delaying the game.. He was wild to get at Boss Kelly, knowing he could outspeak him, and make. him look like a school boy in that big convention, for while Kelly could set grates and mantels, and run with the boys, he could not speak. Fellows was on the stand, and when he read the instruc- tions, ‘Press once for music,” he said to Nick Bell, one of the reading clerks, “Press that button once,” and without stopping to consider, Bell pushed the botton, as directed, and the band commenced playing a lively air, literally blowing Phoeba off the stage. Watterson pretended to be worried, and tried to stop the music, but all to no purpose, and before the band had com- pleted one bar the venerable, pioneer, suffraget, had left the stand. I always believed Watterson had a hand in the game, 72 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN for he and Fellows were anxious to nominate Tilden, which they did; but Tilden wrote the platform, sending it to the Convention by Lieut.-Gov. Dorshemier, with the understanding that it must not be changed—and it was not. The platform criticised the abuses of power by the Republicans, and de- manded reforms in all departments of government, and in the tariff. VI. After my somewhat prolonged visit with Watterson, I began looking around for business, first calling on Dr. J. P. Dromgoole, whose advertisements of Dromgoole’s English Female Bitters I had set up while working on the Brandon Republican. After making my business known, Dromgoole’ said he would give me a column for a year, as he did not believe in small, spasmodic advertising. He asked me as to the condition of my better half; I told him she was not well, and that medicine seemed to have no effect on her. Thereupon he said: “lll send her a case of English Female Bitters if she will take it, and I guarantee that it will put her on her feet.” I thanked him, and went on about my business. The bitters arrived and were promptly consumed. I saw no more of Dromgoole for six years when by chance I met him one night on Vine street in Cincinnati. He recognized me and asked: ‘“How’s your wife? Did she drink the bitters?” I replied: ‘“She’s is very well, thank you; your bitters saved her life, but if she ever sees you she will kill you, for since you sent her your medicine three other children have come to brightcn and cheer our home.” “Will do it every time,” the Doctor remarked. I have told that story a number of times in the presence of men whose wives had not come up to the Napoleonic standard, and straightway they began feeling for pencil and EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN 73 paper to write down the name of that wonderful bitters. I told it to a state officer, whose wife had been a little back- ward coming forward. He took down the name of the bitters, and several years passed before I saw him again, when he said, “Look here, old friend, you know you have just about made me a pauper? Why, since you gave me the name of that confounded bitters, four children have arrived, and I am having a h—— of a time supporting them. And we cannot tell what the future will bring. I believe I would be justified in suing you for damage or support.” Then I quoted Dromgoole’s words, “Will do it every time.” VIL. By way of variety I decided to make the trip from Louisville to Cincinnati by boat, taking passage on a night packet, which proved very delightful, the novelty of the trip appealing to my youthful fancy. I thought Louisville a big city, but Cincinnati far sur- passed it in size and beauty. I took bearings before enter- ing upon a canvass for business. I went out on the Walnut Hills, via the cable car route; visited “Over the Rhine,” and became acquainted with Vine Street, where the best amuse- ments were located. I saw Edwin Forest play “Othello” at the Grand Opera House; heard the festival at the Exposition Auditorium; paid three dollars to hear Patti sing, and sold the ticket after hearing two of her songs, for five dollars, and congratulated myself on my financial ability. VIII. Next day I called on Murat Halstead of the Commercial and John McLean of the Enquirer; but they were not Henry Wattersons, and had no time to give to a boy editor from the South. They treated me politely, but that was all. 74 EDITORS I HAVE KNOWN Halstead was a big editor and McLean was a great manager, so great in fact that he afterwards owned both papers, and Halstead was writing books of the United States’ possessions in foreign lands. McLean did take time to say that he cared very little about editorials, and told me the story of his leader writer, getting drunk the day before the 4th of July, after he had written one sentence of his leader, for the next morning’s paper, beginning, “This is the Fourth day of July.” The editor went off to wet his whistle, and failing to return that day the foreman who handled his copy printed that one sentence as the only editorial in the paper. McLean says it attracted more attention than any editorial he had ever before printed, and he was then and there convinced that the public did not want leaders, and he quit printing them. McLean afterwards bought the. Washington Post, and ran it quite successfully, providing that both papers should be continued in his name after his death. He aspired to be a politician, and attended several National Democratic Con- ventions as a delegate from the state at large. He was a great admirer of Allen G. Thurman, who had been a United States Senator, but was never able to nominate him for President. Thurman was nominated as Cleveland’s running mate in 1888, when the twain went down in defeat, the Democracy being routed that year. McLean tried to be Governor of Ohio, and when defeated, waxed sore and sour, and his politics became of very dubious quality. He tried to run his brother-in-law, Admiral Dewey, for President, but the boom died before it bloomed. Col. A. J. Frantz CHAPTER ELEVEN. Meet P. K. Mayers Enroute to Press Convention and Impression Made Upon Me.—