Thirty-five Years 
 
 Journalism 
 
 £^»i?sss 
 
 anc B.VTli 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 000152024E7 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 ?JtA % 7 4 
 
 @^ap.... §opt;rig|t If a, 
 
 Shelf AV.4..A 3 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 OF 
 
 Thirty-five Years of Journalism. 
 
Personal Itantntscmces 
 
 OF 
 
 ^l)irtn-ttoe gears of Journalism. 
 
 BY , 
 
 FRANC B. WILKIE 
 
 ("POUUTO")*" 
 
 (5~V-_S> 
 
 *Y OF COA, G > 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 F. J. SCHULTB & COMPANY, Publishers, 
 
 298 DEARBORN STREET. 
 

 Copyright, 1891, 
 By FRANCIS J. SCHULTE. 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. PAGE. 
 
 I. First View of an Editor : 7 
 
 II. How I Came to Enter the Profession 10 
 
 III. A Full-fledged Editor 13 
 
 IV. Union College and its Notabilities.... 16 
 
 V. Toward the Setting Sun 21 
 
 VI. Rainbows in the Sky 24 
 
 VII. Clouds follow the Rainbows 27 
 
 VIII. Struck by a Cyclone . 31 
 
 IX. The Wreck of Matter and Crash of Worlds... 34 
 
 X. A Model Western Town 38 
 
 XI. A Change of Base 43 
 
 XII. Traveling with a Panorama 48 
 
 XIII. Once More in the Depths 52 
 
 XIV. How I Amused Myself. 56 
 
 XV. Led into Temptation 58 
 
 XVI. Another Change of Base 66 
 
 XVII. A Gleam of Sunshine 74 
 
 XVIII. Experiences in Dubuque 78 
 
 XIX. Mahony and the Bastile 86 
 
 XX. Man Proposes — Fate Disposes 92 
 
 XXI. Summary of the Life of Storey 97 
 
 XXII. Storey's Alleged Brutality 103 
 
 XXIII. Getting Broken to Harness 109 
 
 XXIV. Jealousy and Hatred of Storey 114 
 
 XXV. Mr. Storey as a Worker 118 
 
VI 
 
 CHAPTER 
 XXVI. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 XII. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 A Mysterious Falling-ofF. 124 
 
 An Audacious Editor 130 
 
 The Social Character of the Editor 140 
 
 Jekyll and Hyde , 147 
 
 His Penuriousness 152 
 
 Mr. Storey as a Writer 157 
 
 The Newspaper Men of Chicago 161 
 
 Newspaper Men of Chicago — Continued... 169 
 Newspaper Men of Chicago — Continued... 174 
 
 The Newspaper Roll Continued 179 
 
 More Chicago Journalists 184 
 
 ^part 3i)tcoit&. 
 
 The Work of Reconstruction 191 
 
 Building Operations 197 
 
 Cumulative Blows 202 
 
 Storey's Spiritualism 209 
 
 Visit to a Paris Newspaper 218 
 
 A Case of Treachery. — L,ibel Suits 229 
 
 The Alice Karly Libel Suit 237 
 
 The Russo-Turkish War 242 
 
 The Russo-Turkish War and Irish Politics. 251 
 
 Mr. Storey Visits Europe 256 
 
 Storey's " Mausoleum.' ' — Making His Will 268 
 
 Wanderings in Indian Territory 275 
 
 Employment of Women 286 
 
 $art Wrtr. 
 
 Another Trip Abroad 291 
 
 A Financial Collapse 301 
 
 Storey ' s Other Spirit 309 
 
 Changes of a Generation 315 
 
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 OF 
 
 Thirty-five Years of Journalism. 
 
 First View of an Editor. 
 
 The first editor, printing-office, and other attachments of 
 a newspaper which I ever saw were in Schenectady, New 
 York, in 1854. They were all a revelation as stunning, as 
 novel as the first view of Niagara Falls to an appreciative 
 stranger, or the art galleries of the I^ouvre to an enthusiastic 
 visitor. 
 
 The newspaper was the Evening Star, then lately started 
 in that ancient city, and was the initial daily pioneer. It was 
 located on the second floor of a building between the canal 
 and the railway, on State Street. 
 
 An ardent curiosity possessed me to inspect the mysteries 
 of a newspaper. Born far up in the hill region, I knew but 
 little of the civilization of cities, and had come to the town 
 to take a course in its college, with the hayseed still in 
 my hair and with the aroma of the barnyard scarcely 
 removed from my boots. I waited for no invitation to visit the 
 
 7 
 
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 Star office, but, with the innocent audacity of the average 
 country bumpkin, I, self-invited, climbed the narrow stair- 
 way, and entered an open door which led into a small and 
 very dirty room. 
 
 There was fresh tobacco-juice, and stains of ancient leech- 
 ings of the quid all over the floor. The window-panes were 
 obscured with dust. There was a long table across one end 
 of the room which was littered with newspapers, agricult- 
 ural and Patent Office reports, and piles of pamphlets. 
 
 At a smaller table, on the opposite side of the room, was 
 seated a man leaning over some printed slips. I had a 
 quarter view of his countenance and figure. His legs were 
 of enormous length and were coiled all around and under his 
 chair. The portion of his face that I could see was deeply 
 pitted from small-pox. He was in his shirt-sleeves; he had 
 no collar or cuffs, but wore on the back of his head a 
 towering ' ' stove-pipe ' ' hat, white, with a woolly surface. 
 
 The small table was occupied to its utmost capacity. 
 There were a paste-pot and brush, a pair of scissors, an ink- 
 bottle, several newspapers, dozens of letters, some torn and 
 dirty, some manuscripts open and folded. Before him lay 
 some long, narrow pieces of white paper, printed on one side, 
 leaving a small margin, on which he appeared to be making 
 hieroglyphics with a lead-pencil. 
 
 It was with awe that I felt myself in the presence of that 
 potent magnate, an Editor 1 
 
 He glanced over his shoulder, said ' ' How do you do ? " 
 rose to his feet and faced about, towering with his tall hat to 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 9 
 
 the altitude of a pine tree. His face was regular, his expres- 
 sion good-natured, his eyes a pleasant, penetrating blue, his 
 mouth wide, and his lips touched with smiles. He was 
 thin, which exaggerated the effect of his great height. 
 
 Such the appearance of the first of the many hundreds I 
 have encountered since in the editorial profession. His 
 name was Colborne — an Englishman by descent, a printer 
 by trade, and editor and publisher by profession. 
 
 1 ' What can I do for you ? " he asked in a low, pleasant 
 voice. 
 
 I explained that I was from the country, and had an 
 intense desire to look through a newspaper establishment. 
 
 "Oh, is that it? All right. Bob ! " he called through 
 the door leading into another room; " here, show this young 
 man through the office." 
 
 Bob was the initial specimen of my view of printers' devils. 
 His hands, face, clothing were disguised in ink; he wore a 
 calico shirt, and a pair of ragged trousers, suspended from 
 his shoulders by a tow string. 
 
 I will not stop to give the details I saw in the composing- 
 room. I may say that all were novelties, and that the 
 feature which most excited my admiration and surprise was 
 the distribution of the type into the small boxes in which 
 each piece belonged. The printer, taking a line of type in 
 his right hand, would distribute them among scores of these 
 little compartments, his fingers flying like lightning all over 
 the "case," never making an error, and, apparently, much 
 of the time looking somewhere else. 
 
II. 
 
 HOW I CAMK TO ENTER THE PROFESSION. 
 
 At that period I was in possession of the sentimentality, 
 common to youth, which finds utterance in rhythmical lines 
 characterized by being headed with capital letters. I sent 
 several of these products to the Star over the signature of 
 ' ' Freshman, ' ' and was astonished one morning to find at the 
 top of the editorial column a request for the writer of the 
 " Freshman " articles to call at the Star office. 
 
 With a throbbing heart and my brain whirling with antici- 
 pation, I climbed the stairway of the Star and found myself 
 in the presence of the pock-marked giant with the tall, 
 woolly hat. 
 
 • 'Are you the editor ? " I asked in a shaking voice. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, with a genial smile, as he looked up 
 from his work. " Can I do anything for you ? " 
 
 I handed him the slip from the Star, and said : ' ' I called 
 in response to this." 
 
 ' 'Are you ' Freshman ' ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 He rose, offered his hand, shook mine cordially: "Sit 
 down ; I wish to talk with you." 
 
 He then asked me some questions about my life, residence, 
 
 10 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. n 
 
 how much I had written, what had been my course of read- 
 ing, what I was doing, and then continued : 
 
 1 ' The Evening Star has lately been started, and is yet an 
 experiment, although, I believe, with excellent prospects of 
 success. My time is so much taken up with the practical 
 details that I can not give the literary department much 
 attention. What I want is to secure somebody to take the 
 department off my hands. It is for that purpose that I 
 inserted the request for ' Freshman ' to come to the office." 
 
 I was thunder-struck, and tried to say something, but 
 could only stutter incoherently. 
 
 1 ' Now, what I wish is that you should take the place. 
 Can you do it ? " 
 
 I found breath finally to say that I would be very glad to 
 undertake the work, but had no experience, and, besides, I 
 had to carry on my studies in college. 
 
 " Try it. It won't take much of your time from your 
 studies ; you need only add a couple of hours a day to your 
 labors." 
 
 "Well," I said, after a few moments' thought ; "I will 
 try it for a while, but I'm afraid I won't be able to give 
 satisfaction." 
 
 "All right; I'll chance your failure. At present what 
 I most need is editorial matter. As to compensation, we 
 are just starting, and are not yet on a paying basis, so I 
 can't offer much salary." 
 
 I was quick to assure him that salary cut no figure, at 
 least for the present. 
 
12 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 As a matter of fact, money did cut a very important part 
 in my affairs. I was distressingly poor. I had earned 
 enough, by teaching school in winter and performing 
 mechanical work in summer, to fit myself for college, and 
 had earned sufficient to pay my board three months in 
 advance by building a barn for a farmer near the city. The 
 three months had about expired at the time when I was 
 sent for by Colborne, and I had no immediate prospect of 
 further income till I could teach school another winter. 
 
 Hence, despite my apparent indifference to the matter of 
 salary, it was really of vital interest. 
 
 "I'll pay you, at the start, four dollars a week," he said. 
 "It's so small an amount that I'm ashamed to offer it." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right. Money is of no account," I 
 replied, with supreme indifference. 
 
 In truth, the amount named, ridiculously small as it now 
 seems, suffused my soul with a joy and satisfaction which, 
 for the moment, almost suffocated me. I had just engaged 
 board at two dollars a week, with no possible prospect of 
 meeting the payment until I had taught another term of a 
 country school. 
 
 Four dollars a week I It was unbounded wealth. I have 
 never since, in the matter of wages, found any offer a 
 thousandth part as inspiring and satisfactory as this munifi- 
 cent offer of the princely Colborne. It was as unexpected 
 and welcome as the discovery by Wolfe of the pathway 
 which led to the heights of the plain of Abraham, Mont- 
 calm, and victory. 
 
in. 
 
 A Fuu/-Fi<edged Editor. 
 
 The Star had no especial political affiliations, being neu- 
 tral and independent. It was a folio of six columns, and 
 mechanically handsome, for Colborne was an artist in 
 typography. 
 
 The literary department was turned over to me, and I 
 handled it without interference, and with a bare suggestion 
 now and then from the chief. 
 
 I wrote ponderous essays, comments on local affairs, 
 handled dog-fights, was insolent, flippant, argumentative, 
 sentimental, impertinent, pessimistic, or the reverse, as the 
 mood possessed me. 
 
 There was little order in the make-up of the editorial 
 page. The leader might be an erotic article in verse, fol- 
 lowed by a fierce assault on the mismanagement of the rail- 
 way for running over one of the cows that wandered at will 
 in the ancient town, or sage suggestions to the reverend 
 principal of the college, Dr. Nott. 
 
 1 * Everything went. ' ' The estimate placed on my work 
 may be inferred from the fact that, at the end of the first 
 month, my salary was raised to eight dollars, an addition 
 of one hundred per cent. 
 
 13 
 
14 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 I became ambitious. I learned, at odd spells, to "set 
 type," to "make up the forms," and in other directions to 
 secure a fair knowledge of the practical workings of a 
 printing-establishment. 
 
 I carried on my studies and recitations, and found time 
 to start a literary weekly, the most of whose original mat- 
 ter, including a long serial story, was never written, but 
 composed as I set it up at the case. 
 
 One of its features was a page of musical composition, 
 the words being furnished by some one of my literary 
 acquaintances. I purchased a font of type for musical 
 notation and learned to use and " set up " the matter with 
 my own hands. It may be readily seen that, in editing the 
 Star, learning the printing business, keeping up my college 
 studies, and issuing the literary venture, I was a busy 
 youth. 
 
 The great New York Central honored me with an annual 
 pass, by whose agency I saw much of the country and cities 
 along that line of railway. It was an era when passes were 
 as common as air. Traveling to the terminus of the Cen- 
 tral, I would call on the superintendent of a connecting 
 road, show him the annual pass of the Central, and say : 
 
 ' ' I am the editor of the Evening Star, of Schenectady, 
 and I would like to look over the country reached by your 
 road. I shall write some letters as things of interest pre- 
 sent themselves." 
 
 1 ' Certainly ! Glad to accommodate you. There you 
 are I Good day." 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 15 
 
 The official of the next road was shown the two passes 
 and exhibited the same compliance. I traveled over many 
 of the railways in New York, Michigan, Illinois and Iowa, 
 and in no instance met with a refusal. 
 
IV. 
 
 Union Coiaege and its Notabilities. 
 
 Union College, at that period, was in its prime. The 
 famous Kliphalet Nott was president ; I^aurens Hickok, 
 vice-president ; after whom came a galaxy of genius and 
 scholarship: Taylor I^ewis, Klias Peissner, * ' Captain Jack ' ' 
 Foster, Prof. Newman, and others who had no superiors in 
 any other college faculty on the continent. 
 
 A prominent figure was Mrs. Urania Nott, the wife of 
 the president, and exercised as much influence in the man- 
 agement of college affairs. She was many years the junior 
 of her venerable husband, and her tall figure, raven hair 
 and flashing black eyes made an admirable contrast to the 
 stooping form and white locks of the Doctor. 
 
 She had a voice in the counsels of the faculty ; she was 
 an essential factor in the numerous business enterprises of 
 her husband — for he was a shrewd, practical man outside 
 of educational matters, and made much money in outside 
 operations. 
 
 Urania Nott was his Mentor, his staff, his inspiration. 
 She knew every student ; was their friend, their nurse, 
 their sympathizer, and a mother. 
 
 A curious sight to the new student was the white-haired 
 
 16 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. i 7 
 
 president and the stately and juvenile wife riding about the 
 streets of the old city in a three-wheeled vehicle, drawn by 
 a sober white horse which had all the dignity of its driver. 
 
 Many of the students had fine literary ability, and con- 
 tributed liberally to my weekly publication, in both prose 
 and rhyme. One of these was Egbert Phelps, who, during 
 the war, served as a captain in the regular army, and who 
 has for many years been a resident of Joliet, engaged in 
 the successful practice of the law. 
 
 Another one of my contributors, Fitz-Hugh I^udlow, 
 became afterwards very famous on account of his genius and 
 his misfortunes. One of the poems which he wrote for the 
 New Era, as my publication was entitled, was "The Hymn 
 of the Soul of Man," and which, although appearing in his 
 later works, was originally prepared for my journal, and on 
 my personal solicitation. It is so fine an effort that I repro- 
 duce it in full : 
 
 "We are not things of yesterday: 
 
 Our souls' ancestral rivers run 
 From fountains of antiquity 
 
 That gushed ere God lit up the sun. 
 Across the solitudes of Time, 
 
 No more by mortal footsteps trod, 
 Where the dead nations sleep sublime, 
 
 Come whispers of our source in God. 
 
 " The slumber of Humanity 
 
 Is ever vexed by mighty dreams: 
 She smiles or shudders ceaselessly, 
 According as the vision seems; 
 
18 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 For, ever mingling in her sleep, 
 
 Are glorious temples broken down, 
 And gulfs, across whose awful deep 
 
 She grasps at a primeval crown. 
 
 " And here and there among the years 
 
 Some giant prophet lifts his hands, 
 And pours his burden in her ears, 
 
 As Funis sweeps the ocean sands. 
 Such was the voice that shook the world 
 
 From out Academia's trees, 
 And such the lightning that was hurled 
 
 From thy blind eyes, Maconides ! 
 
 " Unconscious prophets though they be, 
 
 Seers meaning more than they have known, 
 And dreaming not that Deity 
 
 Was speaking through them from His throne, 
 Their word shall like the sea-waves roll, 
 
 Their burning thoughts shall never die, 
 Till man awakes his sleeping soul, 
 
 To know its immortality. 
 
 "Arise to deeds of great intent, 
 
 O man ! and with thy valiant hands 
 Rear heaven-high a monument 
 
 Whose shadow shall reach other lands. 
 The glories of a noble strife 
 
 Survive the pulses of endeavor, 
 The echoes of a mighty life 
 
 Ring through Time's corridors forever." 
 
 Ivudlow immortalized himself, at least among the alumni 
 of Union College, by his ' ' Song to Old Union, ' ' which is 
 since always sung at the annual commencement exercises, 
 and at the various alumni banquets held throughout the 
 country. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 19 
 
 There are three eight-line verses, and a chorus. The first 
 verse will afford an idea of the qualities of the song, espe- 
 cially its exquisite smoothness : 
 
 ' ' Let the Grecian dream of his sacred stream, 
 
 And sing of the brave adorning 
 That Phcebus weaves from his laurel leaves 
 
 At the golden gate of the morning: 
 But the brook that bounds through the Union's grounds 
 
 Gleams bright as the Delphic water, 
 And a prize as fair as a god may wear 
 
 Is a dip from our Alma Mater. 
 
 chorus : 
 " Then here's to thee, the brave and free, 
 Old Union smiling o'er us, 
 And for many a day, as thy walls grow gray, 
 
 May they ring with thy children's chorus." 
 
 Ludlow, at that period, was about twenty years of age, 
 slender, of medium height, light as to eyes, hair and com- 
 plexion. He was regarded as somewhat ' ' queer ' ' by the 
 other students, among whom he was not very popular. 
 
 He was reticent, and hilarious and talkative at intervals ; 
 he was a confirmed punster. He came into a room, one day, 
 where some students were chatting. He carried a stiff silk 
 hat in one hand and smoothed its nap with the other. 
 
 "Say, fellows, what kind of a hat is this ? " he asked. 
 
 Beaver, silk and other materials were mentioned. 
 
 ' ' Wrong, all of you. Don't you see it's felt ?" as he con- 
 tinued to rub its surface. 
 
 His life was, on the whole, a most unhappy one. He fell 
 into the habit of opium-eating, from which he never entirely 
 
20 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 recovered. He was unfortunate in his domestic relations. 
 He published a good deal, " The Interior of the Continent" 
 being the most important. Its main feature, and one of the 
 most interesting, was his study of the Mormons. 
 
 He died before he reached middle age, the victim of opi- 
 umania and disappointment. 
 
V. 
 
 Toward the Setting Sun. 
 
 The Star did not dim in its luster, and within a year my 
 salary grew to twelve dollars a week, and the free occu- 
 pancy of a fine suit of rooms in the residence of Mr. Col- 
 borne. 
 
 One of my college chums was George C. Harrington, the 
 son of a farmer near Joliet. When he left Union, he joined 
 a brother, a steamboat man, who lived at Davenport, Iowa. 
 The latter was possessed of considerable means which he 
 offered to share with his brother. George looked the 
 ground over, and, being more or less literary in his tastes, 
 concluded that the best investment would be an evening 
 newspaper. 
 
 This was in the spring of 1856, and soon after young 
 Harrington reached Davenport I received a letter from him 
 in which he offered me a half interest in his enterprise, 
 without cost to myself ; he to furnish the plant, and suffi- 
 cient capital to sustain the publication until it grew strong 
 enough to Walk alone. 
 
 I felt, of course, highly complimented by this liberal 
 proposition ; and after some further letters from Harrington, 
 in which he painted, in richest colors, the beauty and won- 
 
22 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 derful prospects of the city and its surroundings, and more 
 especially the certainty of immediate success, and ultimate 
 fortune in the newspaper venture, I threw up my position 
 on the Star, and went to Davenport. 
 
 Davenport was then a handsome and promising town. 
 The first railway bridge across the Mississippi had just been 
 completed, connecting the Chicago and Rock Island Railway 
 with Davenport. 
 
 It may be said at this point that this splendid connection 
 was an object of intense opposition — its building, and its 
 existence long after its completion. The river interests, 
 which included the majority of the population of the city, 
 saw only ruin in the bridge. It would make the town a 
 way-station ; it would annihilate the two ferry-boats which 
 transported freight and passengers across the river, and 
 pauperize the team-owners and all the other industries 
 involved in the transportation business. 
 
 The opposition was furious. Threats of blowing up the 
 bridge were common, and when some reckless pilots, in 
 taking their vessels through the draw, would now and then 
 wreck one against a pier, the disaffection against the struct- 
 ure assumed almost the dimensions of a riot. Time passed. 
 There was a ferry-boat or two thrown out of service, but, in 
 the end, Davenport throve under the alleged misfortune and 
 became rich and prosperous, malgre lid. 
 
 Davenport was, at that time, a characteristic ' ' river 
 town. ' ' The majority of the business interests were involved 
 in the receipt and shipment of goods by the Mississippi 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 23 
 
 River. Long lines of steamers lay along the "levees," as 
 the landings were termed. The men connected with the 
 river traffic were the aristocracy of the region. The captain 
 was away up in the altitude of rank. 
 
 The pilot, when he stood at his wheel, was a greater per- 
 son than the captain. The clerk of the boat was always 
 spoken of by the newspapers as ' ' Billy Johnson, the gentle- 
 manly and popular clerk of the Hawkey e. ' ' 
 
 Even the burly, big-fisted, bull-necked, blaspheming mate 
 rose considerably above the average business man, the law- 
 yer and the preacher in the estimate of the elements of the 
 population which found occupation in loafing or working on 
 the levee. 
 
 Back of the shanties, the capacious warehouses, the gin- 
 mills, the ground rose slowly toward the lofty bluffs, on 
 which were scattered dwellings, a few business blocks, the 
 steeples and spires of three or four churches. The sloping 
 site of the town was a lovely one, and, to some extent, justi- 
 fied the ardent belief of its residents — especially those who 
 owned and owed for real estate — that it was the future city 
 of the great West. 
 
VI. 
 
 Rainbows in the Sky. 
 
 Harrington, my partner, a slender young blonde, had 
 thoroughly mastered the printing business before he entered 
 Union College, and, as a consequence, he had no difficulty in 
 selecting the material for the new venture. Office and com- 
 posing, as well as press rooms, were all secured in a single 
 apartment on the second floor of Judge James Grant's block. 
 
 On September 20, 1856, the first number of the Daily 
 Evening News was given to the public. It was a five-column 
 sheet, and, being printed from brand-new type and on some 
 paper selected for a beginning, it was exceedingly handsome, 
 and satisfactory to the publishers and a fairly large share of 
 the community. 
 
 As a matter of course, the initial number had a plethoric 
 supply of advertisements, so that the first paper was full of 
 promise of substantial circulation and excellent business 
 patronage. 
 
 "Isn't she a beauty?" asked my partner, as he picked 
 one of the first copies from the pile and regarded its clear, 
 distinct impressions with a warmth of admiration such as he 
 would have extended to a masterpiece of Guido. 
 
 ' ' Indeed she is ! " was the reply of his equally enthusias- 
 
 24 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 25 
 
 tic partner. ' ' We have got it ! The future is ours, and 
 we'll wipe the Democrat out of existence ! " 
 
 The Democrat was a morning daily which had been started 
 some months, and concerning which more anon. Suffice it 
 that, without knowing any of the editors, publishers, or 
 anything else concerning the paper in question, we hated it 
 with deadly animosity. 
 
 There was also a morning Republican newspaper, the 
 Gazette, and which, of course, we were compelled to look 
 upon with contempt as the organ of the opposition, the mere 
 and mercenary instrument of fanatics and bigots ; but from a 
 personal and business standpoint there was nothing venom- 
 ous, as in the case of our rival. 
 
 Time rolled on till the holidays came, and during all this 
 period business was satisfactory. Other newspapers sent us 
 marked copies of their issues, in which were flattering 
 notices of the News, with ' ' Please X " on the wrapper. 
 These papers were nearly or quite all weeklies, semi-month- 
 lies or monthlies, and yet they were so cordial and flattering 
 in their allusions that we could not resist their request for 
 an even exchange. 
 
 Under the staring head-line, "What the Press Thinks 
 of Us," we reproduced all these compliments in leaded 
 minion, and felt that we were deserving of all the outrage- 
 ous flattery, and also thought that the public, perusing these 
 notices with an untrammeled interest, would accept all as 
 Gospel truth. 
 
 Up to the last day of the year business was flourishing, 
 
26 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 and we frequently felicitated each other on the bonanza we 
 had found and the certainties of a grand success in the near 
 future. So promising was this period that our enterprise 
 attracted attention from foreign capital. 
 
 Hon. George Van Hollern, now a well-known judge on 
 the bench in New York City, and his brother, John, were in 
 Davenport at the time engaged in the practice of law. They 
 were so impressed with the success of the News that they 
 proposed to its proprietors to organize a real-estate and 
 banking house in connection with the newspaper. 
 
 Capital in New York City became interested ; the pur- 
 posed institution was given a name ; cards were printed on 
 which were the names of the Van Hollerns, and those of 
 Harrington and myself, as constituting the combination. 
 
 One may fancy the feelings of two young fellows just out 
 of college as they contemplated this galaxy of glory, all 
 within less than four months ! It was overpowering, incom- 
 prehensible 1 We could not repress our joy ; we moved on 
 wings ; we no longer walked : we soared far up in the blue 
 empyrean 1 
 
VII. 
 
 Clouds follow thk Rainbows. 
 
 Almost immediately after the holidays there was big 
 falling-off in advertisements. The shrinkage was palpable 
 and alarming. At the same time collections became diffi- 
 cult : accounts regarded as gilt-edged, and which we had 
 held back for a possible emergency, were met by requests 
 to ' ' call again I ' ' 
 
 The News, in a little time, was running at a loss. For a 
 couple of months we had worked off the issue on a hand 
 press, and just before business turned we had taken advan- 
 tage of the boom to purchase a power press, the money for 
 which had been advanced by an enthusiastic farmer who 
 was- anxious to have something to do with a newspaper. 
 We were to pay for the press in installments, one of which 
 was past due, and another near maturity, and our patron 
 was getting inquisitive, paying us frequent visits and seem- 
 ing to be unusually interested in our welfare. 
 
 George and I discussed the situation. 
 
 1 ' What, in the name of Heaven, is the matter with every? 
 thing and everybody ? Business is stampeded and is on ths 
 run," was his discouraging remark. 
 
 I had nothing to do with the practical department of the 
 
 27 
 
28 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 paper, and only knew that up to date things had gone well. 
 
 "What's the trouble?" 
 
 1 ' The bottom has apparently dropped out of the News 
 and also out of the town. I can't collect anything ; the 
 paper-bills are over-due ; the old man is getting uneasy 
 about the press, and to-day, for the first time, I have had to 
 pay the printers only a little over half their wages." 
 
 " That's pretty tough 1 I don't see but one way out of 
 it." 
 
 " What's that?" 
 
 ' ' To ' strike ' John for enough to cover the deficit and 
 tide us over till spring business opens." 
 
 John was the steamboat man who was backing our enter- 
 prise, or, rather, who had supplied us with funds to start in 
 business. 
 
 ' ' I was in hopes, ' ' said George, ' ' that I would not be 
 obliged to call on him again, for some time at least. You 
 know that the amount he has left in the pot is only two 
 thousand dollars, and this was to be kept for improvements." 
 
 The conclusion was, however, that the situation impera- 
 tively demanded relief. George reluctant^ agreed to inter- 
 view our patron. 
 
 A couple of hours later he came back, his face white as 
 a shroud and his mouth twitching with pain. 
 
 "In God's name, what ails you? " I asked, in alarm at 
 his appearance. 
 
 "We are ruined 1 " was his despondent reply. 
 
 This incident demands some retrospection. In the Presi- 
 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 29 
 
 dential election of 1856, Fremont and Buchanan were 
 opposed, and the contest, involving all the bitterness and 
 hatred of the free-soil issues, was carried on with a vindic- 
 tiveness that was almost deadly in its intensity. Our capi- 
 talist was a strong Democrat, but was carried away, con- 
 fused, lost in the political turmoil, and concluded that 
 Fremont would carry Iowa, as well as the entire election. 
 Inspired by this conviction, he wagered one thousand dol- 
 lars that Buchanan would lose Iowa and another thousand 
 that he would not be elected. 
 
 Of course, he lost both the bets, and the money thus 
 wagered was the fund he had laid aside for the support of 
 the News. 
 
 This was the information which my partner brought me 
 after his interview with his brother. 
 
 1 ' But he says, ' ' added George, ' ' that he will make it up 
 to us when navigation opens in the spring. That will be 
 three months yet ; but when the river is clear he will make 
 money fast — at least a thousand dollars a trip from St. 
 I,ouis to St. Paul." 
 
 "Well, we'll have to get on some way till that time. 
 But don't you think it pretty rough on us and the party 
 that a Democrat should invest money on a Democratic 
 defeat, especially when there was not the slightest possi- 
 bility of a Republican victory, and more especially when the 
 money thus lost was the vital support of a struggling Demo- 
 cratic newspaper ? ' ' 
 
 We did not disagree on this point. We separated, very 
 
3Q PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 despondent, but determined to try and get through some 
 way till the winter ice floated out of the river. 
 
VIII. 
 Struck by a Cyclone. 
 
 The dullness of the winter season was of itself depress- 
 ing ; the loss of the money wagered on Fremont's election 
 added vastly to our embarrassment ; and even this was 
 not all that conspired to impede our progress. 
 
 Without being at all aware of the imminence of a catastro- 
 phe, one was pending which was to wreck almost a nation's 
 prosperity. There were indications of a financial depression ; 
 the commercial barometer showed a rapid decline ; but few, 
 unless the more sagacious of the weather-prophets, foresaw 
 anything like the real extent of the storm. 
 
 It was the famous, malignant, destructive financial crisis 
 of 1857 that was moving over the country, and which, in 
 time, swept everything before it with the fury and destruc- 
 tiveness of a tornado. 
 
 I need not enter into the details of this calamitous event, 
 further than to state that Davenport was especially affected 
 by its operations. The only currency in use in the com- 
 munity was what was termed ' ' Florence ' ' money, and 
 which was the issue, in Florence, Nebraska, of a firm of 
 private bankers doing business in Davenport. The wild- 
 cat banks everywhere had been utterly ruined ; the Florence 
 
 31 
 
%i PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 money had been brought in in order to evade the law, and 
 circulated freely at a considerable discount below gold. 
 
 As said, the News did not at first comprehend the real 
 calamity that was pending. When we found that the re- 
 serve on which we had depended was lost, we turned our 
 attention to efforts to tide over the crisis in our affairs till 
 the opening of navigation, when we confidently anticipated 
 an ample supply. 
 
 It had always been the case on the river, that, when the 
 ice went out on the Upper Mississippi, there were always 
 boats below, between Cairo and St. L,ouis, waiting for the 
 clearing of the ice. 
 
 Among these waiting boats there was a fierce strife pre- 
 vailing as to which should take the lead in the first trip up 
 the river. Good pilots were in high demand, and sure of a 
 small fortune in case they succeeded in holding the wheel of 
 the first boat. 
 
 My partner's brother, John, was one of the best pilots on 
 the Upper Mississippi River. He was always among the 
 first to be selected for the initial trips ; and it was upon this 
 engagement that our hopes now turned. His vessel was the 
 Argo that was to bring us the golden fleece. 
 
 The pilot left some time in February for St. I/mis, to be 
 on hand in ample time for the sailing of the first boat. 
 
 "Boys," he said as he left, "you needn't worry any 
 more. She" (meaning the river) " is going to open early, 
 and I'll be back in a jiffy, loaded with cash to the hurricane 
 deck." 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 33 
 
 " When do you think you will get back ? " 
 
 " Oh, the first or middle of March, for certain." 
 
 We shook hands all around, and put up a fervent orison 
 for his success and his swift return. 
 
 From this period on, George and myself occupied our- 
 selves in making small payments on the more pressing debts, 
 staving off others, and waiting and watching for the break- 
 ing up of the river ice. The latter seemed as if it were a 
 permanent fixture : teams continued to cross it as if they 
 anticipated keeping it up all summer. 
 
 Then there was a break opposite the city, and our hopes 
 were aroused, and then it gorged on the rapids, and we were 
 torn with despair. Thus hopes and fears alternated while 
 we watched the river as Sister Ann looked from the window 
 of the castle in search of relief from death. 
 
 Finally the fetters were knocked off, and we began to scan 
 the lower river to discover the smoke of a steamer over the 
 horizon ; we listened at all hours of the night for the wel- 
 come shriek of a whistle. 
 
 ''There she is ! "ejaculated George one day. " There she 
 comes ! Glory to God, we're all right ! " 
 
 We rushed down to the levee, which was but a couple of 
 blocks away, and saw far down the river the form of a 
 steamer, with clouds of smoke pouring from her smoke- 
 stacks, and a jet of white steam flying from her whistle. 
 
 Her deck had a few passengers, and two or three men 
 were in the pilot-house. 
 
IX. 
 The Wreck of Matter and the Crash op Worlds. 
 
 "That's John, sure 1 " 
 
 " It doesn't look like John. If it's he, he is shorter than 
 he was, and has raised whiskers." 
 
 It required a visit to the pilot-house to learn the person- 
 ality of the supposed John. The man proved to be some- 
 body else. 
 
 11 Did I see Jack in St. L,ouis ? He was there a-waitin', 
 like fifty others, for a job. There is six pilots for every 
 boat. They say that river navigation is all gone to h — 1 on 
 account of that bridge. ' ' 
 
 It was true that the bridge was materially influencing 
 certain commercial phases ; but the real interruption was 
 due to the paralysis of the financial crisis. 
 
 Several boats from below came up the river, and it was 
 not until two or three weeks after navigation was clear 
 that the much^earned-for pilot made his appearance. He 
 cut all our ardent hopes off at a single blow. 
 
 "River business is played," he said, with indignation. 
 1 ' Time was when steamboat owners almost broke their 
 necks trying to get first to St. Louis, to secure their favorite 
 pilot and to beg him to accept a thousand dollars to take a 
 
 34 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM 35 
 
 boat to St. Paul 1 Now there are more pilots than wheels, 
 and the best of talent has to go begging for a job at half the 
 old figures. It's all that cussed bridge 1 " 
 
 It was with broken hearts that we received this unex- 
 pected intelligence, which promised only remediless dis- 
 aster. It is true that John hinted that perhaps later on 
 there might be an improvement, but the suggestion was so 
 exceedingly faint that it afforded 'us no actual encourage- 
 ment. 
 
 The steamer pulled out, went up through the draw, and 
 soon after disappeared around the bend. 
 
 We two were prostrated by the intelligence, and for a 
 time concluded that there was no recourse save to close out 
 our business. After a time the elasticity and hopefulness of 
 youth asserted itself, and we determined to continue the 
 struggle. 
 
 " We've got more coming to us than we are owing ; let's 
 make 'em pay up ! " 
 
 We tried assiduously to " make 'em pay up," but they 
 couldn't in some cases, and wouldn't in others. As a mat- 
 ter of fact, business was prostrated. Very much of the real 
 estate was owned by large proprietors who were eaten up 
 by taxation, who could get no sales for their lands, with the 
 result that many of them were millionaires in the possession 
 of corner lots and acre property, and but little better than 
 beggars in means of livelihood. 
 
 Now began a death struggle on the part of the young 
 owners of the News. To meet a pressing indebtedness, 
 
36 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 they had resort to some one of the numerous ' ' banks ' ' 
 engaged in loaning Kastern money and discounting local 
 paper. Two-and-a-half per cent, a month was the smallest 
 figure at which accommodation could be obtained, and 
 which, of course, was ruinous to any legitimate business. 
 
 During the summer of 1857 we struggled in deep water. 
 Often it was up to our chins, and now and then we sank 
 over our heads, only to be rescued strangled and exhausted. 
 
 Finally the task became no longer tolerable. It was sug- 
 gested that the cost of the support of one of the partners 
 would be only half that of two. Accordingly an attempt was 
 made to lighten the craft by throwing over ballast. I was 
 the ballast that was dropped into the raging waters. 
 
 Harrington assumed the ownership of the paper with all 
 its credits and liabilities. I was left adrift without a dollar. 
 
 I may as well, at this point, trace the career of the Even- 
 ing News to its sepulchre. George Harrington became 
 wearied of assisting its weakened steps, and turned it over 
 to the charity of John Johns, a son of Bishop Johns, of 
 Baltimore, who was then in the practice of law in Daven- 
 port. Johns was immensely pleased to become the owner of 
 a newspaper, and beyond doubt contemplated making it one 
 of the leading newspapers in the West. 
 
 However, Johns soon tired of his pet, and within a short 
 time handed it over to some other credulous victim, who 
 passed it along till it finally was placed in the receiving- 
 vault of the Democrat, where, for a while, there appeared 
 the inscription, The Democrat- News, and soon after the latter 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 37 
 
 half disappeared and was interred in the fathomless, insati- 
 ate potter's field of defunct journalism. 
 
X. 
 
 A Model Western Town. 
 
 My partner, Harrington, engaged in some other occupa- 
 tion till the outbreak of the Civil War. He entered the ser- 
 vice in an Illinois regiment and rose to the rank of Captain. 
 He afterwards engaged in business and has met with great 
 success. He was for several years mayor of Watseca, is 
 president of a wealthy bank, and the possessor of substan- 
 tial wealth. He is a man of family, and a citizen univer- 
 sally respected in his community. 
 
 At the date of my journalistic venture in Davenport, there 
 were two other English dailies — the Gazette and the Demo- 
 crat, both morning issues, the first-named Republican, and 
 the other Democratic. 
 
 The first journal started in Davenport, if not in the State, 
 was in 1838, by Andrew Logan. In fact, it undertook to 
 cover portions of two States, Iowa and Illinois, as may be 
 inferred by its name, which was The Iowa Sun and Daven- 
 port and Rock Island News. It was published as a 
 weekly till 1841, when it was succeeded by the Davenport 
 Weekly Gazette, by Alfred Saunders. In 1853 it became a 
 tri-weekly, and in 1854 a daily. 
 
 The Democrat commenced as a daily issue the next month 
 
 38 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 39 
 
 after the Evening News, in October, 1856. It was started 
 by Hildreth, son of the Attorney- General of New York, and 
 who died the next September, when the Democrat fell into 
 the hands of Richardson and West. Later, West was 
 succeeded b}~ Richardson's brother, and the firm yet remains 
 Richardson & Brother. 
 
 This newspaper, the latest-born of a brood of dailies in 
 Davenport, was in the nature of Aaron's rod, inasmuch as it 
 swallowed all the others. It first bolted the Evening News, 
 and, after digesting it, threw it out ; a couple of years ago 
 it swallowed the Gazette, and became an evening journal, 
 the Democrat- Gazette. In due season the Gazette nutriment 
 was assimilated, and the paper became solely the Democrat, 
 which it yet remains. 
 
 There is a queer phase in the life of this newspaper 
 which will bear narration. Some years ago it lost money 
 with great rapidity — so much so that the senior proprietor 
 became disheartened, and one evening announced to his 
 brother that the next issue should be the final one. The 
 institution had about beggared him, and he was determined 
 to stop it before it dragged him into the poor-house. 
 
 Thereupon the younger brother pleaded earnestly for a 
 delay of three days. The request was reluctantly granted, 
 and the young man hastily packed his carpet-bag and took 
 the night train for Chicago. 
 
 The next morning, bright and early, he began work. 
 He approached all sorts of business men and offered to 
 advertise their goods and take his pay in kind. The scheme 
 
40 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 " took." It was but a couple of days before goods of all 
 kinds commenced pouring into the home office. Large 
 warehouses were secured and were filled with ' ' truck ' ' of 
 every possible kind. 
 
 Nothing came amiss. There were reapers, mowing- 
 machines, all kinds of agricultural implements, patent medi- 
 cines, baking-powders, boots and shoes, ready-made cloth- 
 ing, seed-potatoes, rat-poison, pianos, guitars, barrels, demi- 
 johns and bottles of whisky, wine, champagne, sewing- 
 machines, watches, jewelry, steam-engines, and a thousand 
 other things of every possible kind and conception. 
 
 A ready sale, at figures below the market price, was had, 
 and wealth rapidly inundated these fortunate brothers. 
 
 The Davenport newspapers were, as a rule, mere party 
 organs at that period. They had no telegraph news save 
 such as came at second-hand from the then limited supply 
 of the Chicago newspapers. Devotion to party was the test 
 of the value of the journal. All else was subordinated to 
 this feature. The News once ' ' bolted ' ' in the case of some 
 small Democratic action, and was at once denounced by 
 some of the managers, and efforts were resorted to to deprive 
 it of the patronage of advertising men and the support of 
 subscribers. 
 
 There was a single point of agreement among the local 
 newspapers : that of holding Davenport to be the healthiest, 
 handsomest, most promising city in the State and on the 
 Upper Mississippi River. 
 
 John Harrington, the pilot, died in Texas, soon after the 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 41 
 
 war ; the elder Saunders of the Gazette, a suave, dignified^ 
 cultivated gentleman, died a few years ago, and " Add," the 
 younger brother, a dyspeptic lath which a slight breeze 
 would blow away, entered the army, rose to be a General, and 
 issued from the conflict with the health and muscle of a 
 light-weight prize-fighter. 
 
 There were some men in Davenport, at the period of my 
 stay, who afterwards obtained more or less note. One of 
 the most famous of these was Austin Corbin — now a noted 
 capitalist — then a private banker of the firm of Corbin & 
 Dow. He was noted for his sterling Democracy, his close 
 attention to business, but gave no hint of the height which 
 he was to attain. 
 
 Hon. John F. Dillon, who has since attained so great a 
 height in the judicial world, was a young and promising 
 lawyer. 
 
 Hon. James Grant, the well-known millionaire, was a 
 leading citizen, a large owner of real estate, a firm Democrat, 
 and a leading, influential public man. 
 
 Captain James May, a veteran steamboat-owner from 
 Pittsburg, was very prominent as the owner of enormous 
 tracts of unimproved land in Davenport. He was so much 
 so that he was unable to carry it through the panic, and lost 
 every dollar of his supposed wealth. 
 
 Hiram Price was a resident of the town. His extreme 
 views on prohibition ; his labor to build up the Sons of 
 Temperance ; his connection with various conspicuous 
 federal offices, and his great wealth, have made him widely 
 
42 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 known. His daughter was the wife of Rev. Robert L,aird 
 Collyer, to whose memory the beautiful structure connected 
 with the Unitarian Church, on Wabash Avenue, was erected. 
 
 Mr. Neeley, a venerable and respected citizen of Chicago, 
 and the father of the Neeley Brothers, Rochester shoe- 
 house, was the distributor of the Evening News in Daven- 
 port. 
 
 Another noted person living in that day at Davenport 
 was Antoine LeClaire. His father was a Canadian French- 
 man, and his mother the grand-daughter of a Pottawattamie 
 chief. His wife was the grand-daughter of a Sac chief, 
 Acoqua (the Kitten). In 1808 he was in business in Mil- 
 waukee ; in 1809 he was a partner of John Kirizie, at Fort 
 Dearborn (Chicago), and in 1833 he was appointed post- 
 master at Davenport. He spoke some twelve Indian lan- 
 guages, or dialects, and both English and French. He lived 
 to a great age, his life replete with action and adventure ; 
 his charities were vast, including the beautiful church of 
 St. Margaret, and he died leaving immense wealth. 
 
XI. 
 
 A Change of Bask. 
 
 The disposition of the News to Harrington left me with- 
 out a dollar in cash. I had taken a wife in the spring of 
 1857, m the belief that I had an assured income. This fact 
 added considerably to the embarrassment of my condition. 
 
 I cast about for some occupation, and soon decided that 
 there was a good opportunity for a book on Davenport and 
 vicinity. 
 
 It is a town in and about which many stirring events took 
 place in the early part of the century. A fort — Arm- 
 strong — was built on the Island in 1 8 1 6 as a protection 
 against hostile Indians ; it was the home of Blackhawk, 
 Keokuk, and other notable Indian chiefs. 
 
 I talked over the plan of a book which should embody 
 the history of the place, its present character, and the prob- 
 abilities of its future, and found that it was well received by 
 my friends. I laid the matter before the printing-house of 
 Luse, Lane & Co., who agreed to consider the proposition in 
 case they could get some guarantees as to the sale of the 
 work. 
 
 43 
 
44 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 I made a canvass among some of the more prominent 
 citizens, and in a week secured a written agreement for the 
 purchase of 3,000 copies at $3.00 each. 
 
 The printing-firm eagerly snapped up the job, and I 
 began the work. There was no contract between us save 
 a verbal one that, as I had secured the sale of the book 
 in advance, and was to do all the literary labor, there 
 was to be a fair division of the profits. Meanwhile it was 
 agreed that the firm should advance me five dollars a week 
 while writing the book, and which they proceeded to do in 
 Florence currency, worth from fifty to sixty cents on the 
 dollar. 
 
 With this labor in hand, I had no trouble to establish a 
 credit for food and supplies of all kinds, so that, with the 
 cash in hand each week, I managed to get through till 
 spring without much difficulty. 
 
 I drove the work to the full extent of my ability, and at 
 the end of three months it was printed and in the bindery. 
 As may be inferred, I was well satisfied with my winter's 
 work. I confidently anticipated that my share of the enter- 
 prise would be at least fifteen hundred dollars. . 
 
 One day, Lane, one of the partners, came to me, and said 
 he wished to have a little private talk with me. We went 
 into a secluded corner, when he said : 
 
 ( ' I suppose you have no doubt that I am your friend ? ' ' 
 
 " Why, yes, I always thought so. Why do you ask? " 
 
 " Well, there is liable to be trouble about your book," 
 
 1 ' Trouble ? What do you mean ? ' ' 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 45 
 
 1 ' This is it. I learn that Judge Grant has taken out 
 papers to levy on your book. ' ' 
 
 1 ' What for ? What has Judge Grant got to do with the 
 book, or what have I to do with him ? " 
 
 1 ' It has something to do with some debt of the News for 
 rent." 
 
 " But I've nothing to do with the News. When my old 
 partner took possession, he formally assumed all the liabili- 
 ties and agreed to collect all the indebtedness from outsiders. ' ' 
 
 " That don't relieve you. You are holden for the debts 
 of the paper just the same as if you were still a partner." 
 
 ' ' That would be an infernal outrage ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' Maybe it would be, but Grant has the law on his side, 
 whether he has or has not right." 
 
 I was suddenly tossed back to earth with a force that 
 stunned me. All my hard winter's work useless, all my 
 bright anticipations blasted. Lane watched me as I writhed 
 under the torture, and, after allowing it to operate for a time, 
 he s-.id : , 
 
 " Look here ; it's too infernally bad, and I'll help you out ! 
 There is no justice in this claim, for the man who took the 
 News should pay its indebtedness. ' ' 
 
 " What can be done about it ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you. I'm your friend, and, as a mere matter of 
 form, you know, you sign this bill of sale for the book. It's 
 all right — just to prevent an injustice." 
 
 Wholly ignorant in such matters, I signed the paper under 
 the conviction that it was but justice to my rights. 
 
46 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 When the book was on the market, and the cash was com- 
 ing in, I spoke to L,ane, saying : 
 
 " Can't we have some settlement about the book ? I am 
 pretty hard up. My creditors who have trusted me all 
 winter naturally expect to get their pay." 
 
 ' ' Settlement ? What settlement ? About what book are 
 you talking ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Why, my share in the sales of ' Davenport Past and 
 Present.' " 
 
 ' ' Your share ? What have you got to do with it ? " 
 
 1 ' Why, everything. What do you mean ? ' ' 
 
 He pulled out his wallet, took out a folded piece of paper, 
 straightened it, held it before my eyes and said : 
 
 '• You can read that, can't you ? " 
 
 It was the bill of sale of my book ! 
 
 " But that was understood to be merely a protection 
 against an unjust levy for debts for which I am not respon- 
 sible." 
 
 "You think so, do you? Well, make that plea in the 
 courts, and see what will be the effect ! ' ' 
 
 I later called the attention of the principal member of the 
 firm, the holy, godly, total-abstinence, sanctimonious unit 
 of the printing trinity. He heard me through, and then 
 said : 
 
 ' ' I understand you have threatened to bring this matter 
 into a court of equity. If you had not made this threat, I 
 would have done something for you. As it now stands, I 
 refuse to do anything, and you may carry it into the courts." 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 47 
 
 He knew well that I would not undertake legal proceed- 
 ings. I was a pauper ; he and the firm were wealthy, and 
 he reasoned that no court would believe that a firm of such 
 sanctification and piety would engage in so outrageous a 
 proceeding. 
 
 I dropped the matter. I had spent three months' hard 
 work on the book, for which I had received $65 in " Flor- 
 ence " currency, worth not over $45. 
 
 The firm had the sale of the three thousand copies minus 
 the few sent to the press, and for which they received about 
 $5,000. In addition they published a large number of steel 
 engravings of the principal citizens of Davenport, on each of 
 which they made several hundreds of dollars. Moreover there 
 were wood-cuts of business blocks and private residences 
 from which they obtained considerable sums. 
 
 In all, from the sale of the book they realized seven or 
 eight thousand dollars, of which, according to a verbal 
 agreement, I should have received ten per cent, or some seven 
 hundred dollars, and in lieu of which I was the recipient of 
 sixty-five dollars in depreciated currency. 
 
 It is with some considerable satisfaction that I relate that 
 the member of the firm who inveigled me into signing the 
 bill of sale afterwards died a drunkard in the gutter, and 
 that both the other members have since been persistently 
 afflicted by chronic ill-health, and death and other mis- 
 fortunes. 
 
XII. 
 Traveling with a Panorama. 
 
 I was left without a cent and in debt for my supplies dur- 
 ing the winter. My wife went home to her parents in Elgin, 
 and thus lightened my immediate burdens. 
 
 I have since often wondered why my career did not end 
 at this period, and what there was that prevented my going 
 to hell by a short cut. I was thoroughly discouraged, 
 demoralized, and possessed by despair. I naturally gravi- 
 tated into low company, into association with levee toughs 
 and other disreputable characters. I drank heavily ; I saw 
 nothing worth living for ; I reasoned that a life which in less 
 than two years had been so disastrous and total a failure was 
 not worth caring for. 
 
 I was lifted out of the slough into which I had fallen by 
 an unexpected incident. The war with the Mormons was 
 then brewing, and a company was raised in Davenport and 
 offered to and accepted by the Governor of Illinois. As I 
 had some knowledge of military drill, I was commissioned 
 as lieutenant, and this gave me some employment in dis- 
 ciplining the company. It also led to my studying up the 
 Mormon question, with which I became tolerably familiar. 
 
 The war-scare died out, leaving the Mormons much in the 
 
 48 
 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 49 
 
 minds of the public. There was a steamboat man in Daven- 
 port who had lost his ey esight in a boiler-explosion. He 
 had a little money of his own, and some which his friends 
 offered him. 
 
 It was suggested that advantage might be taken of the 
 Mormon excitement for the benefit of McGuire, the blind 
 man, and a local artist was commissioned to paint a pano- 
 rama relating to the "Saints," and which it was thought 
 could be shown by him through the country, and thus 
 afford the blind exhibitor a living. 
 
 Davenport and Rock Island became interested in the enter- 
 prise and determined to give McGuire a send-off. A lect- 
 urer being a necessity, I was chosen for the role, and 
 accordingly introduced the exhibition and its proprietor to 
 a large audience in each of the two cities. 
 
 And then McGuire and his friends insisted that I should 
 accompany him on his tour. I was offered twenty dollars a 
 week in gold and all my expenses ; it is needless to state 
 that I accepted the proffer. 
 
 In the opening nights, at the two cities, the orchestra was 
 a blind fiddler, a musical genius named Parker, and con- 
 nected with a fine family in Davenport. He pleaded hard 
 to be allowed to accompany the expedition, but was refused 
 by the proprietor, who was evidently of the opinion that 
 two of a kind could not agree. 
 
 The panorama was a long canvas on a roller, and which 
 began with the finding of the plates of the Mormon bible, 
 then showed the city of Nauvoo, then the fighting, the 
 
5o PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 winter quarters in Missouri, and afterward the long and 
 deadly march across the plains and through the mountains 
 to Salt L,ake City ; concluding with pictures of conspicuous 
 streets, churches and public buildings, and finishing with 
 the portrait of a bull-necked, hairy giant, surrounded by half 
 a hundred women, the ensemble being " Brigham Young 
 and His Wives." 
 
 The personnel of the company consisted of the blind pro- 
 prietor and a young fellow to do the packing and unpacking, 
 to take tickets at the door and generally to act as factotum. 
 
 Our trip, as outlined by the enthusiastic McGuire, was to 
 take the principal towns between Davenport and Chicago, 
 stopping one night at each. In Chicago we were to stay 
 several months, then through the larger towns in Michi- 
 gan, thence along the New York Central way to Albany, 
 down the Hudson, to New York City, and thence home 
 through the larger cities of the South. 
 
 In addition to my duty as lecturer was that of advance 
 agent. When a lecture was finished, it was my custom to 
 hurry on by the first train to the next town and bill it for 
 the following night. 
 
 The combination did not have the wealth of modern 
 amusement companies, and, as a consequence, there were no 
 gorgeous posters on fences and bill-boards. Before starting, 
 Mr. McGuire had secured the printing of a large quantity 
 of hand-bills, or hangers, about the width of three columns 
 of the average newspaper and of the length of the ordinary 
 newspaper page. 
 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 51 
 
 These modest bills gave some details in fine type of the 
 thrilling character of the panorama, and left near the bottom 
 a blank space in which might be written the name of the 
 hall and date of the exhibition. 
 
 I confess that when it came to distributing these bills I was 
 not energetic. I hung up two or three in the hotel where I 
 stopped, dropped a small package on the table of a saloon 
 or two, and pasted up a few on the bulletin-board of the 
 hall. It was not congenial work, this distribution of bills, 
 and my conscience does not acquit me of having well per- 
 formed the duty. 
 
 Geneseo was the first town billed for the exhibition of the 
 Great Mormon Panorama ; but, as I had some old-time 
 acquaintances in the place, I induced McGuire to give the 
 necessary talk, and I went on to bill La Salle. The only 
 room to be had was the court-house, a dirty, narrow, stuffy 
 den. It rained all day, and was pouring in torrents when 
 the exhibition opened. There were not more than six peo- 
 ple present, at least half of whom were composed of the 
 porter, bar-keeper and landlord of the "tavern," and who, 
 of course, were on the free list. 
 
 The expenses broke McGuire. The next morning, led 
 by his boy, he went back to Davenport to raise some more 
 funds and left me in ' ' soak ' ' at the hotel as a guarantee of 
 the liquidation of the bill on his return. He came back in 
 a couple of days, took the panorama and myself out of pawn, 
 and we continued our journey toward the rising sun. 
 
XIII. 
 Once More in the Depths. 
 
 I shau, not dwell much longer on this phase of my 
 experience. We did not spend some months in the bewil- 
 dering dissipations of Chicago as had been promised by 
 McGuire. In fact we did not even come to the town. There 
 was a railway* that led from Joliet to Michigan, and over 
 this we went to avoid the Garden City. I have since 
 believed that McGuire had grave doubts as to his ability to 
 interest the great city, and avoided it for humbler places. 
 
 We kept along the Michigan Central railway till we 
 reached Kalamazoo, showing in several small towns, and 
 only in one — Dowagiac, I believe — having a paying audi- 
 ence. 
 
 Much was expected of Kalamazoo. It was a large, 
 handsome, refined town, and its cultivated people would 
 yearn to know all about the wicked Mormons. I engaged 
 Fireman's Hall, the most aristocratic place of amusement in 
 the town, feebly billed the show and then awaited the rush. 
 
 I was the ticket- seller till the time came to begin the 
 lecture. The entrance was twenty-five cents. The very 
 first call for tickets was from a husky countryman with a 
 strapping girl on each arm, who laid down seventy-five 
 
 52 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 53 
 
 cents with an air suggestive to me of marvelous opulence. 
 The landlord and his wife (free list) were present, and per- 
 haps twenty-five others were in the house. 
 
 At the close of the lecture, and after the audience had 
 gone, McGuire came from behind the curtain. His eyeless 
 sockets were streaming with tears, and his voice was giving 
 utterance to a doleful Irish lament, in which ' ' Wirra ! 
 Wirra ! " were the words most audible, given in a swift, 
 pathetic monotone. 
 
 He was again " strapped." A constable had come to 
 lev3 T on the panorama for the rent of the hall. He said he 
 was going back to raise some more money, and meanwhile 
 I might go and bill the next town and wait there till he 
 returned. He gave me thirty-five, cents for the fare, and we 
 parted. 
 
 I rushed to the hotel, asked for my bag, told the attend- 
 ant that Mr. McGuire would pay the bill for all, and then 
 went to the station and waited for the next train east. The 
 thirty-five cents just paid my fare to the next station. I 
 dismounted, and registered at a " hotel ' ' without a cent of 
 money in my possession, telling the landlord I was the 
 advance agent of a panorama company which would be 
 along in a few days. 
 
 I never again saw the panorama, nor McGuire, till during 
 the war, when I met him with some Iowa troops, acting as 
 sutler. 
 
 It was in April that we left Davenport ; it was about the 
 first of June when I reached the little town beyond Kala- 
 
54 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 mazoo. I was destined to remain there for a considerable 
 time, as will be seen later. 
 
 Before leaving the panorama business, I would like to say 
 that, although it was such an egregious and humiliating 
 failure, the same enterprise properly managed would have 
 yielded lucrative results. The Mormon affair was fresh in 
 the mind of the public, armed hostilities between the 
 prophet and the Government were in the air, and there was 
 everywhere in the communities a lively curiosity in regard 
 to the "Saints." 
 
 There were two serious mistakes in the management of 
 the panorama enterprise. It was not sufficiently adver- 
 tised. Had the display advertisements of the newspapers 
 and a liberal supply of colored posters been afforded, then 
 the attention of the public would have been awakened. 
 The other mistake was in the nature of my lecture. 
 
 As I had then studied the Mormon question, apart from 
 the absurdity of their finding of the metal plates of the 
 Book of Mormon, their course was one which at once in- 
 spired my respect, sympathy, and hot indignation at the 
 manner of their treatment. Nothing more pathetic, atro- 
 cious and unwarrantable occurred in the persecution of the 
 Jews than was inflicted on the Mormons in Illinois and 
 Missouri. The arduous march of the Israelites through 
 the desert for forty years, when they were smitten by 
 deadly plagues, bitten by venomous serpents, starved, 
 slaughtered, old and young, male and female, was no worse 
 in its repellant features than the march of the Mormons to 
 Salt Lake. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 55 
 
 Thus believing, in my lectures I treated them as an 
 abused people. I pictured feeble women, tender infants and 
 aged men and women freezing in the drear storms of 
 winter, broiling under summer heats, starving in alkali 
 deserts, sickening, dying, and marking the line of march 
 with thick-lying mounds of the dead. I asked pity for 
 people who were willing to endure so much for their faith, 
 even though it might be a mistaken one. 
 
 The small number of the public who heard this statement 
 were not in sympathy with it. In common with the great 
 majority, they wished for denunciation. To have succeeded 
 in drawing crowds, I should have taken an opposite course. 
 Religious fanaticism should have been appealed to ; bigotry 
 should have been invoked, and then an enterprise which 
 terminated in a disgraceful failure would have resulted in a 
 brilliant success. 
 
XIV. 
 
 How I Amused Myski,f. 
 
 As said, I had not a cent of money when I registered at 
 the hotel of the little town. I informed the landlord of my 
 business, and that the proprietor of the show was the 
 capitalist and the cashier. 
 
 A couple of weeks ran on, and then somebody from 
 Kalamazoo brought in intelligence that the panorama was 
 attached for debt. 
 
 I was ashamed to write to any of my relatives for assist- 
 ance, and staid on, giving the landlord assurance that 
 McGuire's friends were rich, and it would only be a ques- 
 tion of time when he would return with a substantial roll, re- 
 deem his pictures, and square his indebtedness. 
 
 The landlord was an easy-going fellow with a termagant 
 wife, and who found me of use to him in avoiding her, at 
 times taking me fishing and to play ten-pins, and other 
 diversions. I managed by a diplomatic bearing to keep on 
 her best side and thus enjoyed the support of both the 
 belligerents. 
 
 The hundred or two people of that place took an interest 
 in me. I formed a dozen young fellows into a military com- 
 pany, and taught them to face, wheel, march, double-quick, 
 
 56 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 57 
 
 to move file and column front, and to do something in the 
 manual of arms with an old rifle or two, and some double 
 and single-barreled shot-guns. I joined the youths in their 
 games, cultivated the justice of the peace and the minister, 
 was invited to church sociables, to picnics, and finally into 
 private families. 
 
 Once in a while some one would ask what was the latest 
 about the panorama ; but in a few weeks the panorama was 
 no more mentioned, and I was accepted as a regular and 
 well-liked member of the community. 
 
XV. 
 I^ed into Temptation. 
 
 A curious adventure occurred during the early part of 
 June, and which will bear narration. 
 
 I was sitting in the bowling-alley watching a game 
 between a couple of local experts, when a stranger entered, 
 and, after glancing about, finally, as if by accident, dropped 
 into the seat adjoining mine. A peculiar stroke by one of 
 the players elicited a remark from me to which he responded. 
 This passed into a conversation, and, later, into an intimacy. 
 
 He was a tall, powerfully-built man, with a smooth, open 
 face, keen, dark eyes, abundant brown hair, and shapely 
 limbs and figure. 
 
 He was voluble, sociable, treating the crowd freely at the 
 bar, and, in doing so, exhibited a good deal of money in gold 
 pieces. He appeared to take a liking to me, and assiduously 
 cultivated my acquaintance. He had been a good deal 
 about the world, and knew many curious people and won- 
 derful things. In my isolation he was a welcome distrac- 
 tion ; I became attached to him, and thereafter we were 
 inseparable. 
 
 One fine Sabbath morning he invited me to take a walk 
 in the country. We strolled along the highway for a mile 
 
 58 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 59 
 
 or so, and then turned into a large meadow, near the center 
 of which stood an immense tree, in solitary grandeur. 
 
 " Let's go over and sit down in the shade under that old 
 elm." 
 
 He led the way, and when we reached it, we sat down in 
 the grateful shade. My companion, as if inspired by the 
 clear brightness of the sky, the serenity of the environment, 
 and the delicious coolness of the shade, was unusually 
 genial and happy. 
 
 His talk, after resting a short time on the holy calm of 
 the Sabbath da}*, drifted on the splendors of wealth, the 
 charm of travel, the favors of beautiful women, and other 
 matters kindred in their roseate suggestions. 
 
 After a time his thoughts and conversation passed into 
 the far Bast. He exhibited familiarity with ancient history, 
 with legends of the unlimited wealth of oriental princes 
 and rulers, their excesses, their excessive expenditures, their 
 amours, their luxurious dissipations. 
 
 He related many curious legends among which Solomon 
 appeared as a conspicuous figure. At last he related the 
 following : 
 
 ' ' Some fifty years ago, a traveler was engaged in explor- 
 ing the ruins of the temple in Jerusalem. He found what 
 seemed a choked-up well, which he opened, and discovered 
 a passage leading several hundred feet through the solid 
 rock, and which terminated in a square chamber, where the 
 passage apparently ended. 
 
 " He examined every portion of this room, and at length 
 found some hieroglyphics engraved on a sunken panel. 
 
60 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 These he deciphered, and found himself the possessor of a 
 valuable seeret." 
 
 Here my vis-a-vis stopped speaking, as if his story were 
 complete. 
 
 "Is that all?" I asked. 
 
 1 ' No ; but what followed is so mysterious and incredible 
 that you wouldn't believe it if I were to tell you." 
 
 IVfy curiosity — as he probably intended it should be — 
 was. powerfully stimulated by this maneuver. 
 
 ' ' Oh, I can believe anything that you can. What was 
 the secret that he discovered ? ' ' 
 
 His story in brief was that the antiquarian learned the 
 secret of a concealed trap-door to a stairway leading to a 
 room underneath the one in which he stood, and in which 
 he found a stone chest containing a metallic plate on 
 which various characters were graved. This plate he con- 
 cealed in his clothing, and, after closing up the entrance, 
 left the place. 
 
 c ' Well, what became of him, and what was engraved on 
 the plate?" 
 
 He looked all around as if there might be a strange list- 
 ener, and then said : 
 
 1 ' It was a recipe for making gold ! ' ' 
 
 1 'And what became of the antiquarian ? ' ' 
 
 "See here ! " and his voice sank to a low whisper. "I'll 
 tell you something if you'll swear never to reveal it. Will 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes ; I promise to keep the secret." 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 61 
 
 He put his lips close to my ear and whispered : 
 "In Upper Michigan, in a locality covered for miles with 
 timber and rocks, which no human being can penetrate 
 without a guide, there lives a man so old that no one can 
 guess his age. He is believed to have lived there a hundred 
 years. He lives there entirely alone, and no one has ever 
 visited him. Once a year he appears at some point where 
 he purchases supplies, which he pays for always in gold — 
 in twenty-dollar pieces, bright and new, just like these." 
 And he pulled a handful of double-eagles from the pocket of 
 his trousers. 
 
 ' 'Are these that you have made by him ? ' ' 
 ' ' Every one of them ! " he replied, as he tossed them in 
 the sunshine, through which they fell in a shimmering cas- 
 cade, whose golden hues mingled harmoniously with the 
 green of the grass. 
 
 "Why, that's counterfeiting, isn't it?" 
 " No, sir ! There's no difference between these and those 
 coined by the United States. If they are exactly the same, 
 who is defrauded by their circulation ? ' ' 
 
 I expressed some doubts as to their likeness to the gold 
 coined by the Government. I thought that an expert would 
 perhaps be able to distinguish the difference. 
 
 1 ' Wait till to-morrow and I will convince you ! ' ' 
 The next day he purchased tickets to Battle Creek and 
 we went there on the first train. We went directly to a 
 shoe-store, where he ordered a pair of shoes and paid for 
 them with one of his double-eagles. The proprietor gave 
 him the change without hesitation. 
 
62 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 11 He may not be a judge of coin," I said, after we had 
 left the establishment. 
 
 "Well, let's try an expert." 
 
 We entered a bank, and he threw several of the pieces on 
 the counter. 
 
 " Please give me change for one of these, and look them 
 over, as I have reason to think some of them may be bogus. ' ' 
 
 The banker weighed them, and applied an acid test. 
 
 ' ' They are all right. If you are afraid of them I will 
 take them off your hands, and give you currency for them." 
 
 1 ' Thanks 1 I only wished to be satisfied as to their being 
 genuine." 
 
 I was astonished at the outcome, and convinced that the 
 coins were all right. 
 
 And now a new phase was developed by my associate. 
 At first he began to enlarge on the enjoyment and splen- 
 dors of a career with illimitable wealth at one's command. 
 Then he advanced a step, and suggested that we should 
 obtain some of the gold, and then go our way through the 
 world rejoicing. 
 
 He was in a position to obtain all that we could use for a 
 mere song. I had told him about the panorama venture, 
 and he suggested that we should purchase a wagon and 
 horses, redeem the painting, and then travel, ostensibly to 
 exhibit the panorama, but in reality to distribute the coin. 
 " I can tell you how you can carry all the gold we want. 
 We can bore holes in the inner side of the bar that sup- 
 ports the box of the wagon, and fill them with twenty-dollar 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 63 
 
 pieces. Nobody would even think of looking in such a 
 place." 
 
 Thus did he ply me for several days. I listened to him 
 with a lively curiosity. His plan seemed safe, feasible, and 
 sure to be productive of unlimited wealth. Often in look- 
 ing back at this period do I wonder that I did not yield to 
 his glittering temptation. I was young, impressible, and 
 entirely alone. I had failed disastrously in business, and 
 saw nothing to hope for in the frowning future. 
 
 I was in that morbid condition when I felt as if I cared 
 for nobody, and nobody cared for me. For some reason, 
 however, I never reached the consenting-point. I was 
 interested in his plans, and with no conscientious scruples 
 heard him discuss measures for placing his coin on the 
 public. 
 
 One morning he was missing, and I learned that he had 
 left on an Eastern train. 
 
 During the siege of Fort Donalsou I happened to run 
 across a regiment of Michigan sharpshooters, and went into 
 the sutler's tent to secure some supplies. The person in 
 charge I recognized as my old acquaintance with the supply 
 of double-eagles and the antiquarian in the wilderness. 
 
 " Hello, old man," I remarked, " how is the gold busi- 
 ness ? ' ' 
 
 He stared at me for a moment, then a look of recognition 
 flashed into his eyes, and, with a roar of laughter, he said : 
 
 * 'Oh, it's the panorama man!" And he continued to 
 laugh until his cachinnation became almost a convulsion. 
 
64 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 " Still spreading the eagles? " I asked. 
 
 "Oh, eagles be damned." 
 
 "What do you mean ? " 
 
 "Are you still a fool ? Haven't you ever tumbled to my 
 racket up there in Michigan ? ' ' 
 
 " I can't say that I have, even to this day. What was it, 
 anyhow ? ' ' 
 
 1 ' You must be the biggest idiot in the world ! Honest, 
 now, don't you know what I was up to ? " 
 
 11 Honest, now, I don't. What was it ? " 
 
 11 Well, by G— , that beats me ! I'll tell you, although 
 it doesn't seem possible that any man with a pinch of sense 
 would have failed to have ' got on ' to the job. At that 
 time Michigan was flooded with counterfeit money, espe- 
 cially along the line of the Michigan Central. You came to 
 town an entire stranger and were looked on as a suspicious 
 character. I was a Government agent and was sent down 
 to look you up." 
 
 "And the bogus money ? " 
 
 "All genuine coin. Of course the bank could find no 
 fault with it." 
 
 ' 'And the antiquarian up among the rocks ? ' ' 
 
 " Only a blind ! I'll be plain with you. I intended to 
 get you into the business of shoving the ' queer. ' If you 
 had consented I would have seen that you had a supply, 
 and as soon as you had started you would have been 
 'pinched.' The consequences would have been that now 
 you would be about the middle of your term in Jackson. ' ' 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 65 
 
 I gave him a piece of my mind in the most vituperative 
 and blasphemous English at my command, and then rode 
 away. 
 
 I wish to add that this article embodies facts in my per- 
 sonal experience and that they occurred substantially as 
 presented, in June, 1858, in and about the date on which I 
 went from Kalamazoo. 
 
XVI. 
 
 Another Change of Bask. 
 
 I had a dollar or so left when my friend went away, which 
 was the remnant of some small sums I had borrowed from 
 him, but this did not last long, and I was soon again penni- 
 less. 
 
 The Fourth of July came along and brought with it 
 freedom from the slavery which had so long held me in the 
 little town. The Fourth of July furnished the occasion for 
 my emancipation, and a young woman was the principal, 
 and jealousy the assisting motive. 
 
 There was a celebration of the natal anniversary. There 
 was a procession headed by the soldiery, a march to a grove, 
 an address and a military volley from the soldiers. 
 
 It may have been my distiiigite appearance, with a 
 cane for a sword, and one sid^ of my straw hat pinned up 
 a la militaire, which attracted the admiration of a very 
 pretty young lady among the spectators ; but, whatever the 
 reason, immediately after the crowd had separated, I was 
 waited on by a young clerk, whom I knew to be " soft " on 
 the young woman in question. She and I had strolled back 
 together from the grounds and appeared to be in the closest 
 of confidential conversations. 
 
 66 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 67 
 
 ' ' When are going to leave town ? ' ' asked the young man 
 with a scowl. 
 
 " As soon as I can get some money from the Kast." 
 
 1 ' Is that all that keeps you here ? ' ' 
 
 "That's all." 
 
 ' ' If you had the money would you leave soon ? ' ' 
 
 11 As soon as I could catch the first train." 
 
 1 ' How much would you require ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Five dollars will take me where I wish to go, and will 
 do it in royal style." 
 
 1 ' Come over to the store ! ' ' 
 
 I went. 
 
 He fished five dollars from out the money-drawer, and 
 looked at his watch, and said : 
 
 ' ' The train for Chicago is due in twenty minutes. Here 
 is the five dollars. I will go down to the depot with you 
 and see you off. ' ' 
 
 He was on time. He saw me on the train, into a seat, 
 and only left after the train was under motion. I looked 
 out of the window and saw him on the platform watching 
 the receding train. He had evidently determined to watch 
 me out of sight. 
 
 I reached Chicago after dark. I bought a light supper, 
 and, counting the balance of my funds, found I had just 
 enough remaining to purchase a ticket to Klgin, the place I 
 wished to reach. A serious consideration presented itself. 
 If I paid out only a portion of the amount, I should have 
 
68 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 to walk some part of the thirty-six miles which separated 
 me from my destination. 
 
 I concluded that walking under a burning July sun was 
 undesirable. I had heard of the hospitable John B. Drake 
 of the Tremont House, and thither at bed-time I went, 
 registered, and was shown a room. Nothing was said about 
 any compensation when I retired, and in the morning, when 
 I left, I observed the same reticence. 
 
 When I found myself in Elgin, I went to the house of my 
 father-in-law, Mr. John Morse, a well-to-do lumber mer- 
 chant. He did not seem greatly overjoyed to see me. In 
 fact, while on the News in Davenport, I had, without any 
 preliminary notice, drawn a draft on him for a considerable 
 sum to meet a pressing payment on our new Guernsey 
 press. He had honored the draft, and had gone to Daven- 
 port, and secured himself by a mortgage on the press ; but 
 he did not like the summary and unauthorized manner in 
 which I had made on him the requisition for funds. 
 
 I had intended to visit him till I could find something to 
 do. He was quite cool, and had a good deal to say of the 
 hard times, of his losses in lumber, and how he believed 
 that he would have to go into his Wisconsin pinery, and 
 chop wood, in order to keep his family from suffering. 
 
 At the end of a fortnight he informed me that there was 
 an active demand for harvest hands, and that any able- 
 bodied young man was able to earn enough at least to pay 
 his board. 
 
 I took the hint, except to the extent of hiring out as a 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 69 
 
 harvest hand. I went to an acquaintance in the town, and 
 related the situation, stating that I was sure of getting work 
 in time, if, in the meantime, I could have a place to stay. 
 
 ' ' Come right home with me and stay all summer, and all 
 winter if necessary!" responded the gentleman, a Mr. 
 Simeon I^anehart, whose generous action I shall never for- 
 get. 
 
 I found in Klgin a young law student, Thomas W. Gros- 
 venor, who afterward, during the war, joined the Twelfth 
 Illinois Cavalry, lost an arm and was promoted to a colo- 
 nelcy. Grosvenor and I soon became acquainted, then warm 
 friends. 
 
 We were ardent Democrats, and both admirers and sup- 
 porters of Stephen A. Douglas ; the senatorial campaign 
 between the ' ' little Giant ' ' and Lincoln was at full tide, 
 and, at the suggestion of some ardent devotees of the former, 
 Grosvenor and myself started a campaign weekly in the inter- 
 ests of Douglas. 
 
 We had neither of us a dollar in money. An enthusiastic 
 Democratic printer offered to take the risk of publication for 
 what he could make out of the circulation and advertise- 
 ments. 
 
 The greed for railway passes and the alacrity with which 
 the demand was responded to was shown by an incident 
 when the Campaign Weekly was started. When the first 
 side, that is, the first and fourth pages, had gone to press, I 
 took one of these copies, with the second and third pages 
 blank, went to Chicago to the office of the superintendent of 
 
70 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 the old Galena road, showed him the advertisement of the 
 time-table of his line, and asked for the usual courtesy. 
 He opened the paper and saw the two unprinted pages and 
 expressed something in the nature of an objection to issuing 
 passes on a half-printed newspaper. 
 
 I assured him the other half was probably already printed, 
 whereupon he wrote out two season passes over the road, 
 one for Grosvenor and the other for myself. 
 
 The Campaign Weekly probably did not assist Douglas 
 very materially, but it was a publication with a venomous 
 sting, and made it very hot for the Republicans. There 
 were then scarcely a baker's dozen Democrats in the 
 vicinity ; the Weekly fostered their growth, and laid the 
 foundations of the potent and substantial Democratic ele- 
 ment now existing in Kane County. 
 
 The pecuniary outcome from the venture was not a for- 
 tune. My sole return for three months' hard work was 
 glory and a pair of shoes. 
 
 The Campaign Weekly had one news "scoop" over all 
 the other newspapers. When the news came the second 
 time, in 1858, that the Atlantic cable was working, a private 
 dispatch announcing the fact came late at night to a gen- 
 tleman in Elgin. The Weekly was all made up ; the press 
 was stopped, the news inserted, and the next morning the 
 Weekly was on the streets three hours in advance of the 
 Chicago papers with the same information. 
 
 During the summer of my stay in Elgin I studied the 
 theory and practice of short-hand and succeeded in attaining 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 71 
 
 a proficiency of one hundred words a minute — not enough 
 for verbatim reporting, but of immense value in after years 
 for the taking of notes. 
 
 While in Elgin, I wrote to newspapers in Chicago, Cleve- 
 land, Pittsburg, St. Louis, St. Paul, and many others, ask- 
 ing for work as an editorial writer, paragrapher, news 
 editor or reporter, and not until in November did I get a 
 single answer, which was from the editor of the Dubuque 
 Herald, stating that he was in need of a city or ' ' local ' ' 
 editor. 
 
 The instant I read this letter I had a conviction that my 
 luck had at last changed and that the long year of poverty, 
 tramping, suffering, humiliation and degradation was about 
 to be succeeded by a better life. 
 
 I had my pass over the Chicago and Galena Railway ; I 
 borrowed from my friend Lanehart a dollar for incidental 
 expenses, and left that night for Dubuque, happier than I 
 had been at any time since the failure of the Davenport 
 News. I saw only success and prosperity in the future. 
 
 Unfortunately my disappointments were not quite all 
 ended. When we reached Freeport, I found that we had to 
 change cars onto an Illinois Central train which ran to Dun- 
 leith, opposite Dubuque, on the Mississippi River. When the 
 Central conductor examined my pass he informed me that 
 it was not good on his road, and that I would have to pay 
 fare to Duluth. 
 
 I was thunderstruck, and for an instant there was a 
 total revulsion in my late hopeful condition, and it seemed as 
 
72 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 if there had been only a momentary rift in the clouds, and 
 that the old storm and darkness were about to settle once 
 again over the sky of my life. 
 
 ' ' This is bad for me, ' ' I said to him. ' ' I supposed the 
 pass was good to Dubuque, where I wish to go. I haven't 
 money enough to pay fare, and I don't know what to do. 
 Shall I have to get off?" 
 
 " That's the rule of the road," was his answer. 
 
 I looked out of the window. It was a black, rainy Novem- 
 ber night. ' ' It would be hard on a dog to be turned out 
 such a night as this." 
 
 " That's so, but it won't be quite as bad as that. You 
 will have to get off at a station." 
 
 I gazed earnestly at the conductor. He was a young 
 fellow about my own age, and did not seem case-hardened 
 like an old employe. 
 
 " L,et me tell you something," I said. "I am a news- 
 paper man and have been out of work a whole year. I am 
 on my way to Dubuque to take a place on a paper there. 
 Are you acquainted in Dubuque ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, I live there. What paper are you going to ? " 
 
 " The Herald. Here is Mr. Dorr's letter." 
 
 He read it. 
 
 "Now," said I, "I am going to see the Herald in the 
 morning. When do you go back ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' To-morrow night. ' ' 
 
 " Can't you take me through, and I will square it with 
 you just as soon as I get to work ? ' ' 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 73 
 
 11 You may not get to work ; there's many a slip ' 
 
 1 ' Don't say that ! I'm like the boy digging for the wood- 
 chuck, who must have the animal because he was out of 
 meat." 
 
 He consented, although with the assurance that, if the fact 
 were to come to the ears of the company, it would cost him 
 his situation. I trust that the great Illinois Central cor- 
 poration has never heard of the occurrence, which took 
 place thirty-two years ago, and this is the first time I have 
 ever given it publicity. 
 
XVII. 
 
 A Gleam of Sunlight. 
 
 I called at once at the Herald office, and found Joseph B. 
 Dorr, the editor, then one of the most famous in Northern 
 Iowa, and afterwards, during the Civil War, a courageous 
 warrior. He was a well-built man of about thirty years of 
 age, light as to hair and complexion, smooth-shaven, with 
 heavy lips, gray eyes, good-sized head, and an expression 
 at once firm, pleasant and benevolent. 
 
 He received me cordially when I gave him my name ; in 
 fact, with a most unexpected warmth which I did not com- 
 prehend until, a little later, I met my old friend Captain 
 James May, of Davenport, who told me that he had seen 
 Mr. Dorr, and, learning that he had written for me, had put 
 in a good word in my behalf. 
 
 We were not long in reaching a conclusion. I declined 
 to name any price for my services, having firmly determined 
 before coming that the matter of price should cut no figure. 
 My aim was to secure a foothold in journalism which, once 
 obtained, would satisfactorily arrange the amount of com- 
 pensation. 
 
 His first offer was ten dollars a week, which I accepted 
 without an instant's hesitation. I think it would have made 
 
 74 
 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 75 
 
 no difference in my conclusion if he had offered me half the 
 sum. It was a part of the understanding that I should 
 board in his family, paying a stipulated amount per week 
 for myself and wife. 
 
 I have had several engagements since that period, many 
 of them for several times the same figure, and, I feel en- 
 tirely certain, none of them afforded as supreme a satisfaction 
 as this ten-dollar-a-week contract as city editor of the 
 Dubuque Herald. 
 
 The day before I began my work was the last one of en- 
 forced idleness that occurred in over thirty years. 
 
 Dubuque was then — November, 1858 — a characteristic 
 Mississippi River town. It adjoined a large and rich min- 
 ing region whose leaden pigs shone in profusion over the 
 landing, awaiting shipment. There were two English news- 
 papers, both daily, the Herald, Democratic ; and the Times, 
 Republican, presided over by Gen. Frank W. Palmer, later 
 Public Printer for Iowa, editor of the Inter- Ocea?i and 
 Postmaster of Chicago, who, when in Dubuque, was assisted 
 by an ex-Baptist clergyman, Jesse Clemens. The Herald 
 had as an assistant at first a Scotchman, and a close thinker 
 and able writer, McNulta, and later, the famous Dennis 
 Mahony, of whom more anon. 
 
 Dubuque at that period was a pretty ' ' tough ' ' town ; 
 the laborers in the mines, the wharf-rats and various 
 hangers-on made a disturbing element, and crimes, includ- 
 ing robberies and homicides, were not uncommon. I was 
 present at no less than three public hangings within two 
 
76 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 years. Political animosities were bitter, and sometimes re- 
 sulted in fist, club or pistol conflicts. 
 
 The bar included some men of prominence, such as Ben. 
 M. Samuels, a gigantic product of Virginia, versed inlaw, 
 a powerful pleader before a jury and an unrivaled orator 
 before a crowd of people. There was William T. Barker, 
 for many years State's Attorney, and a man of marvelous 
 modesty and great legal learning, and who never failed to 
 chase a criminal to the gallows as his offense deserved. 
 
 Wm. B. Allison was a resident ; a smooth-faced young 
 man with long, light hair and the neatness and. expression 
 of a Presbyterian preacher. He had a brother there, a real 
 estate agent, one like and unlike the future Senator, 
 paunchy where the coming official was thin, wasteful where 
 he was economical, open and communicative where the 
 presidential aspirant of 1888 was secretive and Jesuitical. 
 
 Peter Kiene, Jr., the son of German-Swiss parents, a lad 
 of thirteen years of age, was an apprentice in the Herald 
 office. At sixteen he was a private soldier, being large for 
 his years, and soon after participated in several battles in 
 Tennessee. He was captured at Corinth, and was taken to 
 Andersonville, where he remained a year, and would have 
 died from neglect and starvation had it not been for a young 
 lady living in the vicinity. 
 
 This lady, in company with a party, visited the prison, 
 and had her attention attracted by the youthful appearance 
 of Peter. She questioned him, and learned his place of 
 residence. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 77 
 
 1 ' Is that anywhere near Rock Island ? ' ' she asked. 
 
 1 ' Just a few miles farther up the Mississippi River. 
 
 ' ' I have a brother who is a prisoner at Rock Island. 
 Now, I will be glad to supply your necessities if your 
 people will do something for him." 
 
 Peter wrote the facts to Peter Kiene, Sr., who at once 
 went to Rock Island, and, being a man of large wealth and 
 liberal in his nature, cared for the Confederate prisoner in 
 first-class style, and the sister reciprocated in the case of 
 Peter, Jr. 
 
 Peter, Jr. , did not marry his Southern benefactress, as re- 
 quired in all well-regulated romances. He selected a 
 Northern girl. He is now a prosperous business man, and 
 one of the most popular and respected citizens of the 
 "Key City." 
 
 H. H. Heath, a stately person of the old school of man- 
 ners, was Postmaster, being an outsider, sent to the town by 
 Buchanan. Captain Eli Parker, grandson of Red Jacket, 
 lived in Dubuque, and superintended the construction of the 
 Custom-house. One of the most notable residents of the 
 town was Gen. George W. Jones, whose efforts gave Iowa 
 its territorial organization, who was contemporary with 
 Clay, Webster, and other distinguished statesmen, who was 
 a second in the Cilly duel, who was Minister to Bogota 
 under Buchanan, and occupant of the Bastile under Seward. 
 
 At this date General Jones is still living. He is almost a 
 centenarian ; he is erect as a pine, active as a boy in his 
 movements, possessed of all his faculties, and in many 
 essential respects the most notable living American. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 Experiences in Dubuque. 
 
 I am free to assert that this period of my professional 
 career is one I recall with the greatest satisfaction. I 
 worked very hard from nine in the morning till the paper 
 went to press at 2 A. m. 
 
 A ' ' local ' ' editor in a town of the dimensions of Dubuque 
 or Davenport is the greatest man in the community if he 
 knows his business. Every door is open to him. He is 
 every man's friend ; he is on the free-list to all entertain- 
 ments ; his hat is ' ' chalked ' ' on all excursions and rail- 
 ways ; he is the universal referee, whether at cock-fights, 
 billiard matches, church raffles ; he is petted, flattered, 
 coddled, overwhelmed with compliments, new hats, buggy- 
 rides, cords of fire-wood, suits of clothes. 
 
 I flatter myself that I made myself ' ' solid ' ' with 
 Dubuque ; at least such is the assurance of the people of 
 that city. I had only one fight — if the occurrence may be 
 called a fight — during my residence, which speaks well for 
 my popularity in a city in which knives and pistols were 
 common and assaults of frequent occurrence. This sole 
 contest was insignificant, and had a ludicrous outcome. 
 
 I had lampooned or in some other way hurt the feelings 
 
 78 
 
'1HIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 79 
 
 of a man who gave it out that he was going to thrash me. 
 A couple of nights after, I went into a barber-shop to get 
 shaved preparatory to attending a social party at the Larimer 
 House. While standing there, with one of my hands in my 
 overcoat pocket, the irate man entered, and, without a word, 
 suddenly seized me by the shoulders and gave me a push. 
 My legs encountered the foot-rest of the barber's chair, and 
 I tripped over it, striking against some shelves on the wall, 
 and carrying a cascade of soaps, essences, shaving-cups, 
 razors and hair-brushes with me to the floor. 
 
 My assailant then left the place. I was cut by pieces of 
 glass on the side of the neck, which was repaired in a 
 couple of moments by a drug-clerk and a piece of court- 
 plaster. I then went immediately to the Larimer House, 
 and entered the main hall, where a large company was 
 assembled. 
 
 My enemy stood in a group of ladies, among whom was 
 his wife, to whom he was evidently relating something of a 
 very thrilling nature. As some friend told me, he had j ust 
 before entered the room with a hurried step and marched up 
 to the group of ladies. 
 
 " What is the matter?" asked his wife, as she noticed 
 his unusual agitation. 
 
 "Nothing much, only I just had an encounter with 
 Wilkie?" 
 
 " Good heavens, Colonel, are you hurt? " 
 
 <c Xot a scratch ! "' 
 
 11 How's the other man ? " 
 
80 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 " Pretty bad ! He won't get outdoors in less than six 
 months ! ' ' 
 
 " He may die 1 " said a sympathetic listener. "Why, he 
 must be dead alread}^ for there's his ghost 1 " as I appeared 
 within six feet of where the group were chatting. 
 
 The face of the valorous Colonel fell, and there was a 
 scream of laughter among the feminine listeners as they saw 
 I was unhurt. 
 
 This was the only instance of a personal collision that I 
 had a part in during my three years as ' ' local editor ' ' of 
 the Herald. 
 
 Dorr was a very positive, obstinate, courageous man, and 
 showed in his editorial career what he afterwards proved as 
 a soldier — that he was beyond fear and made no count of 
 the odds against him. One day, Mulkern, a young lawyer, 
 took mortal offense at something in the Herald, and, with a 
 loaded revolver, climbed to the editorial floor. 
 
 He blusteringly demanded a retraction, which was 
 refused, and then, pulling his pistol, advanced toward the 
 editor, who sprang to his feet, seized an old umbrella, and, 
 with it uplifted high in air, charged straight on the mouth 
 of the gun. Mulkern was so demoralized by the fierce rush 
 of his frowning antogonist that he fired at a venture, or 
 under excitement, and evidently without aim, for the bullet 
 lodged high above Dorr's head in the ceiling. 
 
 Mulkern then turned and flew down the stairway, pur- 
 sued by the editor, who hammered him on the head, back 
 and shoulders till the fugitive reached safety in the street. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 81 
 
 On another occasion Dorr, while passing through the 
 Court-house, was attacked by two brothers, named Quig- 
 ley, both of whom were powerful men in the prime of life. 
 Both threw themselves on him, and, after a furious struggle, 
 all three went to the floor, one of the Quigleys underneath, 
 Dorr next, and the third man on top. All three scrambled 
 to their feet, when Dorr grappled one of the others and 
 dashed him with such force to the floor that he lay without 
 motion. 
 
 At this moment the other Ouigley drew a navy revolver 
 from his pocket, balanced it on his knee to cock it, and had 
 just raised the hammer to full cock when he was seized from 
 behind by a gentleman who happened to pass, and was dis- 
 armed. The one who thus opportunely saved the life of the 
 editor was Abram Williams, now the wealthy manager of 
 a prominent insurance corporation in Chicago and a well- 
 known citizen. 
 
 I perpetrated an article during my occupation of the local 
 editorship of the Herald which is a matter of comment to 
 this day, and which created more excitement at the time of 
 publication than the breaking out of the Civil War. 
 
 There was a large nursery on the bluffs, owned by a young 
 man, since dead, who, in i860, married the eldest daughter 
 of one of the oldest and most respected families of the city. 
 A few days after his return from his wedding tour, he invited 
 me to visit his nursery and notice some additions and im- 
 provements. 
 
 When I reached the place I found that the bride was 
 
82 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 present. She was a tall, stately woman, of great beauty 
 and an elegant carriage. 
 
 In my article I wove in an elaborate description, in 
 botanical language, of a rare plant which the owner had 
 lately introduced into his grounds, and this at once attracted 
 the attention of every reader in the city fond of flowers. A 
 procession was soon formed, which climbed the bluffs to 
 the nursery grounds, in search of slips from this marvelous 
 plant. 
 
 The proprietor was non-plussed ; he had no idea as to 
 the growth sought for, and the English gardener, while 
 admitting that the botanical description of the mysterious 
 product was that of a wonderful plant, could give no idea as 
 to what it was or where in the grounds it was to be found. 
 
 Scores of letters came to the paper from a distance, asking 
 for information as to this plant, its name and cost. Many 
 people came to see me after learning that I had seen and 
 described it. No one was ever given any satisfactory 
 information. 
 
 The mystery continued for some two weeks, and the 
 1 ' Mysterious Plant ' ' was the theme of universal excitement 
 and discussion. 
 
 I thought the joke so good that I wanted some one to 
 enjoy it with me, and one day, over a glass of beer, I com- 
 municated to " Old Alf Thomas," as the city editor of the 
 Times was popularly known, the secret of the plant descrip- 
 tion, doing it under a solemn pledge from him that he would 
 not reveal it. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. S3 
 
 The very next morning the Times had an article of a 
 column, with big head-lines, revealing the mystery of the 
 plant, and, for the first time, the public learned that the 
 description was that of a woman, the wife of the proprietor 
 of the nursery. 
 
 "Old Alf," in order to make a point against a rival, 
 denounced the description as insulting and indecent, which 
 it was not in the slightest sense except as interpreted by a 
 libidinous mind. A tremendous excitement followed the 
 revelation of " Old Alf." The article was the talk of the 
 town ; it was said that the husband would shoot me on 
 sight ; in fact, in company with some friends, he was in 
 search of me with a gun. 
 
 Delegations of people who had been fooled by their 
 journey up the long, steep bluffs, to get a slip, called to see 
 Dorr and denounce the publication as an outrage. Still 
 others, accepting "Old Alfs" moral characterization, 
 insisted on my discharge. 
 
 Dorr was the most amazed editor ever called on for a 
 retraction by indignant subscribers. At first, he, too, was 
 scandalized and outraged that his paper had been, as he 
 thought, abused to further an unworthy purpose. 
 
 I heard he was mad, and hunted him up. He was hot as 
 a furnace. 
 
 " I did not think this of you ! " he said, in a voice shak- 
 ing with anger. ' ' Go over to my wife and get the bill for 
 your board, and come back here, and I'll pay you off ! " 
 
 ' ( Does that mean a dismissal ? ' ' 
 
84 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 ' ' Well, ' ' he said, hesitatingly, ' ' yes. The town is insane, 
 and something's got to be done I " 
 
 "And don't I have any show in the matter? Can't I 
 have a hearing before the evidence closes, the verdict is ren- 
 dered, and sentence pronounced ? ' ' 
 
 "Why, 3'es, I suppose you should be heard. But I can't 
 imagine a thing you can say. There is the article ; it shows 
 for itself. ' ' 
 
 ' ' L,et me give my view of it. " 
 
 I went over the article, explaining the technical botanical 
 terms in their application to a beautiful woman, and when 
 I had finished I could see that smiles were pla}dng behind 
 his lips, and his eyes were gleaming with good humor. 
 
 "There isn't anything vulgar or indecent in it," he 
 said, " but it will take time to convince the people of that 
 fact, and meanwhile something must be done to placate the 
 mob. You go out to Waterloo and stay out in that region 
 for three weeks. I'll tell the people you've gone away. I 
 do this to show } r ou how much I think of you." 
 
 I went away. At the end of a week Dorr wrote me to 
 return ; the trouble was all over. I went back, and was 
 received with an ovation by the townspeople. 
 
 To this date the Mysterious Plant is one of the subjects 
 of legend in the families of Dubuque. 
 
 Mr. Dorr was an editor of ten thousand. He was as 
 pure in his motives as a saint. He used his paper in the in- 
 terest of his party and of the community. He would de- 
 nounce crookedness in his own party as vehemently as in 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 85 
 
 that of the opposition. He was controlled by no corpora- 
 tion ; he hated jobs, intrigues, meanness, wrong of every 
 kind. No scheming of political knaves could influence him. 
 He was accessible, affable, just. The public could always 
 reach him ; he was willing to listen to those who felt them- 
 selves wronged, and eager to afford ample reparation. He 
 did not hold himself apart from the masses ; he was the em- 
 bodiment of simplicity, integrity and his conceptions of 
 right. 
 
 His domestic life was a beautiful one. When he went 
 home, business was never mentioned nor thought of. He 
 then occupied himself with his wife and children. His 
 household arrangements were patriarchal. His venerable 
 father was one of the family ; an unmarried sister lived 
 with him, and among others who gathered about his table 
 were two apprentices in the printing business toward whom 
 he and his excellent wife acted the part of parents. With 
 my wife, I occupied this family circle for the greater por- 
 tion of my stay in the city, and found in it all the warmth 
 and attractions of a home. 
 
 Fancy any modern editor occupying himself with the 
 paternal care of the younger men intrusted to his charge ! 
 
 I saved more money during my stay on the Herald, at 
 ten dollars a week, than I ever have since, considering the 
 difference in the earnings. 
 
XIX. 
 
 Mahony and thk Bastile — War. 
 
 In the early part of 1861, Dorr left the Herald, and it fell 
 under the control of Dennis Mahony. Mahony was a large, 
 dark man of sixty years of age, with a massive head, a 
 benevolent face ; a child in meekness and simplicity, a rock 
 in the firmness of his opinion. He was known among his 
 intimates as ' ' Old Dogmatism. ' ' 
 
 He espoused the cause of the South after the election of 
 Lincoln and was an ardent advocate of the right of States to 
 separate from the federation. 
 
 This old man, shaking with incipient paralysis, was 
 pulled from his bed, late one night in August, after he had 
 retired, by a Federal Marshal and a squad of soldiers, and, 
 without even being given time to gather any clothing, was 
 dragged out of the city and finally taken, by a devious route, 
 as if he were a victim being exhibited by a conqueror, to 
 Washington, where he was thrust into the Old Capital 
 prison, and was held till November, when he was discharged 
 without trial. In fact, no charges were ever made against 
 him ; his arrest, confinement and discharge were as arbi- 
 trary as is the action of the Russian Government in the dis- 
 position of the liberty of its subjects. 
 
 86 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 87 
 
 I called on the old man in the Washington bastile a 
 month after he was arrested, gave him the first news from 
 home and purchased him a change of underwear, the first 
 he had had since his arrest. 
 
 Not the slightest official reason has ever been given why 
 a peaceful, harmless old man was subjected to this outrage- 
 ous assault. It is supposed by some that it was done to 
 prevent his running for Congress against a Republican can- 
 didate. He was arrested and held till after the election. 
 What intensified the offense was that he was dragged from 
 his home in the presence of his wife, a timid, nervous inva- 
 lid, and who was necessarily frightfully alarmed by the 
 inroad of armed ruffians. 
 
 I left for the front with the First Iowa Regiment as an 
 army correspondent. Under the regime that succeeded 
 Dorr, my salary was agreed to be continued at the same 
 figure that I had received as city editor — ten dollars a week. 
 I may here state that for the three months' service in the 
 field I received nothing from the Herald. 
 
 Fortunately for my necessities, I became attached to the 
 Times of New York, by which I was well paid and with 
 which I remained till I left the army, in the latter part of 
 1863. 
 
 I shall, in these reminiscences, do no more than allude to 
 the war phase of my journalistic career, except in a single 
 particular. This relates to the New York Times, its 
 editor, and the manner in which I became connected with 
 that newspaper. I may say here that I have already given 
 
88 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 the public — in two published books : "Army and Miscel- 
 laneous Sketches," 1869 ; and " Pen and Powder," 1887 — 
 the main incidents, characters, adventures, trials and labors 
 of my career as an army correspondent. Suffice it at this 
 point that I was present in a majority of the campaigns in 
 the West from Wilson's Creek, in August, 1861, up to a 
 couple of months after the fall of Vicksburg, and including 
 four months in the summer of 1862, when I was engaged 
 in watching operations against Richmond in the Chicka- 
 hominy campaign. 
 
 In July, 1 86 1, in the march of the First Iowa Regiment 
 across Missouri to join I^yon, we stopped at Macon long 
 enough to issue a small sheet, Our Whole Union, of 
 which, by order of Colonel Bates, I was made editor. The 
 column moved the next day, and, a week later, we went 
 into camp at Booneville. 
 
 Here I was approached one day by a man in civilian's 
 dress, who inquired if I was the person who edited the 
 Macon sheet. Being replied to in the affirmative, he said : 
 
 ' ' I am the representative in St. L,ouis of the New York 
 Times, and I have been instructed by Mr. Raymond, if 
 possible, to engage you to act for his paper in this move- 
 ment." 
 
 Had a thunderbolt exploded under my feet, I could have 
 been no more astonished. A bargain was completed at 
 $7.50 a column, and necessary expenses. 
 
 The column moved on. I wrote to the New York paper 
 over the signature of ' ' Galway , ' ' and requested a remit- 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 89 
 
 tance. I never received a line in reply, and, when the 
 battle of Wilson's Creek was fought, I sent my account to 
 the Dubuque Herald, meanwhile dropping a letter to Ray- 
 mond, saying that, as I had never heard a word from the 
 Times, I had concluded that my services were not needed 
 and had sent my account of the fight to another paper. 
 
 I wound up with a request that if there were anything 
 due me to send it to me, and that I should look for another 
 engagement. A telegram came in reply, saying : " Don't 
 resign ; letter on its way to you." The letter came with a 
 draft, a regret from Mr. Raymond that he had not received 
 an account of the battle, and a request to continue as his 
 representative. 
 
 What other editor living would have met my action with 
 such treatment ? 
 
 In September, I crossed from St. Louis to Lexington, 
 where Colonel Mulligan was surrounded by Price ; sur- 
 rendered to the Confederate commander, at the risk of being 
 hanged for a spy ; witnessed the siege and the surrender, 
 and forwarded an exclusive account to the Times. Ray- 
 mond was more than grateful ; he sent a substantial draft 
 to my wife as a present ; he gave my feat at Lexington a 
 half-column editorial, in which he warmly commended my 
 daring, nry devotion to the interests of the Times, and pro- 
 nounced it one " unparalleled in the history of journalism. " 
 
 He did more ; he raised my pay to a salary of $30 a 
 week, all my expenses, and gave me charge of all military 
 operations in the West. 
 
90 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 When Vicksburg fell, I had taken a short run up the 
 river, instructing my assistant, if the place surrendered, 
 to start instantly for New York, writing his account as he 
 went. He followed instructions as far as Indianapolis, 
 where he fell by the way, and his account never reached 
 the office. Raymond even possessed the generosity to ex- 
 cuse the failure so far as I was concerned, merely expressing 
 a mild regret over the unfortunate choice of a subordinate. 
 
 Raymond was the incarnation of generosity, suavity, a 
 desire to please. He always wrote me with his own hand 
 when some portion of my work especially pleased him ; and 
 he did not hesitate to compliment my style in writing, and 
 to mention to me any good points in my efforts. 
 
 I have alluded to my connection with Henry J. Raymond 
 because it is a legitimate portion of my journalistic remin- 
 iscences, and for the further reason that such treatment of 
 employes by the managers of newspapers is of the rarest 
 occurrence. He was, in these considerate qualities, a vara 
 avis in his profession. 
 
 I remained in the South a couple of months after the 
 surrender of Pemberton, and then, having been a full 3^ear 
 in the swampy regions of Vicksburg, and having before me 
 only the prospect of a winter's campaign under Steele, in 
 Arkansas, I concluded to give up the service. 
 
 Mr. Raymond expressed satisfaction with my services, 
 and informed me that, if I would come to New York, the 
 Times would give me employment. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM, 91 
 
 I left the army in robust health, never having been ill 
 during iny service, save a slight bilious attack before Vicks- 
 burg. 
 
XX. 
 
 Man Proposes — Fate Disposes. 
 
 My intention, when I concluded to leave the army, was 
 not to return to journalism, at least for a time, but to turn 
 historian ; that is, to write up the histories of the troops of 
 various States. In this determination I was strongly en- 
 couraged by Whitelaw Reid, then the army correspondent 
 of the Cincinnati Gazette. He gave me a letter to the pub- 
 lishing house of Moore, Keyes, Wilstach & Co., of Cin- 
 cinnati, whom I visited, and suggested the project of a his- 
 tory of the Ohio troops. 
 
 They readily fell in with the scheme, and a bargain was 
 made with no difficulty. It was a very liberal one on their 
 part. They were to pay my traveling expenses in the 
 search for information, a substantial sum per week while 
 engaged in the work, and a very satisfactory total when the 
 book should be finished. 
 
 " Ity the way," said the senior member of the firm, 
 " although this agreement is, to all intents and purposes, 
 fixed, as a matter of form we wish to consult our junior 
 partner, who is now in New York, and who is expected 
 back within a week. It need make no difference in your 
 arrangements. You can go home, make your necessary 
 
 92 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 93 
 
 preparations, and as soon as Mr. returns, we will 
 
 notify you 03- mail. But I assure you again, this is done 
 merely out of respect for our junior member and will not 
 affect the agreement." 
 
 11 All right. It will not require more than a week to 
 make my preparations." 
 
 I left Cincinnati, expecting to be back within a very brief 
 period. I concluded all necessary arrangements for the 
 change of base, and then waited for the letter. 
 
 A week passed, no communication ; another week rolled 
 bj-, and still a • third, and then I abandoned the project, 
 under the belief that the junior partner had negatived the 
 project. 
 
 Just at this time I received a letter from James H. Good- 
 sell, city editor of the Chicago Times, in which he stated 
 that he was instructed by Mr. Storey to offer me a position 
 as assistant editor on his staff. In view of the failure of 
 the Ohio enterprise, the Chicago offer seemed providential, 
 and I at once wrote Goodsell an acceptance, and the next 
 morning was a regularly engaged emplo}~e of the Times. 
 
 The very next day after I had taken possession of my 
 editorial desk, a letter reached me, forwarded from El Paso, 
 111., where. I had been stopping with some relatives after 
 leaving the army, and was the announcement of the Cin- 
 cinnati firm that the junior member, as had been anticipated, 
 had given his consent to the project ! 
 
 The letter had been delayed on its passage. Had it 
 
94 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 reached me in due season, I should have received it at least 
 a week before hearing from Goodsell. 
 
 Z,' homme propose; Dieu dispose ! 
 
 There was another feature in this event which was in the 
 nature of a deus ex machina. Some weeks before this 
 change in my occupation had occurred, the world was 
 shocked by the announcement that a steamer on the lakes, 
 laden with passengers, had been destroyed in a storm, and 
 not a soul was left to " tell the tale." 
 
 Among the passengers known to have embarked at Chi- 
 cago, and who was never after heard of, was a young man, 
 Warren P. Isham, a brother-in-law of Wilbur F. Storey, 
 and who, at the time of his leaving on the fated ship, was 
 acting as assistant editor on the staff of the Times. It was 
 this vacancy that I was called on to fill. 
 
 A letter had to miscarry, and a man to die, to provide me 
 with a situation. 
 
 Isham' s history was a brief one. He was with Storey 
 when he was the publisher of the' Detroit Free Press, and it 
 was pretty well understood that Storey made his life a 
 sheol. He disappeared from Detroit, and when Storey 
 moved to Chicago and purchased the old Times, Isham was 
 found to be connected with it in some capacity. He re- 
 mained with the paper when the property was transferred 
 to the new owner, and took the position of assistant editor. 
 
 In the spring of 1862, he was sent to the front as a corre- 
 spondent. I saw him a couple of days after the battle of 
 Shiloh. He was a slender, handsome young fellow, and 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 95 
 
 noticeable from the fact that he was stylishly dressed, and 
 looked very much out of place in the roughness and un- 
 cleanliness of the surroundings. I saw him but for a 
 moment, and it was the only time I ever met him. 
 
 Later he was in Memphis, when the Federal commander 
 of the post made the famous retreat from the raid of For- 
 rest, in which flight, it is said, the fleeing Federal wore 
 but a single garment. 
 
 Isham wrote up the occurrence in a manner which, if 
 possible, added to the real absurdity and ludicrousness of 
 the situation. It was a communication which set the entire 
 North in roars of laughter. The fugitive with the single 
 garment, and his frantic, headlong rush, became the butt of 
 universal ridicule. 
 
 The offense of Isham was too serious to be condoned. It 
 exposed the legs of a mighty brigadier-general scurrying 
 through the streets of Memphis, with a slender, sail-like 
 appendage flapping swiftly in his rear. 
 
 .The dignity of the Federal arms — perhaps legs is a better 
 word — had been insulted, and stern and swift, like the 
 flight of the fugitive, must be the punishment of the inso- 
 lent offender. A court-martial was convened, and at the 
 termination of the trial he was sent to the penitentiary at 
 Alton. 
 
 He remained there some months. I have never heard 
 that Mr. Storey ever made an effort to get the prisoner re- 
 leased, or gave him the slightest attention. It may be that 
 
96 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 he was pleased at Isham's seclusion, as it relieved him of a 
 brother-in-law whom he appears to have profoundly hated. 
 
 It was in the last month of the summer, in 1863, that 
 Isham embarked on the steamer ' ' Sunbeam, " a splendid boat 
 running between Chicago and Ontonagon. The morning 
 after leaving the last-named place, a tremendous storm 
 came up, and every person on the vessel, save the pilot, 
 Frazier — who escaped on a raft — was lost. 
 
 It was this calamity, in which some thirty people lost 
 their lives, which opened a route for me into the Chicago 
 Times. 
 
XXI. 
 
 Summary of the Life of Storey. 
 
 Before entering on my personal reminiscences of Mr. 
 Storey, it may be well to present a brief epitome of his life 
 up to the date — in September, 1863 — when I first met him. 
 
 Wilbur F. Storey — I never learned what the ' ' F. " stood 
 for — was born in Salisbury, Vermont, December 19, 1819. 
 His father was a farmer, with whom the son remained until 
 he was twelve years of age. There were other children, at 
 least another son, and two daughters. Nothing has ever 
 been learned to indicate that Mr. Storey derived any portion 
 of his great genius through heredity, unless from a point 
 more remote than that of father and mother. 
 
 They are reported to have been plain, good, common- 
 sense people, exactly adapted to the station in life which 
 they occupied. It is not, however, without example that 
 the egg of an eagle may be incubated and hatched in the 
 nest of a plain domestic fowl. 
 
 It is stated that young Storey exhibited no marked 
 peculiarities, save that he was somewhat more grave and 
 less frolicsome than his companions. It is not learned that 
 he was a reader, or studious to any extraordinary extent ; 
 in fact, in later life he was neither. He could not have had 
 
 97 
 
98 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 much opportunity to study before he was twelve years of 
 age, trie period when he entered the office of the Middle- 
 bury (Vt.) Free Press, to learn the art acquired by another 
 distinguished character, Ben Franklin. 
 
 Five years later, with the wandering instincts of the old- 
 days printer, he went to New York, where he worked at his 
 trade in the Journal of Commerce, then migrated to L,a Porte, 
 Indiana, where, in company with Edward Hannigan — later 
 a Federal Senator — he started a Democratic journal, the 
 Herald. Mr. Storey's later career and peculiarities permit 
 the inference that harmony would not long prevail in an 
 association of which he was a part. A year later the Herald 
 expired from anaemia, due to lack of sufficient nutrition. 
 
 He then blew the Tocsin, to Democratic airs, at Mishawa- 
 ka, Indiana, and, his breath giving out at the end of 
 eighteen months, he moved to Jackson, Michigan, where, 
 for two years, he read law, and then, by aid of his brother- 
 in-law, a Mr. Farrand, he started the Jackson Patriot, also 
 Democratic. He combined with journalism a drug-store 
 and a book-selling shop, and, owing to a dispute about the 
 sale of alcohol from his drug-store, he withdrew from the 
 Congregational denomination to which he belonged, and 
 never after identified himself with any religious body. 
 
 He was married in 1847 to his first wife, Maria P. Isham ; 
 was Postmaster under Polk ; Commissioner of the State 
 Constitutional Convention, and, in 1853, by a political deal, 
 secured an interest in the Detroit Free Press, a then almost 
 worthless Democratic organ, and which, in 1861, he 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 99 
 
 increased so much in value that it had paid for itself and 
 was sold for $30,000. 
 
 He then came to Chicago and purchased the Chicago 
 Times, in company with A. Worden, a " Wolverine," and 
 a brother of Commodore Worden, whose eyesight was 
 damaged in the Monitor and Merrimac fight in Hampton 
 Roads. 
 
 The Times had been started in 1854, as a Douglas organ, 
 by the well-known James W. Sheahan and Daniel Cameron. 
 In i860 it was in the sole possession of the former, who 
 sold it to the great Presbyterian magnate and reaper manu- 
 facturer, Cyrus McCormick, who was also the owner of 
 a paper known as the Herald, a Democratic journal estab- 
 lished in the interests of James Buchanan in 1858. 
 
 The two journals were consolidated as the Herald and 
 Times, McCormick intending, in season, to drop the latter. 
 It was edited by ex-Governor McComas, of Virginia, who 
 held his place until the sale to Storey in June, 1861. The 
 , new owner brought his staff with him from Detroit. They 
 were John Iy. Chipman, editorial writer ; Henry M. Scovel, 
 news editor; Warren J. Isham, city editor; Henry B. 
 Chandler, business manager, and Austin ~L,. Patterson, 
 assistant book-keeper. 
 
 Chipman left soon after, and his place was taken by M. Iy. 
 Hopkins, an ex-member of the Michigan Legislature. James 
 Goodsell, of Detroit, soon was made city editor. The 
 Herald and Times was started in the McCormick Block, on 
 the fifth floor, and then was removed to the street floor on 
 
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 the southeast corner of the first alley on Randolph Street 
 east of State Street. 
 
 It was at this location that Mr. Storey began his publica- 
 tion of the Times. The purpose of the proprietor of the 
 double-headed sheet, MeCormick, was thus reversed. 
 
 Mr. Storey was a Democrat and favored a war for the 
 preservation of the Union. In the autumn of 1862, Lincoln 
 issued the emancipation proclamation, and thereupon Storey 
 became an ardent opponent of the war, urged, as he asserted, 
 solely for the freedom of the Southern blacks. 
 
 I need not recall in detail the famous attempt made to 
 suppress the Times in June, 1864, by military force, through an 
 order issued by Gen. Ambrose F. Burnside. Early on the 
 morning of the third, the press-room was taken posses- 
 sion of by Federal soldiers. Several thousand copies had 
 already been distributed on the streets, but a smaller number 
 were seized. 
 
 Great mass-meetings were held. Iyincoln was telegraphed 
 to by leading citizens to revoke the order, among whom 
 United States Judge David Davis took an influential part. 
 All of the edition of the fourth of June was suppressed. 
 
 Iyincoln revoked the order, but there was far from being 
 peace. All over the Northwest, among civilians, there was 
 a tremendous excitement among partisans of both sides. 
 In Illinois many secret meetings were held, organizations 
 were formed, and armed insurrection on the one hand, and 
 forcible resistance on the other, were determined on. Had 
 the work of Burnside been persevered in, there would have 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 101 
 
 been an outbreak in hundreds of places, and a neighbor- 
 hood war would have followed, equal in rancor to that 
 which prevailed in Missouri between the home-guards and 
 the guerrillas. 
 
 The attempt at suppressing the Times was an immeasur- 
 able benefit to the financial interests of the journal. Without 
 Burnside's ill-advised interference, it was within the limits 
 of the possible that Storey, in less than five years after 
 moving to Chicago, would have resumed the drug business 
 in Jackson. 
 
 During the Soldiers' and Sailors' Convention in Indian- 
 apolis, in the seventies, I was entering the Bates Hotel, when 
 I met General Burnside coming out. I recognized him by 
 his whiskers and general appearance, as popularized by his 
 portraits in public prints, but had never before seen him. 
 
 I was at once seized by a rather malevolent idea. 
 
 "General, I have never before met you, and you will 
 pardon the liberty I take in addressing you. ' ' 
 
 He looked at me with a rather puzzled expression, and, 
 smiling genially, took my proffered hand, shook it cordially 
 and said : 
 
 "I'm always glad to see my friends." Then he waited 
 for me to explain. 
 
 " General, I have been waiting for many years to thank 
 you for a great service you conferred on some of my friends, 
 during the progress of the war. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Indeed 1 I don't remember you or the event ; what was 
 it that you refer to ? " 
 
102 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 1 ' It was a service of immeasurable magnitude. It 
 rescued a great institution from a collapse ; it is something 
 for which the beneficiaries can never sufficiently thank you. ' ' 
 
 The face of the General shone all over with delight and 
 benevolence, and smiles played over his eyes and lips like 
 the irradiation of the northern lights over the polar sky. 
 
 1 ' Please tell me what you refer to. Who is it that says 
 these pleasant things ? " 
 
 " General," I said, as I again seized his hand and shook 
 it heartily, ' ' I am one of the editors of the Chicago Times ! " 
 
 A change flashed over his countenance like that of clouds 
 suddenly obscuring a sunshiny sky. He glanced at me 
 with a pained sort of look, and, brushing swiftly by, went 
 into the street. 
 
XXII. 
 
 Storey's Ai^eged Brutauty. 
 
 The clamor about Storey was so great, his reported abuse 
 of his employes so wide-spread, the assertions as to his open 
 treason so emphatic and universal, that it was with consid- 
 erable hesitation that I responded affirmatively to Goodsell's 
 letter offering me the position vacated by Isham. This was 
 in the early part of September, 1863, and the clamor against 
 the editor was at its full height. I must say, also, that 
 another motive made me disinclined to ally mj^self with 
 the Times, I was an unfaltering Democrat, strongly 
 favored the war for the preservation of the Union, and, 
 hence, did not care to incur the odium of being a ' ' copper- 
 head," a ' ' rebel sympathizer, " "secessionist," and all the 
 other terms of contumely and opprobrium which I knew 
 association with Storey's paper would necessarily inflict or* 
 me. 
 
 However, after a long debate with myself, I concluded to 
 accept the offer, and so notified Goodsell, and that I would 
 meet him two days later at the Tremont House. 
 
 "Jim," as everybody termed Goodsell, met me. He was 
 a tall, slender, handsome young fellow, with a bright face, 
 active motions, and very agreeable in his manners. As I 
 
 103 
 
104 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 soon discovered, although barely out of Ann Arbor Univer- 
 sity, he was already a valuable man in his profession — 
 alert, capable, vigilant and untiring. 
 
 On our way to the office, I said to him that I had hesi- 
 tated a good deal before deciding to accept his offer. 
 
 ' ' Is that so ? Why ? I regard it as an unusual oppor- 
 tunity for a young man to jump at once to a staff position 
 on a first-class newspaper like the Times. What made you 
 hesitate?" 
 
 ' ' Well, because they say Mr. Storey treats his employes 
 with severity, and that he is a brute who likes to rend the 
 flesh of his subordinates. ' ' 
 
 < ' Who is ' they ' who say this ? ' ' 
 
 "Oh, everybody! I heard it in the Ozark Mountains, 
 in the Yazoo Bayou, in the Chickahominy Swamps, in New 
 Orleans, at Shiloh, Vicksburg ; in brief, everywhere, from 
 everybody." 
 
 " Don't let that worry you. ' Everybody ' is a slanderer, 
 and, of course, a liar. Mr. Storey is the finest gentleman in 
 the world to work for if you know your business and attend 
 to it." 
 
 Nevertheless, it was with a strong apprehension that I 
 entered the faded old brick building used by the Times. It 
 had been built for a store of some kind ; there was a glass 
 front ; the upper half of the door was of the same material. 
 The first room was a large one, in which were the counters, 
 desks, tables and other furniture of a counting-room. 
 Beyond this, a small room, in which, at a desk, was seated 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 105 
 
 a handsome man, with a long, silky, flaxen beard, and hair 
 which matched in hue. 
 
 I was presented to him : " Mr. Worden, Mr. Storey's 
 partner," said Goodsell. 
 
 Mr. Worden was very affable ; he was glad to see me, he 
 said, as he rose and warmly shook my hand with both his 
 hands. 
 
 I felt relieved : if this was a specimen of the partnership, 
 the remainder of it could not be so terrible. 
 
 We passed on through the small room and entered a 
 much larger one beyond, and which, I could see, was dimly 
 lighted from a court at the opposite side. It was a room in 
 which there prevailed a twilight obscurity, in which there 
 appeared, seated at a small, plain table, a figure with thick 
 white hair, and a long white beard that fell, like that of a 
 patriarch, over his breast. Without seeing any more of the 
 details of the figure than the outlines and the white, I 
 knew that I was in the presence of Mr. Storey, the awful 
 ogre, the bete noir, the terror that ravaged the jungles of the 
 great West. 
 
 As I gazed at the white-crowmed figure, it seemed to 
 tower to monstrous dimensions, something like the genius 
 which issued from the casket in which it had been confined 
 by Solomon. We approached. He was looking over the 
 columns of a newspaper, and must have heard our steps, or 
 seen us out of the corner of his eyes, but he did not look 
 up ; he sat as immovable as a white statue in marble. 
 
 It was only when Goodsell said: "Mr. Storey, this is 
 
106 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 Mr. Wilkie, ' ' that he appeared to be aware of our presence. 
 Then he looked up, and I caught sight of deep-brown eyes, 
 superb in shape and expression, serious, deep, commanding, 
 and which he fixed on me as if examining my qualities 
 rather than my appearance. 
 
 "How do 3^ou do, sir?" extending his hand, and still 
 retaining his seat. 
 
 His utterance was slow, deliberate, his voice deep, im- 
 pressive, and with a suggestion of harshness rather than of 
 melodious qualities. 
 
 He invited me to take a seat. Our conversation, or, rather, 
 his, was very brief. He said he had lost an assistant 
 writer and must fill his place. Could I take it, and, if so, 
 how soon? I replied, " In three days." That would do. 
 
 He asked me no questions as to my training or experi- 
 ence ; gave no intimation as to work, whether it was day 
 or night which was wanted, nor was anything said as to 
 pay. 
 
 " There is nothing more to say, is there ? " I asked, as he 
 ceased to speak. 
 
 " Nothing ! " he answered. 
 
 ' ' Then good morning, sir. ' ' 
 
 I rose and started for the door, and at the same moment 
 he also started up, and began to move in the same direction. 
 Supposing he was going into Worden'sden, or the counting- 
 room, I stood aside to give him the precedence, which he 
 refused, and moved along at my side. In this order we 
 moved through Worden's room, and along the passage in 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 107 
 
 the counting-room which led to the front door. As I 
 reached out to open the door, he said, looking at me in- 
 quiringly, and as if there might be some doubt in it : 
 
 1 ' You will come without fail in the three days ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, sir, if I'm alive ! " 
 
 He returned down the passage, saying nothing when he 
 left. 
 
 I re-entered the editorial room at nine A. m. on the 
 agreed morning. A small, swarthy man with jet-black 
 hair, large, very dark eyes, and a face full of intensity, sat 
 at a small table glancing over a newspaper. We made our- 
 selves acquainted. He was, he said, Mr. M. L,. Hopkins, 
 senior assistant editor. I was, I said, the successor of Mr. 
 Isham. He was pleased to see me. For several years 
 thereafter we occupied tables in the same room. 
 
 ' ' Do you prefer a pen or pencil for your writing ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " I think I prefer a pencil." 
 
 1 ' Very well ; I'll get you a supply of material. ' ' He went 
 out and soon returned with pencils and soft writing-paper. 
 
 I often wonder why I selected the pencil in preference to 
 the pen. I had never in all my writing used anything, 
 even in the war, but the last-named. I recalled, as he laid 
 the pencils and paper before me, how, less than a month 
 before, I had been in the office of the St. I^ouis Republican, 
 and had noticed that the venerable senior of the staff was 
 scratching out his ' ' stuff ' ' with a lead pencil on soft paper. 
 
108 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 It seemed to be something effeminate, and I felt a species of 
 contempt for the writer and his products. 
 
 Hopkins, I saw, had before him a pile of good, solid 
 foolscap, a big bottle of ink, and a collection of steel- 
 pointed spears. 
 
 I took possession of the table pointed out to me by Mr. 
 Hopkins, and, as Mr. Storey had not yet come, I studied 
 the room. It was spacious on the floor, high as to ceiling, 
 lighted dimly from the dirty windows of the light-shaft. 
 There was a book-case, with glass doors, containing per- 
 haps one or two hundred books of a very miscellaneous 
 kind, and piled in a corner were great numbers of black- 
 coated official reports, and litters of newspapers. 
 
 There was a carpet on the floor, a sofa on one side, all 
 of which substantially comprised the furniture of the 
 editorial room. 
 
XXIII. 
 
 Getting Broken to Harness. 
 
 Probably at no time in my journalistic experience was 
 I in so great a quandary, so perplexed, so undecided what 
 to do, and how to do it. I felt that much, ever}' thing, in 
 fact, depended on the impression which would be produced 
 by my initial effort. 
 
 I pondered over the problem for a long time. Should it 
 be something on the war question ; a political essay ; a smart 
 denunciation of some military commander? These and 
 others of the kind might strike the editor-in-chief as being 
 pretentious, stiff, presumptuous. 
 
 Meanwhile Storey came in. I glanced over my shoulder 
 at him, but he noticed neither me nor my colleague. He 
 seated himself and commenced opening a pile of letters. ' 
 His presence considerably intensified my embarrassment. 
 
 It was an hour or more after I had taken my seat, when 
 my eye lighted on a brief account of an outrage perpetrated 
 on the inmates of a charitable institution for the care of 
 poor children. Here was the sought-for theme ! Some- 
 thing to awaken the sympathy of the tender-hearted ; to 
 arouse righteous indignation ; to stir the pulses of the pub- 
 lic. It contained pathetic elements ; it involved pity ; it was 
 
 109 
 
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 just the class of craft needed with which to embark on un- 
 known waters. 
 
 I wrote up the subject in my best style ; I was poetical 
 without being ' ' sloppy, ' ' indignant without being brutal 
 in expression, and Christian-like in my demand for the 
 punishment of the guilt of the culpable managers. 
 
 I added two or three short articles, and, in the afternoon 
 at about four o'clock, walked humbly to the table of the 
 silent sphynx, and laid my package before him. He did not 
 look up, nor in the least indicate that he was aware of my 
 existence or presence. That night was a long and trouble- 
 some one. Would my articles be in? Would the "old 
 man " throw them into the waste-basket, or would he print 
 them ? Long before daylight I was in the street waiting, 
 hoping, half-despairing, for an early Times. A newsboy's 
 cry at last echoed along the distance, and, a moment later, 
 I had one in my possession. 
 
 I scarcely dared unfold it. I kept saying to myself: 
 ' ' They are not in ! " I finally opened it to the editorial 
 page, and scanned it with a vision obscured by doubt. I 
 failed to see the articles, and my heart bolted into my 
 mouth ! Then I looked over the page in detail, and, this 
 time, found them. They were there, just as I had written 
 them, punctuation and all. 
 
 This may seem a confession of great weakness on the 
 part of one who had written as much as I had before I 
 joined the Times. I never afterwards had any hesitation as 
 to theme or treatment ; but, in this instance, I was puzzled, 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. in 
 
 mystified by the incomprehensible enigma that filled the 
 atmosphere in which I wrote. 
 
 Storey, at that period, was a person to command respect. 
 He was abont forty-five 3^ears of age, in the very prime of 
 manhood. He was fully six feet in height, with a fine 
 head, poised on his shoulders with the grace of an Apollo ; 
 his figure was easily and perfectly erect ; his chest was 
 strong, not with the contour of an athlete, but the lines 
 which indicate flexibility, activity and strength. 
 
 His arms were long, with slender hands, and shapely, 
 tapering fingers. His feet were narrow and long, his legs 
 perfectly straight, and well shaped in calf and thigh, and 
 his hips were slender enough to harmonize with the width 
 of his chest. 
 
 His face was especially intelligent, noble, dignified and 
 aristocratic. His forehead was deep, full, massive, beauti- 
 fully rounded ; his nose strong, and characteristic of vast 
 will-power ; his mouth artistically carved, and his eyes — 
 one of his finest features — were a deep hazel, large, clear, 
 and wonderfully expressive. 
 
 His long beard and ample hair, white as snow, did not 
 suggest age, but rather a grand dignity, which added much 
 to the attractiveness of his splendid head. 
 
 A few da} T s after connecting myself with the Times, 
 met two gentlemen on Randolph Street who were walking 
 arm in arm. One of them was a man with jet-black hair 
 and beard, and who, in all other respects, resembled Storey. 
 The next day, after the senior had .taken his seat, I glanced 
 
ii2 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 at him out of the corner of my eye, and saw a man with 
 raven locks and beard. So far as I remember, this one 
 time was the only one in which he resorted to the use of 
 the d}re-pot. As the dye faded out, and all sorts of queer 
 and grotesque blotches came into view, he was, for a time, 
 an Apollo masquerading as a Silenus. 
 
 He was statuesque in his immobility, and more particu- 
 larly in his silence, as he sat before his table in the center 
 of the dim editorial room. I was told by Worden, his 
 partner, that Storey had insisted that employes never should 
 be recognized on the streets, or in other places. The 
 employes were to be regarded as mere machines — to be 
 operated, but in no sense to be human beings. 
 
 The first year I sat within almost hand-reaching distance 
 of Mr. Storey, and never once during that period did he 
 say, ' ' Good morning ! " or in any way utter a word unless 
 I asked of him instruction in some treatment of political 
 or other questions. 
 
 One night, I startled him out of his silence, as I happened 
 to meet him, and informed him that a very important 
 employe, connected with the composition department, was 
 indulging in a big drunk, and wound up my communication 
 by offering my services to take the other man's place. 
 
 Storey looked at me with as much astonishment as if it 
 were the first time he had ever seen me. 
 
 " Thank you ! I'll see about it, and if I need you, I'll 
 send for you ! ' ' 
 
 Had I met him and told him that the next building to 
 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 113 
 
 the office was on fire, he would have passed on without 
 notice or reply. But when the information concerned the 
 1 ' make-up ' ' of the columns of his paper, it was a matter of 
 vital importance. From this time it seemed to me that 
 when we met he looked at me with a dim, half-conscious 
 expression as if he might have somewhere before seen me. 
 
XXIV. 
 
 Jealousy and Hatred of Storey. 
 
 These years were stirring ones in the career of the editor. 
 He had excited the envy of the slow-going newspapers 
 that were in existence when he came among them. They 
 were no more than country sheets in the matter of enter- 
 prise. Even in news from the seat of war, the feeble and 
 meager reports of the Associated Press were in the main 
 relied on for intelligence. Special dispatches were rarely 
 emplo3 r ed ; they cost money ; and when the white-haired 
 evangel came here from Detroit, and began to distribute the 
 revelation of news, he roused the dozing fogies of the news- 
 papers from a comfortable nap. 
 
 He spread great, staring head-lines through his columns, 
 which were black, numerous, and full of promise of start- 
 ling information. Wherever a correspondent with the army 
 was within possible reach of the telegraph-wire he was in- 
 structed to use it without limit. 
 
 "Telegraph fully all news, and when there is no news, 
 send rumors. ' ' 
 
 This was a telegram which I received from Storey dur- 
 ing a period when I went • to Thomas' army at Nashville 
 
 114 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 115 
 
 to temporarily relieve George Rust, who was the regular 
 correspondent, but who was taken ill. 
 
 All the news by wire, and rumors where there is no news ! 
 This was Storey's idea, and it worried the Rip Van Winkles 
 of the Chicago press. Hence they hated him ; he had 
 awakened them from a comfortable ( ( snooze. ' ' Of course, 
 they did not tell the public the real reason of their dislike 
 for the strange editor ; they professed to dislike him on patri- 
 otic grounds. He was a rebel, a traitor, a copperhead, a 
 secessionist, a scoundrel who ought to be hanged by Judge 
 Ivynch, a reptile that ought to be exterminated at sight. 
 
 The \0y2X mob took all these teachings as Gospel truth. 
 Now and then detachments of regiments, coming home on 
 a furlough and to recruit, announced days in advance of 
 their coming that, when they reached Chicago, they were 
 going to "stop long enough to clean out that damned 
 secesh sheet, the Times" 
 
 They didn't, however. There were boxes of muskets, 
 pistols and ball-cartridges in the building, and numbers of 
 pipes connected with the steam-chest of the boilers. 
 Courageous men were on watch night and day, and others, 
 well-armed, could be summoned at a certain signal. No, 
 they did not attack the "secesh concern," and it was well 
 for their skins, their hair, their flesh, and their bones, that 
 they didn't I 
 
 There was, however, just a slight effort made to suppress 
 "treason" and punish a "traitor." One forenoon, four 
 loyalists in blue — a corporal and three privates — all brim- 
 
n6 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 ming over with lofty patriotism and poor whisky, staggered 
 into the counting-room, bent on destroying a nest of rebel- 
 lion. 
 
 They were talking very loudly, albeit somewhat incoher- 
 ently and huskily, of ' ' copperhead, ' ' and the like, and 
 shaking their fists at the frightened clerks, when Mr. Storey 
 entered the door from the street and walked rapidly along 
 the passage-way in the direction of his room in the rear. 
 He paid no attention to the patriots, and was passing 
 through them, when the corporal staggered against him. 
 
 "Who you a-pushin', you damned old secesh son of a 
 ? ' ' said the gallant patriot in blue. 
 
 As quick as a flash of light Storey turned, seized the 
 corporal by the throat, and pushed him backward until they 
 reached the window, through which the patriot went, head 
 and shoulders, carrying a considerable portion of the sash 
 and glass with him into the street. This done, Storey, 
 without a glance at the other loyalists, who were rapidly 
 falling back toward the sidewalk, went to his room, not 
 having uttered a word during the occurrence. 
 
 Still every loyal citizen believed he had a God-given 
 right to attack Storey on sight, and kill him if he could. 
 That patriot, that eminent lover of human freedom, George 
 Trussell, a notorious professional "skin gambler," felt his 
 loyalty so much outraged by Storey's treason that, see- 
 ing the editor coming down the street, he put a good- 
 sized cobble-stone under his coat, and, as the ' ' traitor ' ' 
 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 117 
 
 passed, pulled out his weapon and from behind struck Mr. 
 Storey on the head, felling him to the sidewalk. 
 
 The latter regained his feet, pulled a Derringer and fired 
 at the ' ' avenger, ' ' who was backing away with an expres- 
 sion on his face of mortal apprehension. The shot missed 
 its mark, but it was not very long after that Trussell was 
 shot dead by Mollie Trussell, his mistress. The shooting 
 occurred directly across the street from the office of the 
 Times. 
 
 A gigantic loyalist, mainly hair and muscle, named 
 11 Horse Eddy," had his patriotic instincts aggrieved by 
 Storey's treason. Meeting him one day in front of the 
 Sherman House, he delivered a tremendous and unexpected 
 blow with his huge fist directly in the face of the editor, 
 sending him prone on the walk. 
 
 Goodsell was assaulted one night in a dark place, and 
 beaten until he was insensible. 
 
 Down among the armies the war against the Times was 
 carried on. At Memphis its circulation was prohibited. 
 Sherman, in his march south toward Atlanta, forbade its 
 entrance into his lines. There were country places and 
 small towns all over the West in which no Times were 
 taken, and in which its reading subjected the offender to 
 social and church ostracism. And yet, despite all this 
 opposition ; despite the attempts of Burnside, the denun- 
 ciation of the Republican press, the fierce assaults of the 
 pulpit, and the universal howl of the stay-at-home populace, 
 the Times grew in influence and circulation. 
 
XXV. 
 
 Mr. Storey as a Worker. 
 
 Mr. Storey was a hard worker in some directions. He 
 wrote but little, rarely ever an editorial with head-line, but 
 mainly paragraphs. Generally his compositions were char- 
 acterized by force rather than elegance. There was in his 
 style something of the fugue movement ; the announce- 
 ment of a motive, and then its repetition over and over 
 again ; the blows of ' a heavy hammer delivered repeatedly 
 on the same spot. 
 
 Mr. M. Iy. Hopkins and myself furnished all the editorials, 
 save the occasional paragraphs of the editor-in-chief, for 
 some two years. 
 
 Mr. Storey's hard work in connection consisted of a close 
 supervision of every department and detail of the paper. 
 He had a wonderful exactness, as, for instance, no feature 
 could gain publication in an editorial which in the slightest 
 degree contradicted anything in other editorials, whether 
 they appeared in the same issue or any other one, however 
 widely the two might be separated. 
 
 When the forms were being ' ' made up " it was his cus- 
 tom to give the operation a personal supervision. Each 
 article had its place in the columns according to its news 
 
 118 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 119 
 
 value, or importance in other respects. It must ''break 
 over " the top of the column ; that is, where it reached to 
 the next column, it must be divided at a certain part, so as 
 to show a certain amount in one column and a certain 
 amount in the next. 
 
 A special study of his was the use of type for display 
 ' ' heads. ' ' Each heading, according to the importance of the 
 article, must have so many lines of such a kind and size — 
 a disposition which he perfected after a long and exhaustive 
 study of possible type-effects. Printing was the one art in 
 which he excelled. 
 
 In view of the exactness thus obtained in the make-up of 
 the columns of the Times, one can possibly fancy my dis- 
 gust when, one day, a little chap, of unmistakable English 
 origin, rushed into my room — we had then moved into the 
 new building on Dearborn Street, in which each writer had 
 his own apartment — and in a fussy, imperious, over- 
 bearing way said : 
 
 " Your paper his hall made up 'iggledy-piggledy I You 
 want to 'ave some one take 'old hof hit who hunder- 
 stands 'is business." 
 
 1 ' Do you understand it ? " 
 
 " I know hall habout hit ! " 
 
 ' ' You do, do you ? Well, you are exactly the person we 
 are looking for ! You are the right man ; one we have 
 been in search of for years ! How lucky that you came 
 along just at this critical time 1 " 
 
 His face lighted up with a warm satisfaction. 
 
120 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 " That's good news ! When can hi commence ? " 
 " Right away, probably ; but you'll have to see another 
 man. Go down to the corner room, and knock pretty hard 
 at the door, for the occupant is rather hard of hearing. 
 Speak up in a high tone to the old philanthropist with the 
 benevolent face and venerable hair and beard. He is a little 
 peculiar, but you needn't mind that, for he's all right in 
 the long run. ' ' 
 
 "Aw, thanks ! You hare very kind, hi'm sure ! " 
 I opened the door to let him pass out, and, leaving it 
 open, stood in the doorway. Storey's room was the second 
 one from mine. 
 
 " 'Adn't you best go and hintroduce me? " 
 
 " Not at all necessary. It's all right 1 Just go ahead 1 " 
 
 There was a tremendous pounding on the editor's door, 
 
 to which, owing, no doubt, to the astonishment of Storey at 
 
 the racket, there was no immediate response. Then the 
 
 door was again smitten by a vigorous tattoo, and then it 
 
 was suddenly pulled open, and Storey, with eyes blazing 
 
 with fury, thundered, in a voice almost incoherent with rage : 
 
 ' ' What do you want ? ' ' 
 
 " Hi'm an English printer, and the make-up of your 
 paper his hall 'iggledy-piggledy." 
 ' ' What ! ' ' came in cyclonic tones. 
 "Hi say the make-up of your paper his hall 'iggledy- 
 
 piggledy , and hi ' ' 
 
 " Get out of here, you damned idiot, or I'll throw you 
 down the stairway and break your cursed neck I " 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM, 121 
 
 " Appalled at the spectacle and the language, the ambitious 
 young Englishman fled. 
 
 The idea that any one should insinuate to Storey that a 
 system on which he prided himself, and which he had spent 
 years in perfecting, was a failure, was an insult of intolerable 
 dimensions. 
 
 One of Storey's most arduous industries, which occupied 
 a great deal of his time and exercised a great deal of his 
 patience, was in an effort to make his Hoe press do good 
 work. There was a procession of new pressmen passing 
 through the vaults every day. The editor would turn up 
 when the edition was struck off, and, after an examination 
 of the impression, would thunder at the pressman : " You 
 get out ! ' ' 
 
 And thus one victim after another turned up and disap- 
 peared, till one day there came along a young fellow who 
 announced his desire to secure a place as chief pressman of 
 the Times. Storey heard the request, grinning maliciously 
 as he thought of the fate of the present applicant's prede- 
 cessors — very like the princes who lost their heads in their 
 endeavor to cure the ailing daughter of the king. 
 
 Nobody, however, was barred, and the young man was 
 admitted to a trial. 
 
 The next morning the editor took up the latest imprint 
 of the issue, and, a moment later, breathing hard through 
 his set teeth, as he always did when he was mad, he was 
 rushing for the press-room. He found the new man under 
 
122 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 the press, engaged in some mechanical tinkering, and at 
 once yelled at him : 
 
 " Here you ! Damn you ! Get out ! You're no good ! " 
 
 The youth crawled from under, erected himself and 
 exhibited a figure with a bull neck, and legs, thighs and 
 torso like a prize-fighter. He glared defiantly at the editor 
 and answered : 
 
 "I'll see 3'ou damned first.! You can't put me out, nor 
 all the men in your concern." 
 
 Storey seemed to become paralyzed over this unexpected 
 and insolent rejoinder. How it came about I do not know, 
 but I do know that for more than twenty years, from the 
 date of this interview, ' ' Jack ' ' Woodlock — for that was 
 the name of the athletic young man: — remained as the 
 principal pressman of the Times establishment. 
 
 Another pursuit which occupied much of the attention of 
 Mr. Storey was the study of the New York newspapers. In 
 those days the present lavishness of special telegrams was 
 unknown. Now ample details of events from all parts of 
 civilization are sent to each great newspaper, to the extent, 
 in cases of importance, of many thousand words. Then 
 the wires were used more sparingly ; a brief summary of 
 momentous affairs would be sent by telegraph, and the 
 local newspapers would be relied on for complete accounts. 
 
 New York was the great news center of the continent, 
 and, hence, its journals were depended on for full particu- 
 lars of transactions of consequence. 
 
 On the news editor fell the important duty of receiving 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 123 
 
 these papers and going through them. All the news of 
 value which had been indicated hy telegraph had to be 
 scissored out and prepared for the printer. It was a work 
 which required extraordinary capacity of a special character. 
 As the New York issues always reached Chicago late at 
 night, but a short time remained to get them in shape. 
 
 It was not enough to cut them out and prepare their 
 headings. Each article must be treated according to its 
 value ; one must be cut down one-half or more ; others 
 must be condensed by rewriting ; and only here and there 
 were there instances in which an article could be used in 
 its entirety. 
 
 It may readily be seen that the news editor who could 
 well perform this task must be one capable of the exercise 
 of infinite swiftness in action and judgment. The man who 
 performed this work for the Times was Harry Scovel, who 
 justly merited the reputation of being the very best of his 
 kind on the continent. He would go through a hundred 
 newspaper " exchanges," apparently only glancing at 
 them, and yet would never miss an item of the smallest 
 consequence. 
 
 Bach morning Storey would pore over the New York 
 papers, the Times and the city rivals, to compare the 
 results. If an}^ of the other local journals had a superior 
 paper, or the extracts in his own newspaper were not what 
 he thought they should be — too much or too little — dire 
 was the racket. Blasphemy, curses, savage denunciations 
 shattered the atmosphere. 
 
XXVI. 
 
 A Mysterious Faujng-Off. 
 
 There came a time when the collections of the Times 
 began to fall off in a most inexplicable manner. Worden, 
 the junior partner, became very much alarmed by these con- 
 ditions, and finally concluded that the concern was destined 
 to failure, and induced Storey to buy him out. He took 
 for his share in the paper a job office and some cash. 
 
 Very soon after he had left the firm, Henry B. Chandler, 
 the book-keeper, offered his resignation. As he was the 
 only man who knew all the complications and intricacies of 
 the business of the establishment, Mr. Storey was com- 
 pelled to give him a quarter interest in the Times on easy 
 terms. Strangely enough, the difficulties attending the 
 collection of accounts suddenly disappeared ; a large num- 
 ber of bills which had been pronounced valueless became of 
 par value, and so extended was the income from this source 
 that the profits substantially paid the cost of Mr. Chandler's 
 quarter interest. 
 
 Two or three years later, Mr. Chandler parted with his 
 interest to Mr. Storey for $80,000. 
 
 This transaction suggests a personal experience. One 
 day a party of gentlemen, among whom was Mr. Storey, 
 
 124 
 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 125 
 
 were together somewhere, when my name was mentioned, 
 and Mr. Storey announced, after some complimentary 
 remarks anent myself, that he intended to give me an inter- 
 est in the Times. This was repeated to me by one of his 
 auditors, and, as may readily be believed, inspired me with 
 unalloyed delight. 
 
 For at least two months I was in a condition of feverish 
 excitement, waiting for Mr. Storey to announce his purpose. 
 All this period, which was an eternity, he said nothing of 
 the thing nearest my heart. He was agreeable, unusually 
 so, beamed on me genial^ and exhibited much friendliness. 
 At last, at one of our meetings, he said, as he gazed on me 
 with great benignancy in his glance : 
 
 11 Wilkie, how would you like an interest in the Times f " 
 
 Confused by the offer, it was with difficulty I could say 
 anything whatever, but I finally managed to stammer my 
 thanks. 
 
 ' ' You are a young man, and capable of much hard, good 
 work. As a member of the firm, you would undoubtedly 
 be willing to constantly put out your best efforts. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Most certainly ! I could not do too much to express 
 nry gratitude for so great a favor, and so distinguished a 
 consideration on your part." 
 
 ''We'll think the matter over, and some da} T we will 
 resume it. How would an eighth interest suit you ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' It would be beyond my wildest dreams ! ' ' 
 
 I will make a long story short. For two years, or nearly 
 to the time of the great fire, he dangled before my lips this 
 
126 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OP 
 
 luscious bait, and kept me nibbling at it. I did the work of 
 two men, and always, when I attempted to bring up the 
 partnership matter, he would postpone it. 
 
 At last I became convinced that he was only tricking me 
 for the purpose of getting more work out of me. I was so 
 enraged over the conviction that I wrote him a note, in 
 which I stated that I should decline any further talk in re- 
 gard to a partnership. 
 
 The next day, when I saw him, he said : 
 
 " As to that partnership, I have determined never to take 
 another partner." (Chandler had then just gone out.) 
 ' ' But I will tell you what I will do for you : I will raise 
 your salary ten dollars a week, which will be between our- 
 selves, and will not go on the books. ' ' 
 
 I had to be satisfied. For over ten years I was paid this 
 extra salary, getting it from him in checks, in large amounts 
 as I needed it. Whether or not this extra sum paid me 
 compensated for the additional labor I performed during 
 the two years waiting, I am not prepared to say. 
 
 The Sunday Times was not started till a year or so after 
 I became connected with the institution. It almost imme- 
 diately sprang into popularity. It was in this issue of the 
 Times that I took a considerable part, from which both 
 myself and the paper attained a substantial reputation. A 
 series of articles entitled ' ' Walks about Chicago ' ' secured 
 from the public a ready appreciation, which largely in- 
 creased the sale of the Sunday paper, and resulted, in 1869, 
 in the sale of several editions in book form, in which many 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 127 
 
 of the "Walks" appeared, and several other articles, the 
 work being entitled, ' ' Walks about Chicago, and Army 
 and Navy Sketches. ' ' 
 
 The fire of 1871 destroyed the stereotype plates of this 
 book and large quantities of the printed edition. 
 
 I wish to state here that I have usually had the credit 
 of being the author of a series of papers which appeared 
 in the Sunday Times headed ' ' Walks among the Churches, " 
 and which were published about 1873. The credit is 
 wholly undeserved. They were the product of a reporter, 
 John R. Bothwell, an ex-captain of the regular army, and 
 who has since obtained large notoriety as the editor of 
 the Round Table, which had a brief existence in New 
 York, and as the participant, with Professor Clark, of a 
 New England university, in a huge mining project which 
 failed and ruined many, and as a promoter of railway 
 schemes in which he made an immense fortune. 
 
 These articles created a tremendous excitement, especially 
 among church people. They were audacious exposures of 
 social abuses in church bodies, and brought to light innumer- 
 able flagrant iniquities among men and women against 
 whose morals there had never before been any suspicion. 
 
 As the articles appeared there was a frightful commotion 
 created among the churches whose misdemeanors had 
 already been given, and an anticipatory convulsion among 
 those whose turn was yet to come and who did not know 
 when, or at what point, the bolt would strike. 
 
 There was, in connection with this occurrence, a very un- 
 
I2S PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 complimentary development of certain feminine traits. So 
 soon as the articles began to attract attention, the writer 
 was inundated with missives from women, expressing a 
 lavish admiration of him and asking the privilege of mak- 
 ing his acquaintance. Many of these, as a matter of course, 
 were from the lewder feminine elements, but, at the same 
 time, many of the silly fools were shown by examination to 
 be wives and even mothers of irreproachable standing in 
 their respective social places. 
 
 As a matter of fact, the same tendency is exhibited in the 
 case of any man who secures notoriety through well-ordered, 
 or vicious — more especially the latter — efforts. 
 
 For a time, I published my "Walks about Chicago " 
 without a signature. One day a lady, an acquaintance of 
 mine, was in a book-store, and overheard the proprietor 
 complimenting a young litterateur on the success of his 
 " Walks about Chicago." He modestly accepted the com- 
 mendation and made no denial of the authorship. 
 
 My acquaintance informed me of the incident, and there- 
 upon I determined to take a pen-name for my articles. 
 Going along the street, a bill-board caught my e}^e on which 
 was a poster announcing the opera of "II Poliuto, ' ' 
 meaning the martyr. I adopted Poliuto, not for its mean- 
 ing, but simply as a name distinct from any other. 
 
 It was a great concession on the part of Storey to permit 
 the use of this signature, and it was the first, and, in fact, the 
 only one that was allowed for many years. His motive was 
 to discourage individuality on the part of his writers. 
 
7HIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 129 
 
 When the Sunday Times was first started certain matter 
 appeared first in the Saturday issue and then reappeared in 
 the Sunday edition. 
 
 One Saturday there appeared over the signature of Poliuto 
 an entire page of biographical sketches of the leading mem- 
 bers of the Chicago bar. On Sunday the same article 
 appeared without any signature. 
 
 ' ' Why did you leave off the name of Poliuto from the 
 Sunday article on the bar ? ' ' was asked Storey, by one of 
 my friends. 
 
 " Because I wanted the Times to have the credit." 
 
 This, so far as I remember, was the only instance in 
 which it was omitted, during a use which extended over 
 twenty- two 3-ears. 
 
 Up to the time of the great fire, my work was principally 
 editorial writing, of which I furnished from a column to a 
 column and a half each day. Considering that the Times 
 was then a ' ' blanket sheet, ' ' with very long columns, the 
 daily labor was no small one. At odd spells I furnished 
 translations, mainly from the French, for the Sunday issue, 
 and for which I received extra pay from the office. 
 
 George P. Upton, of the Tribune, over the nom de plume 
 of ' ' Peregrine Pickle, ' ' published in the Sunday issue of 
 his journal special articles which, with those of Poliuto, 
 fairly divided the attention of the public, both meeting with 
 gratifying success. 
 
XXVII. 
 
 An Audacious Editor. 
 
 The ante-fire course of Mr. Storey was audacious in the 
 extreme. He bitterly, unrelentingly opposed and lampooned 
 President Lincoln, belittled the Federal leaders, made of 
 Grant a target for incessant malignant vituperation, made 
 light of national victories and exaggerated defeats. He 
 had only praise for the Confederate leaders and their 
 followers, their courage, their devotion, and their fighting 
 qualities. The Northern armies were composed of merce- 
 nary aliens, of the foreign scum, the vermin and riff-raff 
 of old-world slums and gutters. 
 
 Insolent, audacious, defiant as he was in war matters, his 
 paper became almost equally noted for another quality in 
 its ante-fire existence. This feature was its glaring inde- 
 cency in its selection of topics and the manner of their 
 handling. There was a time when his paper was as rigidly 
 tabooed from decent families as it would have been had it 
 been the small-pox. 
 
 Scandals in private life, revolting details from the evidence 
 taken in police-court trials, imaginary liaisons of a filthy 
 character, reeked, seethed like a hell's broth in the Times' 
 cauldrons, and made a stench in the nostrils of decent 
 
 130 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 131 
 
 people. All this was done with a purpose : it was to attract 
 attention to the paper, to secure notoriety, advertising and 
 circulation. 
 
 The city editor, during the period of the prevalence of 
 this pestilence, remarked to me, with an unctuous satisfac- 
 tion : 
 
 " I have a great force in the city department. Two of 
 my men are ex-convicts, ten of them are divorced husbands, 
 and not a single one of them is living with his own wife 1 " 
 
 It was this class of material that furnished the food daily 
 offered on the local board of the Times. It was a feast 
 fitted only for the tastes and appetites of vultures and 
 carrion-loving vermin. 
 
 The attempt of Lydia Thompson to ' ' horsewhip ' ' Mr. 
 Storey grew directly from this prevalence of the indecent in 
 the management of the Times. The editor had a quarrel 
 with Albert Crosby, the owner of the Opera-house ; in fact, 
 it seemed a part of his policy to be at odds with theatrical 
 managers. For j T ears there was a bitter feud between 
 Storey and McVicker. 
 
 One of my first duties after I joined the paper was to 
 attend McVicker' s, under the guise of a critic, but with in- 
 structions to denounce everything irrespective of its merits. 
 I failed to fill the bill, as I could not very enthusiastically 
 condemn things which I saw to be meritorious. I was 
 withdrawn as dramatic critic, and the position was given to 
 one of the Chisholm brothers, the one who was drowned in 
 the experimental trip of a vessel built expressly to defy 
 
i 3 2 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 submersion. Chisholm was reading in the cabin, when the 
 vessel was suddenly turned bottom-side up, and could not 
 be righted. 
 
 In his desire to further his quarrel with Crosby, Mr. 
 Storey attacked the ' ' British Blondes, ' ' then performing at 
 the Opera-house. They were large-limbed, beefy specimens 
 of a heavy class of British barmaids, of whom Lydia 
 Thompson was the principal, and Pauline Markham, lieu- 
 tenant. They were a novelty in Chicago and created a 
 tremendous furore among the bald-heads and other suscepti- 
 ble masculine elements. 
 
 Drawing vast crowds, they were a source of profit to 
 Crosby. To lessen this patronage, Storey attacked the 
 chastity of the British visitors. Attack followed attack, at 
 which the muscular blondes could not but have rejoiced, as 
 it increased the attendance, till one morning there appeared, 
 at the foot of the editorial columns, the following : 
 
 1 ' Bawds at the Opera-house ! Where's the police ? ' ' 
 
 This was too much, and Lydia vowed revenge. 
 
 The afternoon of the morning on which this morceau was 
 offered to the lips of the public, a small gathering, consisting 
 of two women and two men, might have been seen on 
 Wabash Avenue north of Twelfth Street. One of the men 
 was a large, athletic person, the other a little chap, wearing 
 a single eye-glass, which, as in the case of Dundreary, was 
 constantly slipping from his eye. The two women were 
 Lydia Thompson and Pauline Markham ; the big fellow 
 was the manager of the ' ' British Blondes, ' ' and who was 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 133 
 
 then, or later, the husband of I^ydia Thompson. The little 
 chap was a newspaper reporter, ''Archie" Gordon, who 
 was supposed to be very much enamored with Miss 
 Thompson. 
 
 This group did not move far from the corner. They 
 chatted in excited tones and accompanied their words with 
 vehement gesticulations, meanwhile, at short intervals, 
 casting their glances along Wabash Avenue to the north. 
 
 Coming south on State Street was a couple — a very 
 handsome woman, tastefully dressed, about thirty years of 
 age, and a gentleman twenty years her senior, a tall, dis- 
 tinguished-appearing person, with a long white beard and 
 hair of the same snowy hue. They were in excellent 
 humor, laughing, chatting, and moving with a leisurely 
 step, which indicated that they were enjoying their walk. 
 
 This couple left State Street at Harmon Court, and 
 strolled toward the lake. When they reached Wabash 
 Avenue, they wheeled to the south, and came into view of 
 a party of four people waiting on the next corner. 
 
 The four who were waiting caught sight of the couple, 
 and at once exhibited intense agitation. 
 
 ' ' He has a woman with him, ' ' said the large man ; ' ' we 
 will have to put off the affair. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Why put it off ? What difference does it make if there 
 is a woman ? " queried the little chap. 
 
 '* It may be his wife," said Markham. 
 
 1 ' I don't care whether she is his wife or not. If she is, so 
 much the better. It will make his punishment all the more 
 
134 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 humiliating!" ejaculated I^ydia Thompson, with fierce 
 eagerness. ' ' He has outrageously insulted us, who are 
 women, and if she is his wife, he will get an idea of what it 
 means to attack one of the sex ! ' ' 
 
 The pair approached, still chatting. They saw the group 
 at the corner and thought nothing of it, they were so 
 absorbed in their conversation. As they came opposite the 
 four, the latter sprang forward, one of the women, as she 
 came, drawing a riding-whip from under her wrap, which 
 she raised in the air, and with the words, ' ' You dirty old 
 scoundrel ! ' ' struck at the face of the white-haired man. 
 He caught the blow on his left arm, and, with his right, 
 seized by the throat the woman who had struck him. At 
 this instant the little chap sprang on his back and began 
 clawing his face ; the large man reached forward, tore the 
 hand of the other from the woman's throat, and then the 
 two grappled. 
 
 " Wilbur, pull your pistol 1" shrieked the woman who 
 had accompanied the white-haired man. 
 
 He made no reply. The little chap still clung to his back. 
 The other woman of the group of four was belaboring the 
 elderly man with a parasol. 
 
 The two men writhed fiercely for a couple of moments and 
 then went to the ground, the white-haired man uppermost. 
 Just then some men came running to the spot and separated 
 the combatants. 
 
 The next morning all the persons were before " Chief 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 135 
 
 Justice " Augustus Banyon, a paunchy, swollen-nosed, red- 
 faced celebrity of the daj^. 
 
 Mr. Store)- stood up and told his version of the attack. 
 
 "That creature, there," pointing to Itydia Thompson, 
 " undertook to strike me with a whip. I caught her hy the 
 throat and would have choked out her life, when that little 
 chap," indicating Gordon, with a contemptuous look and 
 gesture, "jumped on my back, and that ruffian attacked me 
 from the front ! ' ' 
 
 " Why did you not use your pistol, as Mrs. Storey asked 
 you to do ? " queried John Lyle King, who appeared for the 
 defendants. 
 
 1 ' Because I did not need it, sir ! " was answered in a tone 
 as if Storey regarded the question as an impertinence. 
 
 "The defendants are found guilty, and fined each $100 
 and costs ! " was the verdict of the " Chief Justice. " 
 
 Of course the collection of the fines was suspended. 
 
 Storey walked out of the court-room not showing a scratch 
 from the conflict. 
 
 The other city journals, the next morning, had articles 
 with immense display lines, headed " Storey Horsewhipped 
 by Lydia Thompson," followed by distorted accounts of the 
 occurrence. The telegraph had been busy the night before, 
 and the same morning there appeared in every newspaper of 
 importance in America the tying statement that Wilbur F. 
 Storey had been "horsewhipped by Lydia Thompson." 
 
 For months and years the opposition newspapers and 
 orators replied to every political argument made by the 
 
136 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 Times with the statement that it was only the assertion of 
 the old scoundrel " horsewhipped by Lydia Thompson." 
 
 As a matter of fact he was never "horsewhipped by 
 Iv3 r dia Thompson." He was attacked by four ruffians, two 
 male and two female, and would have strangled one of the 
 women, and broken the neck, or back, of one of the men, or 
 both of them, had he not been interfered with by outsiders. 
 
 The headline of a truthful account of the affair should 
 have been : ' ' Editor Storey attacked by a mob, which he 
 vanquishes single-handed. ' ' 
 
 The incidents of this famous and generally-misrepre- 
 sented event, as I have related them, are correct. They are 
 founded on conversations with Mr. and Mrs. Storey, the 
 testimony before Banyon, the statement of Dr. Reynolds, 
 who interfered, and what was seen by others. 
 
 Storey I believe to have been a thoroughly " game " man ; 
 one who, in common language, literally ' ' feared neither 
 God, man, nor devil." I know of but one instance in 
 which he ever showed anything suggestive of the white 
 feather. 
 
 During a legislative election, some time in about 1867 or 
 '68, a candidate named Morrison was presented by the 
 Republicans. I was informed by some persons, who claimed 
 to be posted, that Morrison had deserted from the army, 
 whereupon I proceeded to baste him daily in the style which 
 so heinous an offense deserved. 
 
 One day I heard the noisy clatter of numerous heavy-shod 
 feet coming down the hall ; it ceased in front of my door, 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 137 
 
 and then there was a knock. To my " Come in ! " there 
 entered a clerk named Morrison, who was in O'Brien's art 
 and book-store, and with him three stalwart Irishmen. I 
 had known him for many years, and was very intimate with 
 him in connection with his trade. He was a mild, inoffensive 
 3'oung fellow, whom I very thoroughly liked. I noticed 
 that the entire party seemed very stern in their expression. 
 
 "Hello, Morrison, old boy, how are you? What can I 
 do for you ? Sit down, gentlemen." 
 
 My kind greeting seemed to take Morrison by surprise. 
 He gazed at me doubtfully for a moment, and then, bowing 
 his head into his hands, he began weeping violently. For 
 a moment he could do nothing but sob, and then he burst 
 out with : 
 
 11 Oh, Wilkie, how could you do it? How could you do 
 it?" 
 
 " Do what ? I don't understand you. What have I 
 done?" 
 
 "Done? Haven't you accused me of being a deserter, 
 and ruined my reputation and made me infamous ? ' ' 
 
 ' 'Are you crazy ? I accuse you of being a deserter ? I 
 have never even mentioned your name. Why should I 
 charge you. with being a deserter ? " 
 
 He opened a Times, which he had brought with him, and 
 pointed to an editorial. I read it ; it was one in which I 
 lashed the candidate Morrison. A sudden light broke over 
 me. 
 
138 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 11 Good God, Morrison ! Are you the Morrison spoken of 
 in these articles ? ' ' 
 
 " I am the candidate named Morrison whom you have 
 been abusing, and without the least shadow of justice." 
 
 " I assure you that I never had a thought of you. Even 
 had I known it was you, I would not have said it, for I 
 have known you too long and well to believe that you 
 could commit a disgraceful offense like that which I have 
 been charging this Morrison with committing. I am 
 awfully sorry the mistake has happened, and I shall fully 
 correct it in to-morrow's issue." 
 
 1 ' Thank you a thousand times ! " he said, as a smiling 
 face replaced the tear-stained one, and he seized my hand 
 and shook it heartily. We chatted pleasantly a few 
 minutes. 
 
 " Well, boys, we can go now. You see it's all a mistake." 
 " By the way, who told you that I wrote these Morrison 
 articles?" 
 
 "Why, the old man himself, who, as soon as we got in and 
 asked about the Morrison matter, said that you wrote them 
 and that we must see you ! Good-by ! ' ' 
 
 It is the rule in newspaper etiquette that the editor is per- 
 sonally responsible for everything which appears in his 
 columns. He never gives the name of the writer of an 
 article unless under very extraordinary circumstances. I 
 have since believed that the faces and stalwart figures of the 
 fierce-looking Celts who attended Morrison as a guard may 
 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 139 
 
 have constituted sufficient ' ' extraordinary circumstances ' ' 
 to permit the violation of an almost inevitable rule. 
 
 Morrison was afterwards appointed by the Federal Gov- 
 ernment to a mission of some importance in Mexico. 
 
XXVIII. 
 
 Thk Social Character of the Editor. 
 
 It is impossible in this portion of my reminiscences to 
 separate them from Mr. Storey to any considerable extent. 
 He was an essential part of them for many years ; in fact, 
 in many instances, he may be said to have been all of them. 
 
 Fidelity to truth compels the presentation of many un- 
 pleasant features in this portraiture of the great journalist. 
 He was grand in many respects, and infinitely mean in 
 others. 
 
 In the discussion of the phase of indecency connected 
 with his paper the fact that he, too, was indecent in a most 
 painful sense cannot be overlooked. He was possessed by 
 brutish instincts of a most abominable nature. He was a 
 Bacchus, a satyr, a Minotaur, all in one. He thoroughly 
 despised women ; he asserted to me frequently that women 
 were fitted only for a life in the harem — but he expressed 
 this conviction in realistic language which was intensely 
 revolting. 
 
 He had a contempt for what he termed society, although 
 how far this feeling was due to the fact that, during all his 
 life in Chicago, society shut and double-locked its doors 
 against his admission, I am not prepared to say. I have a 
 
 140 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 141 
 
 sort of indefinite impression that he did have a desire for 
 social recognition, and which I base on a single occurrence. 
 Before the fire, while living with his second wife, there 
 was a private reception given by some family on the North 
 Side. In the Times, the next morning, there appeared a 
 most eulogistic account of the reception, in which de- 
 tails were given at great length. A list of the guests was 
 published, the names of all save the editor and his wife ap- 
 pearing in the usual small type, set " solid," while those of 
 this single couple were given in capitals, with spaces above 
 and below, thus : 
 
 MR. and MRS. WILBUR F. STOREY. 
 
 The entire article had somehow the suggestion of a bid 
 for further invitations. It was very fulsome ; and the 
 prominence which he gave to his own name and that of his 
 wife had the appearance, to me, at least, of an attempt to 
 impress the reception-giving with his consequence. 
 
 He either did not cultivate good men for friends, or else, 
 if many such were cultivated, they rejected his advances. I 
 can recall but three men whom he numbered among his 
 friends : General Singleton, Judge Tree and Judge David 
 Davis. He had some chums, convivial companions, such 
 as Dr. J. Adams Allen, with whom he had in time a bitter 
 and lasting quarrel ; Dr. Fowler ; Charles Woodman, of 
 Springfield, with whom he afterwards also had trouble, and 
 K. G. Asay, a lawyer, whom he dropped very soon after his 
 third marriage. 
 
142 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 I wish here to state that what I term the indecent phases 
 of Storey's life were in existence in September, 1863, when 
 I first knew him, and terminated in 1868, on his marriage 
 with Mrs. Harriet Dodge. 
 
 His first wife was Maria P. Isham, from Jackson, Mich., 
 a petite, slender woman, with a sweet face, great sensitive- 
 ness, and an amiable disposition. Their mating was that of 
 the hawk and the dove. When I joined the Times they 
 were boarding at the Sherman House, but were not living 
 together. For the sake of appearances, they met in the 
 parlors, and went together to the table, and then separated, 
 she living in a room at the hotel, he occupying rooms in 
 the Portland and Speed blocks. 
 
 At these times, when they sat together at the table, it was 
 noticed that they never exchanged any words. They were 
 one, at that moment, in the eyes of the public, but thou- 
 sands of miles apart in reality. 
 
 A divorce, on the grounds of incompatibility, was quietly 
 obtained, alimony being granted at the rate of $2,000 a 
 year, secured by a lien on a lot owned by Storey, on Dear- 
 born Street, on the unmortgaged half of which was built 
 the new Times office. 
 
 Speed's block was on the east side of Dearborn Street, 
 between Madison Street and the first alley north, and was 
 very nearly opposite the new Times building. 
 
 The rooms occupied by the editor became very famous for 
 their infamous practices. It was rumored — in fact, known 
 to be true — that, night after night, they were the theater of 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 143 
 
 disgusting orgies in which Storey, whisky, debased women, 
 and occasionally a boon companion or two, played the prin- 
 cipal parts. 
 
 During this period of his life, in which his brute nature 
 dominated, he was often the victim of intoxication. I have 
 seen him in broad daylight reeling out of a saloon across 
 the street from the office, so overcome that he could only 
 ascend the stairway to his room with much difficulty, and, 
 once there, he would be for hours incapable of attending to 
 his usual duties. 
 
 I do not present this distressing * picture for the purpose 
 of a lesson, but solely that I may show the real Storey with 
 fidelity to the truth. 
 
 Storey, neither in the teachings of many portions of his 
 own acts, nor in his utterances, was an advocate of tem- 
 perance in the use of stimulants. If an employe neglected 
 his duty, and intoxication was found out to be the cause, 
 Storey was unsparing in punishment. 
 
 " I don't care how much or how often any of my people 
 get drunk, if they don't slight my business. They may be 
 drunk at all other times, if they like, but when they are at 
 work for me, they must keep sober or get out ! ' ' 
 
 In 1867 the Times had been removed to the new marble- 
 front building on Dearborn Street, on the west side, and 
 on the northwest corner of the alley between Madison and 
 Washington Streets. The editor knew nothing of building 
 material or prices, and was shockingly swindled in the 
 erection of the new structure. Its hallways were narrow, 
 
144 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 its floor-joists and partitions weak, and the probabilities are 
 that, had it not, a few years later, burned down, it would, 
 in time, have tumbled into the basement from disintegration. 
 
 It was in the year 1867 that the period of Storey's brute 
 life practically ended. He left the infamous den in Speed's 
 block, and took up his residence with Mrs. Harriet Dodge 
 and her sister, who lived on Congress Street. Mrs. Dodge 
 was of a good family from an Eastern State, where her 
 husband had committed some offense for which he was 
 sentenced to the penitentiary. Mrs. Dodge came west to 
 begin life anew, and rented rooms which were ostensibly 
 for " roomers," and in which Mr. Storey found a home. 
 
 Mrs. Dodge was a charming woman of about thirty years 
 of age, with a clear, natural complexion, brown hair, pre- 
 possessing features, wonderfully soft and sympathetic blue- 
 gray eyes, and a graceful figure and carriage. She had been 
 well bred, and possessed winning manners. 
 
 Mr. Storey assisted her in securing her divorce, and then 
 obtained the pardon of her husband. That the relations of 
 Mr. Storey and Mrs. Dodge, during this period, were of a 
 doubtful kind, was generally believed. If true, the scandal 
 was condoned when, in the summer of 1868, they went to 
 New York and were duly married. 
 
 It was some months before the new wife recognized that 
 her exclusive duty confined her to her husband. She was 
 in the bloom of life, with warm currents pulsating along 
 her veins, fond of amusements, display and companion- 
 ship. He was past the half century, indisposed to operas 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 145 
 
 and theatrical entertainments, and longing for the comforts 
 of a home life from which he had so many years been 
 debarred. 
 
 She attempted a few flights on her own account, but found 
 that the vigilance of her husband supervised every move- 
 ment that she made, and that for months every motion on 
 her part had been watched and known to her husband. 
 She tried vehement denial and hysteric tears when charged 
 with certain practices, but was crushed with a single 
 remark which I myself heard the old man make to her. 
 It was terse, vigorous, conclusive : 
 
 11 Don't deny it ! Damn you, I've caught you at it I " 
 
 Mrs. Harriet Dodge Store}?- recognized the inevitable. 
 She honestly renounced all her flirtations, devoted herself 
 sincerely and assiduously to home life and the comfort of 
 her husband, and succeeded. From this period up to the 
 date of her death, in 1873, she and her Mr. Storey enjoyed a 
 domestic life of : are felicity, not disturbed by a single jar. 
 
 She became a hard student. She took up French, joined 
 an Episcopal church, and became a thoroughly devoted 
 wife, and a deeply pious Christian. For the present I dis- 
 miss this amiable woman, but she shall appear again in 
 these reminiscences. 
 
 I am firmly of the conviction that the long- continued ex- 
 cesses of Mr. Storey had, at the period of his marriage, 
 effected an impairment of his constitution to a somewhat 
 marked extent. He was then but forty-nine years of age, 
 
146 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 and yet bore the appearance of a man fifteen years older. 
 How far this impairment affected his future will appear 
 later. 
 
XXIX. 
 
 Jekyll and Hyde. 
 
 Storey, like a majority of men, had a dual life. He 
 was almost as distinct in his two natures as Jekyll and 
 Hyde. On the surface he was grand, superb in his dignity 
 and appearance, and heroic in the impressions which he 
 created on those who contemplated him at a distance. 
 
 The astonishing and altogether phenomenal success of 
 his newspaper, the tremendous influence it exerted for good 
 and evil, its ever-astounding succession of sensations, its 
 frequent and insolent defiance of the proprieties of social 
 life, its audacious position on the issues and the leaders of 
 the civil war, furnished the data on which the world formed 
 its estimate of the editor. 
 
 In his real life there was scarcely a trace of the grandeur 
 which characterized his public career. He had in private 
 none of the repose, the serene immobility which he pre- 
 sented in public. He was as irritable as an old woman with 
 a shattered nervous organization, or a hypochondriac with 
 ruined health. With all his apparent boldness, he was as 
 shrinking as a young girl in the presence of strangers. 
 
 I once asked him concerning the reasons for the gruff 
 reception which he often gave callers with whom he was 
 not acquainted. 
 
148 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 1 ' How do you account for your frequent ungracious 
 receptions of strangers ? ' ' 
 
 " The fact is it is a species of timidity. I never had, when 
 I was young, an opportunity to meet men and women and 
 become accustomed to society. My reception of strangers 
 is oftener than not a fear that I may not say the right thing 
 in the right place ; that I may not be able to do myself 
 justice." 
 
 This is true. It was often the case that he could not 
 talk to the assembled members of his staff without a tremor 
 in his voice. So sensitive was he about his conversational 
 powers that generally, when he had anything to commu- 
 nicate to his staff, he did it by correspondence. 
 
 A peculiarity of Storey was a way he had of making me 
 uncomfortable without saying anything. I used to furnish 
 never less than a column of editorial matter, or a daily 
 quantity equal to a column and a half of the modern page, 
 and at three o'clock would lay my matter before him on his 
 table. He would at once look up with apparent surprise, 
 mingled with indignation ; he would pick up the manuscript 
 and flirt over the ends of the paper as if to show how little 
 there was of it, pulling out his watch meanwhile and 
 glancing at it — the entire pantomine saying as plain as if 
 in words : 
 
 "Well, I'll be damned ! Quitting this time of day, and 
 only this little bit of matter 1 " 
 
 At first I was so impressed with this exhibition that I 
 would work nights to increase my contribution ; but he 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 149 
 
 enacted the part just the same, and I was forced to conclude 
 that he did it solely to overawe me and make me uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 After handing him my matter each afternoon, I would 
 resume my seat for the purpose of devoting some time to 
 reading. In a moment or two there would be heard from 
 his table the ripping of paper, accompanied by what sounded 
 like snorts of contempt. 
 
 This method of annoyance was a part of his system. 
 During the first years I was with him he avoided everything 
 like commendation. He never seemed to be willing to admit 
 that a man had done a good thing, or, no matter how hard he 
 worked, that he was doing all he ought to do. The effect of 
 this treatment was to keep men of a certain sensitiveness on 
 the rack. They were always under the depressing convic- 
 tion that they were failing to do good enough, or a sufficient 
 quantity of work, and were always striving for improve- 
 ment. It was killing, but it produced incessant effort to 
 advance. 
 
 He astonished me by speaking to me one morning, after 
 I had been with him a couple of years. I had just returned 
 from the Alleghany regions, whence I had written up the 
 oil excitement which had just then broken out. As he 
 reached my table he astonished me by stopping and saying : 
 
 " Did you have a good time on your trip ? " 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' I managed to stammer, ' ' but I ruined a suit of 
 clothes." 
 
 He laid down a roll of bills in front of me and passed on 
 
150 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 without another word. The roll contained fifty dollars. It 
 was the only case of the kind in my experience with him in 
 the many years of our intercourse. 
 
 Mr. Storey was exceedingly vindictive in his nature and 
 possessed little or no consideration for the feelings of 
 others. His newspaper was a battery which kept up an 
 incessant fire on the crowds about it, and whose result was 
 the infliction of many ghastly wounds. Of all those who, 
 in earlier years, sought his presence to complain that 
 they had, without reason, been maligned or damaged by his 
 newspaper, I know of no instance in which the complain- 
 ant was not received uncivilly, often brutally, and turned 
 away with his original injury intensified by his reception. 
 As a rule, he even refused to listen to such cases. 
 
 Isolated, inaccessible, surrounded by men who spoke with 
 bated breath, and who received his commands with the 
 deference of Oriental servants, he fancied himself supreme, 
 infallible. The groans, the shrieks of those wounded by 
 his missiles simply conveyed to him a gratifying conviction 
 of the unerring skill of his marksmanship. The yell of a 
 victim was to him much as the ringing of the bell in target 
 practice — indicating a center-shot. 
 
 He had a thorough contempt for the masses, and had no 
 more compunction in lashing them than had the old slave- 
 drivers in the case of their gangs. If they " hollered," it 
 was proof that they were hurt, which was exactly what he 
 wanted. 
 
 His vindictiveness was one of his marked features. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 151 
 
 <( We must go for ' gut-fat ' in So-an-So," was his favorite 
 instruction to his hounds as he unleashed them for the chase. 
 
 The lawyer who appeared against him was sure to become 
 the target of Storey's battery. The judge before whom the 
 case was tried and lost ; the jury who rendered an unfa- 
 vorable verdict ; the witnesses who appeared on the side of 
 the opposition — all of these, some dark night, when least 
 expecting it, were liable to get a charge of buckshot from 
 gunner Storey through their parlor windows. 
 
 These are some of the qualities of this most remarkable 
 man. He was as much two characters as if part of him 
 had lived in Africa a thousand years ago, and the remain- 
 der were a resident of the present generation. 
 
XXX. 
 
 His Penuriousness. 
 
 Mr. Storky rose from a printer and a druggist to the 
 foremost heights of journalism. He was a meteor of unus- 
 ual splendor and dimensions, and the reflection of his light 
 still shines above the horizon. He was a composite of 
 greatness and meanness, of dignity and buffoonery, with the 
 bearing of a polished gentleman, and with a tongue and 
 the habits, at times, of a blackguard. He was now imperial, 
 and again a Uriah Heap in his humility. He was some- 
 times generous, but niggardly in the majority of cases. He 
 would draw his check for a thousand dollars for a special 
 telegram, and scrimp the pay of a cheap reporter. 
 
 Most of the writers on his paper used pencils, and so close 
 was Storey that, to save a trifling use of Fabers, he provided 
 tong-like arrangements which would clasp the end of a pen- 
 cil and permit a further use of it after it had become too 
 short to be held in the fingers. 
 
 I recall an occurrence in which a prominent citizen was 
 shot dead by another citizen equally prominent, and which 
 was the most sensational homicide that ever took place in 
 Chicago, but which, owing to the large number of social 
 interests involved, was squelched without any of the inner 
 
 152 
 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 153 
 
 and more scandalous features coming to the surface. I 
 heard of the shooting about six o'clock in the evening, within 
 a very few minutes after it occurred. I knew all the per- 
 sons connected with the tragedy, and lent my assistance to 
 the reporters in collecting the facts, with the result that our 
 paper distanced all the other morning journals in the quan- 
 tity and quality of the presentation of the event. 
 
 In those days the street-cars did not run after midnight. 
 It was some miles to my home, and, being detained until 
 nearly daylight, I went home in a hack which I had been 
 using some during the night. I sent in a bill for the five 
 dollars which I paid for the vehicle, with a statement of 
 the facts as to my participation in the working-up of the 
 murder. Storey refused to pay it, not even condescending 
 to assign any reason. 
 
 I made an extended trip through the Indian Territory 
 and the Southwest, during which, near the close of the 
 journey, in crossing a deep stream, all my accounts, notes 
 and the like were carried away by the water. When I came 
 to make up my expense account, I found that the total fell 
 some fifty dollars short of the amount that I had expended. 
 Storey refused to pay the difference, and only cashed the 
 amount I charged up from memory. 
 
 I became involved in the famous Early libel suit in con- 
 sequence of a labor performed under instructions from 
 Storey and the legal direction of his attorney, Hon. W. C. 
 Goudy. In the final trial he absolutely declined to employ 
 council, and I had to depend upon A. S. Trade and Emery 
 A. Storrs, who volunteered to defend me. 
 
154 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OP 
 
 In another place I have mentioned the fact of his having 
 offered me a partnership, and shown that it was probably 
 done for the purpose of inducing me to increase my efforts 
 as an employe. 
 
 Mr. Storey had a special dislike for printers, and regarded 
 them as vermin. A difference came up with the union 
 printers who at one time held possession of the office, and 
 in which he was compelled to yield. The union secured 
 control of the composing-room, and thereafter the noted 
 hard breathing through his clenched teeth — indicative of 
 rage — was heard as he strode about the building. 
 
 That he should be successfully defied by a printer was the 
 deadliest of insults. For at least two months his exhibition 
 of anger was constant, and then he suddenly became 
 changed ; his expression of wrath softened, disappeared, 
 and was succeeded by something in the nature of a smile. 
 
 The union men, who keenly watched him as he came 
 into the composing-room every night to supervise the 
 "make-up," saw this transformation and were happy. 
 They knew that the hissing breath boded evil, and, when 
 there appeared a suggestion of a grim smile on his face, it 
 was concluded that he had become reconciled to the inevit- 
 able, and that henceforth the union would be a fixture in 
 the establishment of the Times. 
 
 For a month or so the union was elated, and word was 
 sent all over the country that the Times had finally become 
 a union newspaper. 
 
 One evening the printers strolled into the composing- 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 155 
 
 ' room and were immeasurably stunned at a spectacle which 
 presented a } r oung lady, "stick" in hand, in front of every 
 ' ' case, ' ' and picking up type with the swift exactness of a 
 veteran. It was a coup d'etat which, in an hour, resulted 
 in the throwing-out of the union and the installation of the 
 female compositors. 
 
 It was when the union men saw these women busy at the 
 cases that there dawned on them the meaning of the half- 
 smile which had lately illumined Storey's face. They were 
 overwhelmingly routed, and the Times was once more a 
 "rat" office. 
 
 So soon as the union had obtained possession Storey 
 had devised a scheme for revenge. A secluded place was 
 secured, and, with entire secrecy, women were selected and 
 taught type-setting, the effort requiring some months. As 
 a checkmate to the union, the move was a complete suc- 
 cess, but in all other respects it was a total failure. 
 
 Women do not seem to have the endurance necessary for 
 all-night work — at least, such was the case with those 
 employed by the Times. They were inclined to too much 
 gossip ; they lacked in mechanical exactness, and were often 
 absent from indisposition. As they fell out of the ranks, their 
 places were taken by masculine non-union printers. In 
 time, both the feminine and the union printers were ex- 
 cluded. 
 
 Storey's extraordinary firmness in his fight against the 
 union is shown by the fact that, although the members 
 of that body succeeded several times in getting posses- 
 
i 5 6 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 sion of the works, they never gained a permanent foothold. 
 There were repeated strikes, during which Storey took off 
 his coat and worked at the case, assisted by such employes 
 of the literary department as understood type-setting, and 
 such "rat" printers as could be picked up, and brought out 
 as much of a paper as he could until non-union printers 
 from other cities could be obtained to fill the cases. 
 
XXXI. 
 
 Mr. Storey as a Writer. 
 
 Mr. Storey had the reputation of being a powerful, 
 slashing, copious writer. This is both true and false. He 
 wrote but very little, rarely more than a two to a ten-line 
 paragraph. He had always the hardest kind of work to get 
 started. He would begin to write, and, after a line or two, 
 would rip up his manuscript and toss it into the waste- 
 basket. 
 
 It was not unusual for him to tear up the beginning of a 
 half-dozen, or even a larger number of articles, before getting 
 under motion. He was balky, or skittish, or frisky at the 
 send-off. He indulged in a good deal of scoring. He made 
 many false starts before giving himself the word ' ' Go I ' ' 
 
 He exhibited great genius and skill in the management of 
 his employes. He was always on the watch for intrigues in 
 the various departments, and to prevent combinations among 
 them he encouraged antagonisms. He used espionage among 
 his force. I communicated to him one day some grave 
 dereliction of duty on the part of one of his men. In 
 response, he invited me to come around to his rooms in 
 Speed's block. 
 
 There we talked over the particular case which I had 
 
 i57 
 
158 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 reported to him, when, after some conversation on other 
 matters, he said : 
 
 ' ' You can help me a great deal in this matter of preserv- 
 ing discipline among the men and preventing combinations 
 against me. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I should be very glad to be of any use. What can I 
 do?" 
 
 " It is very essential that I should know all that is going 
 on in the office, and somebody must keep an eye on men 
 and things and keep me informed. I think you could do 
 this in first-class shape." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Storey, that would be playing the part of a 
 spy ! I am sure that I can be of more use to the Times in 
 other and more legitimate work." 
 
 He did not insist, but I am certain that he had no trouble 
 in getting others to fill the place which I declined. 
 
 That there was no end of schemes, projects and intrigues 
 is certain. The prosperity of the Times, anterior to the 
 great fire, the apparent ease with which money was made 
 toward the close of the war, the inflation of values, and the 
 boom in business led to the conviction that the profitable 
 establishment of a journal greater even than the Times was 
 a perfectly feasible operation. Goodsell, John R. Walsh, 
 then a rising, ambitious news-dealer, myself, and one or two 
 others held many a secret consultation in regard to starting 
 a new paper. 
 
 Figures were made by the thousand, estimates were pro- 
 duced by the quantity, the brightest of prospects were 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 159 
 
 developed, and a certainty of success assured. And yet, 
 just at the time when everything was most promising, the 
 scheme would mysteriously collapse. I have always 
 believed that one of the most enthusiastic of the conspir- 
 ators was in the pay of Storey — a spy who learned our 
 secrets to betray them. 
 
 When Mr. Storey had a paralytic stroke in Switzerland in 
 1873, there was a combination in the Times office which 
 proceeded insla?iter to divide up the effects of the supposed- 
 to-be moribund editor. James W. Sheahan was to be editor- 
 in-chief, and the other places were to be parceled out 
 among several other ambitious people connected with the 
 establishment. Unfortunately for their hopes Storey did 
 not die, but lived nearly ten years longer — long enough to 
 defeat the purposes of those who were intending to fill his 
 vacant shoes. 
 
 Storey in 1867, '68 and '69 expressed a frequent wish to 
 sell his newspaper. He started by authorizing me to dis- 
 pose of it for a quarter of a million dollars. I negotiated 
 with some local officials and capitalists and readily found a 
 combination willing to make the purchase — a substantial 
 share of stock to be given me for my efforts in securing the 
 sale. 
 
 When I gave Mr. Storey information as to my success, he 
 asked for time for consideration, and finally decided that he 
 must have $300,000. I got an offer at this figure, and then 
 he "went" a hundred thousand "better." I secured the 
 promise of the needed capital for this third offer, when he 
 
160 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 advanced the price another notch, and I relinquished the 
 attempt. I have no doubt that he was willing to sell at the 
 first figure offered, but raised it when he found that he could 
 get his price. He was anxious to sell when he thought he 
 couldn't, and unwilling to sell when he found he could get 
 a purchaser. 
 
 
XXXII. 
 
 The Newspaper Men of Chicago. 
 
 When I joined the Times, in September, 1863, that sheet 
 had but one editorial writer besides Mr. Storey, and who, at 
 best, was a slim contributor. After me, four years later, 
 Andre Matteson was given a place on the staff. For a 
 short period Isaac Newton Higgins filled a staff appoint- 
 ment, and was followed by James B. Runnion, who took his 
 place just before the fire. 
 
 The city editor — or " principal reporter, ' ' as Storey for 
 a long time insisted on terming that employe, for he did 
 not care to have it understood that there was any editor on 
 the paper save himself — was James H. Goodsell. He was 
 succeeded by Charles Wright, formerly connected with a 
 newspaper at Peoria, who, in '68 or '69, fell dead from 
 heart-disease, and who was a very hard-working, capable 
 newspaper man. 
 
 Mr. Storey's verdict on poor Wright was : 
 
 ' ' An efficient, faithful man, equal to the excellent com- 
 bination and handling of great masses, but lacking in the 
 manipulation of details. ' ' 
 
 On one occasion, I have forgotten what, he wrote within 
 fifteen hours a seven-column article of the old blanket-sheet 
 length of the Times. 
 
 161 
 
162 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 That Mr. Storey had some regard for Charley Wright 
 was shown at his funeral, which was held at the Second 
 Baptist Church, one of the Goodspeeds officiating. There 
 was an immense attendance in the church and on the side- 
 walks. The editor-in-chief strolled up Morgan Street till 
 within fifty feet or so of the crowd, where he leaned 
 negligently against the board fence of a vacant lot. He 
 stood as if posing and was apparently the least concerned 
 spectator at the obsequies. 
 
 The successor of Wright became an immediate question. 
 A week or so before, a well-written article had been received 
 from a young man, city editor, I think, of an Omaha daily 
 journal. Mr. Storey was so struck with the production 
 that he wrote at once an offer of the city editorship, which 
 was as promptly accepted. 
 
 The local newspapers and citizens gave him a grand 
 ' ' send-off ; " he published a pathetic farewell to his old 
 friends, in which he asserted that he was only led to leave 
 them by the tender of a higher position. The journals gave 
 hearty good-bys to him as he left, and felicitated them- 
 selves that they were being called on by mighty cities like 
 Chicago to supply the demand for a higher order of genius. 
 
 The new appointee reached here after dark, and saw Storey, 
 who simply told him that his room and desk were waiting 
 for him on the same floor, and to go at once and take 
 possession ; he was occupied and would talk with him at 
 another time. He found his way to the proper room, and 
 informed a reporter at the desk : 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 163 
 
 ' ' I am the new city editor ! ' ' 
 
 " Ah, indeed I Glad to see you. This is your desk. 
 Sit down and make yourself at home ! " 
 
 There were two or three reporters loafing about the room. 
 The new man glanced over the number, and then he spoke : 
 
 ' ' Do any of you gentlemen write in the descriptive style 
 of composition ? ' ' 
 
 They gazed at him with something of curiosity and awe. 
 
 The next morning, at exactly eleven o'clock, Mr. Storey 
 entered his room slowly, seated himself, removed his gloves 
 leisurely, and then picked up a copy of the morning issue 
 of the Times. He ran his eye over the head-lines : they 
 were apparently all right ; the make-up presented nothing 
 especially objectionable. Suddenly his eye caught some 
 item, and a savage scowl took possession of his face. Scar- 
 let hues flashed over it. He pulled furiously the handle of 
 a bell. 
 
 Joe, the black janitor, entered. 
 
 " What makes you so slow ? " he stuttered. " Go and 
 tell that new man in the city department to come here at 
 once ! ' ' 
 
 " Yes, sah ; right away, sah ! " 
 
 The new ' ' principal reporter ' ' came in a moment later. 
 What visions of commendation filled his. soul as he passed 
 over the short distance between his room and that of the 
 editor may never be known outside his own recollection. 
 They may have been ecstatic ! 
 
 If they were, they were rudely dispelled the instant his 
 
164 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 eye caught the scowling, purple countenance and blazing 
 glances of the infuriate senior. 
 
 The ' ' Old Man ' ' was in his worst mood, a volcano in 
 eruption, and boiling over with molten wrath. He choked 
 as he burst out : 
 
 ' ' What do you mean, you damned idiot, by printing this 
 scandalous piece about Mr. Blank — you miserable fool ? ' ' 
 
 1 1 It was handed — in by a reporter, and — I — I sup- 
 posed it" — 
 
 "You 'supposed, 5 did you? What right had you to 
 suppose anything ? That man is one of my best friends. 
 You are discharged ! Get out ! " 
 
 For two weeks a strange young man from the trans- Mis- 
 souri region was noticed here and there in the Garden City 
 in a condition of beastly inebriation, and then he disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Alexander C. Botkin, a young journalist connected with 
 the Milwaukee press, was tendered the vacancy, and 
 accepted it. He was below medium stature, slender, with a 
 massive head, quick and agile in motion, with a boyish 
 face, blue-gray eyes, light hair and beardless cheeks. He 
 proved to be one of the most intelligent, energetic, capable 
 city editors ever possessed by the Times. 
 
 One of his qualities was a courage that defied all odds, 
 despite his slight build and almost effeminate appearance. 
 One night he entered Foley's saloon and called for a glass 
 of whisky. Standing next to him was a notorious ' ' tough ' ' 
 and bruiser, the well-known "Jim" Tracey, a rough-and- 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 165 
 
 tumble fighter and a vicious brute. He was ' ' fighting- 
 drunk " ugly, and, seeing the small figure of Botkin beside 
 him, he thought it was a good opportunity to insult him. 
 When the latter had poured out his drink, Tracey glared at 
 him, and, growling, "That isn't good for boys ! " picked up 
 the glass and emptied it on the floor. 
 
 Botkin turned, .surveyed his big opponent, and, without 
 an instant's hesitation, struck him in the face. The ruffian 
 was astounded at the unexpected assaults, but, recovering 
 himself, launched out his heavy fist, and sent Botkin on his 
 back to the floor. Botkin was on his feet in an instant, and 
 faced his opponent. Again he was felled by a powerful 
 blow, once more he rose to his feet and rushed at Tracey, 
 and was sent down a third time by a tremendous blow. 
 
 He was not }^et conquered, and tried once more to reach 
 the rough, when the crowd interfered and separated the men. 
 
 Botkin did not like the gruff manners of the ' ' Old Man, ' ' 
 although the latter valued him as indispensable. 
 
 1 ' I am waiting impatiently, ' ' he said to me, ' ' for the 
 time to come when I can walk into Storey's office and say 
 to him, ' You damned old scoundrel, you may go to sheol 
 with your paper ! ' " 
 
 He was with the Times several years, and then the hoped- 
 for time came. He received a fine offer from a Milwaukee 
 daily, and resigned. 
 
 " I can't get along without you ! " said Storey. 
 
 I visited Botkin in Milwaukee, and went with him to the 
 composing-room, where the forms were being "made up." 
 
166 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 "Let this article break at such a point, if you please,' ' 
 said he to the foreman. 
 
 " That's Storey and not Storey," I remarked. 
 
 1 * What do you mean ? ' ' 
 
 1 ' It was Storey ordering the break at the top of the 
 column, but the 'please' was not Storey." 
 
 Botkin was a Republican during his service on the Times. 
 He was afterwards made Marshal of the Territory of Mon- 
 tana. After a } T ear or so, he was totally paralyzed below 
 his hips, and tried the physicians of the East for cure, but 
 gained no relief nor any hope of recovery. One would 
 think that such a condition would discourage and send any 
 man into retirement. 
 
 Not so with the plucky, ambitious ex-city editor of the 
 Chicago Times. He is a busier man than ever. He prac- 
 tices law, has held important municipal positions in Helena, 
 and has traveled thousands of miles, stumping the county 
 in the interests of his party. He attends the theater and 
 other public places, riding to and from his home in his own 
 carriage, into which he is carried by an attendant, as also in 
 and out of all places which he visits. 
 
 He has accumulated a large property, lives in fine style, 
 has excellent general health, is the husband of a charming 
 and devoted wife, and the father of lovely children. 
 
 Any other, or almost any other man, who had encoun- 
 tered the experience of Mr. Botkin, at the time of his 
 paralysis, would have long since been dead and forgotten. 
 
 John W. Sickles was the chief of the commercial depart- 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 167 
 
 ment, and his assistant was a man named Rock, who was 
 always smoking a black, ill-smelling pipe. He was one of 
 the divorced men of whom there were so many in the 
 establishment. 
 
 Sickles was — and is — a stalwart man, six feet tall, full- 
 chested, erect, with a ruddy complexion, and vast legs. He 
 was regarded as one of the finest commercial editors in the 
 West, and had the peculiarity that, when he came into the 
 office in the morning, he always went straight to the cold 
 water faucet, and swallowed a couple of quarts — more or 
 less — of the aqua pura, as if he were possessed of a 
 tremendous thirst. 
 
 "John " was my benefactor. In reporting the prices he 
 had no superior for accuracy ; but in the commercial and 
 financial editorials he was weak, or else he had engage- 
 ments somewhere else on the nights when this class of 
 editorials needed to be written. It was in this direction 
 that he became my munificent patron. On these evenings 
 he would say : 
 
 1 ' I have an engagement to-night, which I must keep. 
 You write the editorial, and here is five dollars." 
 
 Many, many, and many were the five-dollar bills which 
 the liberal giver passed over my shoulder. 
 
 Hugh McCulloch was then being advocated for Secretary 
 of the Treasury. '" John " was an ardent supporter of the 
 Indiana candidate, and the five-dollar bills continued their 
 inflow as I argued his appointment in strong editorial 
 articles in the financial department. McCulloch was duly 
 
i68 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 appointed, and then John told me he was going to Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " McCulloch is Secretary of the Treasury. There's 
 going to be a big ring, and I am going to get in it. There'll 
 be no trouble about it, for the Secretary knows that I sup- 
 ported him, and how well it was done." 
 
 1 ' Shall you tell Mr. Storey as to your trip ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, for I want him to be in it, too." 
 
 He informed the senior what he wished to do. The latter 
 hesitated so long in answering Sickles that I am inclined to 
 believe that he was disposed to take a hand in the purposed 
 deal. Caution, however, prevailed, and, while rot forbid- 
 ding the journey, he advised against it. 
 
 Sickles went east, and Storey discharged him by tele- 
 graph. 
 
 John afterwards returned to Chicago to plague the man 
 who discharged him. 
 
XXXI1T. 
 
 Newspaper Men of Chicago. — Continued. 
 
 In the autumn of 1861, on my way to the front, then at 
 Cairo, I stopped in Chicago and had the pleasure of making 
 the acquaintance of Andre Matteson, then co-editor of the 
 Morning Post with James W. Sheahan. Mr. Matteson, at 
 that time, looked very much as he does to-day, despite the 
 lapse of years : his hair and beard were white, his face 
 stern, his utterance harsh, and his expression repellant. His 
 general reputation was that of being a man morose in 
 character and inclined to misanthropy. 
 
 Despite this popular opinion, I have since learned that he 
 has another and pleasanter phase to his nature. There are 
 times, at long intervals, perhaps, when his voice can become 
 as soft as that of a woman, his mouth wreathed with genial 
 smiles, and his utterances full of warmth and kindliness — 
 but not often. 
 
 I like Mr. Matteson for several reasons : one is that he 
 stated in his paper that I was the greatest army correspond- 
 ent in the world, and another was that he gave me trans- 
 portation to Cairo. In consideration of a great compliment 
 and a pass, I agreed to write a letter from the front to his 
 paper. Whether he paid me the compliment with a view 
 
 169 
 
170 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 to get the letter from the front, or I was induced to write 
 the letter on account of the free transportation, I am not 
 prepared at this distance to state. 
 
 However that may be, it led to the formation on my part 
 of a strong liking for him, which was strengthened by the 
 fact that, in the early part of February, 1862, at Cairo, 
 where he had come in the interest of the distribution of his 
 paper, and to pick up some news from the army of Grant 
 operating up the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers, I 
 met him again and resumed the acquaintance. The Morn- 
 ing Post did not circulate quite as well as he expected, and, 
 as a consequence, he was a little gruff in his moods and 
 humors. 
 
 It was on the second day of the investment of Fort Donel- 
 son by Grant that I landed from a steamer a couple of miles 
 below the Confederate fort and started up on the left bank 
 of the Cumberland to reach the Federal troops, which were 
 located on the heights around Dover, about three miles 
 above. The weather was of the most atrocious description. 
 
 It was thawing very slightly, but was frightfully cold. 
 The snow was a semi-frozen slush, into which the feet of 
 the pedestrian sank above the ankles. The sky was black 
 as Krebus. Keen winds coming from the bluffs pierced the 
 marrow like arrows of ice. 
 
 It was about a mile from where I landed that occurred 
 the incident which strengthened my already warm liking for 
 Mr. Matteson. Half a mile ahead of the point where I was 
 passing along, a gully ran down from Dover, squarely inter- 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 171 
 
 secting the road that I was traveling, and which, at the point 
 of intersection, was being vigorously shelled by a couple of 
 Confederate twelve-pound guns on the Dover bluffs. 
 
 The road led from the landing to Grant's headquarters. 
 As I came within sight of this gully, I saw a solitary figure 
 emerge from it and move with a fairly rapid step along the 
 road in my direction. His head was bent to protect his 
 face from the wind, and the pose of his body was that of a 
 weary man. He was dressed in citizen's clothes and carried 
 a small portfolio. When he came close enough for recog- 
 nition, I discovered, to my intense surprise, that it was my 
 Chicago friend Matteson. 
 
 The sternest look which face has ever worn in civil life ; 
 the most disgusted expression that human eyes ever looked 
 upon, characterized his countenance. 
 
 " Great heavens, Matteson ! Is that you ? " 
 
 1 ' Yes, what little of me is left, ' ' he replied in a most 
 lugubrious tone. ' ' Have you anything to eat ? I'm nearly 
 starved to death. I haven't had a mouthful in fifteen 
 hours. I have wandered all over these cursed woods and 
 hills to find Grant's headquarters, and never caught a 
 glimpse of them." 
 
 Fortunately I had in a haversack some fried pork and 
 hardtack, which I divided with him. He admitted at the 
 time that I had saved his life. 
 
 Mr. Matteson has a great many of the qualities of 
 Thomas Carlyle, among them his obstinacy and a suggestion 
 of what some people term crankiness. He is a thoughtful 
 
172 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 and forcible writer, a fine linguist, a well-read lawyer, and 
 withal somewhat notional. 
 
 I think in a sense it is to Mr. Matteson that Elliott Shep- 
 ard owes his peculiar religious journalistic practices. Many 
 years ago, in a conversation with me, Mr. Matteson stated 
 that, if he had a newspaper to suit himself, he would make 
 each issue of the week the organ of some particular religious 
 denomination ; say, on Monday, Baptist — being wash-day ; 
 Tuesday, Methodist ; Wednesday, Presbyterian, and so on. 
 
 Who would suppose that the grave, stern, philosophical 
 student, the admirer of Herbert Spencer, Huxley and 
 Tyndall, was, in the fifties, a rollicking humorist who 
 kept the town in a roar over the signature of " Gee-Willi- 
 kins ! " Or that one, for many years a leading writer on 
 the Chicago Times, was the young man who, long ago, in 
 reporting the council proceedings, invariably, in every 
 alternate speech, simply used the three words : 
 
 1 ' Deacon Bross spoke. ' ' 
 
 In 1867, Storey asked me one day what I knew about 
 Andre Matteson. 
 
 "I have known Mr. Matteson several years, and know 
 him to be a man of fine ability as a journalist, versatile, 
 well-informed politically, and a most desirable man for an 
 editorial writer. You will find, however, that you will have 
 to hold him under very strict discipline, for he is very opin- 
 ionated, stiff-necked and set in his own way." 
 
 ' ' I think, ' ' responded Mr. Storey, ' ' that we can manage 
 that part of it," 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 173 
 
 Mr. Matteson was employed and wore the yoke for many 
 years with all the meekness and unresisting docility of a 
 well-broken ox. He was one of the most valued members 
 of the staff. 
 
XXXIV. 
 
 Newspaper Men of Chicago.— Continued. 
 
 In 1856, two lanky students from Union College took 
 advantage of the possession of an extra five-dollar bill to run 
 down to New York. Fares on the Hudson River were only 
 half a dollar from Albany, and this rendered it possible 
 for even students to travel. 
 
 These two went wandering about in the streets of that 
 great city, staring around with ' ' open-eyed wonder, ' ' until, 
 in the course of their tramp, they found themselves in front 
 of a time-worn building — the New York Tribune. 
 
 At that period Horace Greeley was the most gigantic 
 figure of the day. His eccentricity, his queer dress, his 
 white hair, his fringe of whiskers next to his throat, his 
 babyish face, his small, innocent blue eyes, his pug nose, 
 his one trousers leg caught on the top of his boot, his 
 shocking white hat — all had aided to add to his notoriety. 
 
 The students halted in front of a narrow stairway, 
 wooden, worm-eaten, worn, dirty, which led between dirt- 
 covered walls to the upper floor of the building. This the 
 two students climbed, and, with the insouciance of country- 
 bred youths, began the inspection of the upper floor. They 
 entered various rooms without the formality of knocking, 
 
 i74 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 175 
 
 and, among others, one large room with a low ceiling, very 
 dark and very dirty, and in which were seated half a dozen 
 or more men at different tables, all busily engaged in writ- 
 ing, or in reading newspapers or books. 
 
 The students stood watching the crowd as might the 
 visitors the animals in a menagerie. Not one of the men 
 looked up or paid the slightest attention to the two 
 strangers. Among them was one man conspicuous for a 
 massive head and a great cataract of brown hair that 
 flowed down below his shoulders. After a short stay, the 
 two students left the room, and, meeting a man in the hall, 
 asked him if he knew who was the man with the long 
 brown hair in that room. He said that was Charles A. 
 Dana. 
 
 This was the first time that I, one of the two students, 
 saw a man who was destined to become famous as an editor, 
 an encyclopedist, a member of the Federal War Department 
 and a horticulturist. 
 
 In May of 1862, I followed a Federal detachment along 
 a narrow road through a bottomless swamp, until we 
 reached an open country beyond. In the distance was a 
 small log house, half tumbled down, into which I directed 
 my steps. Some Federal cavalry were standing about the 
 house. The door was open ; I entered. There was one oc- 
 cupant — a man seated at a table with his back toward me, 
 and who was engaged, as I learned from the clicking, in 
 working a telegraph instrument. 
 
 With the freedom assumed by the army correspondent, I 
 
176 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OE 
 
 strode across the floor, my heavy cavalry boots making a 
 tremendous clatter, when a voice roared out from the 
 table : 
 
 1 ' G d you I Keep quiet ! " 
 
 The figure never turned its head. This was the second 
 time I saw Charles A. Dana, encyclopedist, horticulturist, 
 etc. , and who was at that time Assistant Secretary of War 
 under Stanton. 
 
 The region was Farmington, distant a few miles from the 
 famous battle-ground of Shiloh. Beauregard was on one 
 side of the swamp, and Halleck on the other. Two hours 
 after I saw the Assistant Secretary, I, in common with 
 several thousand Federals, was falling back through the 
 swamp, with Beauregard shelling the fugitives and making 
 the brief retreat one of the most frightful that I encountered 
 during the war. 
 
 One day in the city of Chicago, in 1865, I was going 
 along Madison Street, when I met a fine-looking gentleman 
 whom I recognized as the long-haired writer of New York, 
 the telegraph operator of Farmington who swore at me, the 
 man who had come to Chicago to start the Republican — 
 Charles A. Dana, editor and member of the Federal War 
 Department. 
 
 He had come here at the instigation of a large number 
 of Republican capitalists for the purpose of running out, 
 extirpating, the Chicago Tribune. 
 
 Everybody knows the result of this experiment. He had 
 a wonderful newspaper, the very best of machinery, the 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 177 
 
 cleanest and most artistic of type, and brought with him 
 some intellectual assistants of a high order of ability. The 
 Republican was the first octavo printed in the West. The 
 Tribune stood ; the Republican went down, and was sold to 
 J. B. McCullagh, who reduced it in size, and made it a 
 penny paper, which soon afterwards disappeared in the con- 
 flagration of 1 87 1. 
 
 It was soon after the establishment of the new paper that 
 John W. Sickles ' ' got in his work ' ' against the Times. He 
 quietly came over to the Times office late in the twilight, 
 and, at all hours when darkness obscured his movements, he 
 put his lips to the ear of the best talent on Storey's staff, and 
 insinuatingly informed them that a large increase in wages 
 would accompany the transfer of their allegiance to the 
 Republican. Several of the old employes were thus seduced, 
 among others the famous news editor, Harry Scovel. 
 
 The tempter approached me among others, and offered 
 pecuniary inducements of substantial dimensions, if I would 
 leave Mr. Storey and join my fortunes with Mr. Dana. 
 The politics of the new organ did not suit me, and I tem- 
 porized with Sickles lcfhg enough to convey the fact of the 
 offer I had received to Mr. Storey, who, as I expected, 
 1 ' raised ' ' Mr. Sickles and ' ' went him ' ' five dollars a 
 week better. 
 
 Then Mr. Storey went for Mr. Sickles in the obscurity of 
 the twilight and the darkness of the night, and drove him 
 with many curses and blasphemies into the street. 
 
 One of the most valuable men on the Times was John F. 
 
178 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 Finerty, who was, at times, a reporter in city matters, a 
 social writer, and a species of factotum. 
 
 His greatest work was his correspondence from the front 
 during the Indian war in the seventies. He showed him- 
 self to be the possessor of undaunted courage, and of an en- 
 durance which no hardship could impair. 
 
 In the numerous bloody contests which occurred in the 
 columns which he accompanied, he was always on the 
 skirmish line, handling his Winchester as effectively as the 
 best of them. He was complimented by commanding 
 officers in their official reports for his daring, his coolness, 
 his willing participation in the savage fighting, the long 
 marches, the furious storms, the mud, the living on horse- 
 flesh when starvation was pending. 
 
 He has been elected to the Federal House of Representa- 
 tives, and is now the editor of the Citizen, a journal mainly 
 devoted to advocating the independence of Ireland. 
 
XXXV. 
 
 The Newspaper Roli, Continued. 
 
 Many years ago, before the great fire, I strolled one day 
 into the court-room in which was being tried the world-re- 
 nowned divorce case of Stewart vs. Stewart. The plaintiff 
 was the daughter of the wealthy grocer Washington Smith, 
 and the defendant, Hart Iy. Stewart, son of the famous divine 
 of the same name. 
 
 Taking a seat at the reporters' table, I first noticed the 
 gigantic father of the plaintiff ; then the blonde complainant 
 herself, almost as high in stature as her father ; and the two 
 Harts, neither reaching middle height — an array of Brob- 
 dingnagians and L,iliputians. 
 
 There was a large gathering of reporters present. There 
 were many famous lawyers and jurists engaged in watching 
 the case, which, owing to the high social position of the 
 litigants, and the many curious scandals involved, attracted 
 a lively and universal attention. 
 
 At the farther end of a large table devoted to the use of 
 the press, there sat a young man who had some points 
 which attracted my notice. He was apparently quite 
 young, not more than perhaps twenty years of age, and 
 with a dense, bushy, close-cropped, dark beard that so 
 
 179 
 
i8o PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 widened the lower part of his face as to give it an oval ap- 
 pearance with the narrow end upwards. There was paper 
 before him and pencil, indicating his connection with the 
 newspapers. He seemed, however, to pay no attention to 
 the case : he was closely engaged in reading a bulky pam- 
 phlet in a paper cover, which I saw was printed in German. 
 
 He was slender, with brilliant dark ej^es, dark hair and a 
 preoccupied, studious face. The next issue of the Repub- 
 lican had a full and well written account of the proceedings 
 of the trial, and I learned that the reporter who handled it 
 was the bearded young person whom I had noticed the day 
 before, engaged in reading the German pamphlet. 
 
 This is the first time I saw a journalist who has since won 
 an enviable reputation in his profession. It was Frederick 
 H. Hall, who had been brought west by Dana, and who 
 remained with the Republican until May, 1867, when he 
 went over to the Tribune as a reporter. Mr. Hall, who, as 
 is well known, was many years the city editor of the 
 Tribune, has many qualities which have given him a high 
 public estimate in his profession, and has other phases of 
 character quite unique which have contributed almost as 
 much to his fame as has the brilliant manner in which he 
 discharged the arduous duties of the position. 
 
 One of his accomplishments is developed in a memory 
 whose retentive power is probably without a rival. In all 
 the facts connected with his professional career, from the 
 very beginning up to date, there is probably not a single 
 incident of great or small importance that he has not filed 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 181 
 
 away in the magazine of his mind. He is like the assistant 
 of a librarian at Washington who has the faculty of finding 
 at a moment's notice any book, at any hour of the day or 
 night, of the hundreds of thousands of volumes in the col- 
 lection. 
 
 In the same way Mr. Hall possesses a remarkable ability, 
 without using the files of his paper, to refer to the date of 
 any occurrence and all the details connected with it. In 
 this respect he is a complete index and an encyclopedia in 
 one. He reads and writes a dozen or more languages with 
 entire facility. He is very retired in his habits, hardly 
 ever being found apart from his official desk except when 
 at home. 
 
 Several years ago he was promoted from the position of 
 city editor to one on the editorial staff, his successor in the 
 city department being John K. Wilkie, son of the writer of 
 this work. 
 
 Mr. Hall is somewhat noted for the possession of a fine 
 vein of mild sarcasm, and in some of his phases he develops 
 a trait somewhat cynical in its composition. There is 
 related of him an anecdote which admirably illustrates the 
 delicate, sharp and severe quality of his sarcastic abilit3 r . 
 
 A new reporter had been employed, an entire stranger to 
 Mr. Hall, who, within a day or two after being engaged, 
 entered Mr. Hall's room, and with a genial smile addressed 
 the city editor : 
 
 "Hello, Fred!" 
 
 11 My dear fellow," responded Mr. Hall, in an engaging 
 
182 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 tone, but with a peculiar glitter in his eye. ' ' My dear 
 fellow, pray don't be so formal ! Call me Freddie." 
 
 Mr. Hall is one of the plainest and most unpretentious 
 among the journalists of the city. In the summer-time he 
 may generally be seen wearing a straw hat ' ' of the vintage 
 of '67," as his confreres describe it, and now and then 
 satisfying his desire for nicotine with a plain, long-stemmed, 
 red clay Powhatan pipe, of a more ancient ' ' vintage ' ' even 
 than his straw hat. 
 
 When interested, he is a facile, intelligent and most agree- 
 able conversationalist ; his range of knowledge is as broad 
 almost as the universe : there appears to be no fact in 
 philosophy, politics, science, religion, physics, law, history, 
 and all other themes, with which he is not on familiar 
 terms. 
 
 He has done much by his admirable management of the 
 city department to aid his newspaper in securing the high 
 position it occupies in the handling of local news. 
 
 It may be added that, before coming to Chicago with Mr. 
 Dana, Mr. Hall was the private secretary to Secretary of 
 War Stanton. In addition to his numerous accomplish- 
 ments he is a most expert stenographer. 
 
 Among the journalists whom I met occasionally and knew 
 with some degree of intimacy and admiration for his sturdy, 
 upright character, was "Deacon" William Bross, a man 
 with a massive frame, a superficially stern face and immense 
 overhanging brows that fell over his eyes like the mane of a 
 wild horse. He was especially remarkable during the war, 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 183 
 
 particularly at its opening, for his unbounded and some- 
 what crude enthusiasm in the interests of the North. The 
 soul of the good Deacon was vexed beyond endurance by 
 the delay of McClellan on the Potomac, and thereupon Mr. 
 Bross took the management of the campaign in his own 
 hands and gave as the watchwords : 
 
 " Let the boys go ! " 
 
 His soul was wearied with the delays of generalship, 
 tactics and strategy ; he wished to abolish all these and 
 trust the ending of the war to ' ' the boys. ' ' So great was 
 his confidence in the patriotism and enthusiasm of the 
 masses, that he fully believed and urged that an undis- 
 ciplined mob, if loosened and permitted to carry out its 
 patriotic inspiration, would march on and capture the Con- 
 federate capital without difficulty. It is, perhaps, well 
 that his suggestions were not adopted by the military 
 authorities. 
 
 Under his rough exterior he had a kindly soul, was a 
 man of great benevolence — in the toleration of political 
 opposition — and was regarded as a substantial and patriotic 
 worker for the interests of Chicago and of his newspaper. 
 He was very active and energetic in the development of the 
 resources of his State. He was well received by histor- 
 ians and geologists, in whose labors he took a strong 
 personal interest. So well was this fact recognized that a 
 prominent peak in the Rockies, not far from and but a 
 trifle smaller than that named after the famous Pike, now 
 bears the name of the late editor, 
 
XXXVI. 
 
 More Chicago Journalists. 
 
 One of the journalists of Chicago who attracted my 
 favorable attention was Dr. Charles H. Ray, who, at the 
 time I knew him, was one of the editors of the Evening 
 Post. He had been, as I understand, associated with Joseph 
 Medill in the Tribune as a partner and an editorial writer. 
 When connected with the latter journal, he wrote an article 
 entitled, ' ' Nig, Nig, Nigger ! ' ' which was a most bitter 
 invective against Catholicism for its alleged union with the 
 Democrats in their political course toward the negro. It 
 excited universal comment among all, and intense indigna- 
 tion in the religious body attacked. 
 
 The Catholics remembered the article when he died in 
 1870, and something of the same class picture that. has been 
 painted of the death-bed of Voltaire by a religious body 
 was given of the last moments of Dr. Ray. It was a picture 
 a trifle less revolting than that of the French infidel, but it 
 was one full of horrible suggestions. 
 
 Dr. Ray was a man of very strong convictions. * His 
 head was large and massive, with gray hair, a large jaw, 
 and every evidence in his eyes and bearing of an invincible 
 determination. He had the torso, neck, thighs and legs of 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 185 
 
 an athlete, and his writings were an excellent reproduction 
 in their vigor of the physical make-up of the man. 
 
 While connected with the Evening Post he sent for me to 
 come and sup with him one evening at a restaurant. He 
 took a private room, ordered a fine supper, including a bot- 
 tle of wine, and then proceeded, after considerable desultory 
 talk on men and politics, to make me a guarded proposition 
 to the effect that I should receive an interest in the Post. 
 I gave a partial consent to the consideration of the offer, 
 and at the parting it was the understanding that I was to 
 hear from him within three weeks. Whether it was the 
 fact that then, having an abstemious fit, I refused to join him 
 in drinking the bottle of wine, or that, after the conversation, 
 my sentiments did not suit him, or he found that I was not 
 up to the grade which he had supposed I possessed, I do 
 not know. I never heard from him after that on the subject. 
 
 There was one newspaper man who was for a time a 
 proprietor of the Evening Post — a tall, finely formed 
 man of about thirty, always handsomely dressed, his watch 
 chain shimmering with Masonic jewels ; a man with a dark, 
 clear complexion, black mustache, very thick, black hair, 
 with a broad-brimmed, black slouch hat of a brigandish 
 pattern, and who was exceedingly good-looking and seemed 
 to be perfectly well aware of it. 
 
 This was David Blakely, who was the Apollo of journal- 
 istic Chicago. His paper was burned in 1871, since which 
 time he has devoted himself to musical matters, having 
 attained great eminence as an impresario, and bringing to 
 
186 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 this country many of the most prominent of the musical 
 attractions of the Old World, notably Strauss, and others of 
 world-wide reputation. 
 
 One of the journalists of that day who attracted much 
 public notice was brought here by Charles A. Dana. He 
 was a man of wonderful genius, of unequaled ability in 
 certain classes of composition, and withal an inveterate 
 drunkard. Pie was the famous George T. I^anigan, whose 
 exploits and eccentricities were sufficient to fill a book. 
 Inebriety was his normal condition ; he was rarely or never 
 sober, and was capable, when in the profoundest stupor of 
 drunkenness, to be rallied by the application of cold cloths 
 to a condition in which for a time and at once he was 
 capable of the finest work. The moment his task was 
 completed he resorted to the bottle constantly until such 
 time as his services should be again required. 
 
 He left Chicago shortly after the fire and became an 
 attache of the New York World, and, as such, continued his 
 customary methods until death finally ended his career. 
 
 In 1863-4 there was a reporter whose nom de plume was 
 " Beau Hackett," and whose real name was J. Iy. Bowman. 
 He was a tall, swarthy man, erect, and with black hair that 
 gave him somewhat the appearance of an Indian. He 
 secured during his stay here a wide reputation as a humor- 
 ist, whose products, however laughable and entertaining, 
 were not always of the most delicate character. For 
 instance, in one of his pieces, which kept the public in a 
 roar of merriment, the main incident related to an event 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 187 
 
 which occurred when he was supposed to have disguised 
 himself as a woman and in that guise gained entrance into 
 a meeting composed exclusively of ladies. At a certain 
 period in the imagined proceedings he forgets for a moment 
 his feminine dress and says : "I reached down and drew 
 up my dress to get a chew of tobacco, showed my trousers 
 to the women and produced a tremendous uproar. ' ' 
 
 He was married to a beautiful wife, but was very much 
 addicted to the use of intoxicating liquors, and had frequent 
 broils with his pretty helpmeet, which often wound up by 
 his taking a dose of poison and being pumped out by a 
 doctor, this process being followed by a reconciliation. He 
 went to St. Louis, where he attained some further notor- 
 iety, but broke himself down by intemperance and was taken 
 in charge by the Sisters of Mercy, in whose hospital he died. 
 
 He w T rote a small book called ' ' Me and You, ' ' which was 
 made up of his miscellaneous sketches, and which met with 
 a fair success. 
 
 . There were many other journalists of the period w T ho 
 were more or less remarkable in some particulars. One 
 whom I recall was a young man named ' ' Shang ' ' Andrews, 
 who was, for some time, connected with Mr. Storey's news- 
 paper. His tendency was in the direction of the nasty, the 
 lecherous, the slums and their contents. 
 
 He finally drifted into the publication of a sheet devoted 
 to prostitutes — the kind of paper usually spoken of as 
 ' ' flash, " ' ' sporting, ' ' or something of the sort. It was sold 
 by newsboys on the streets, and had a large patronage. 
 
188 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 It was a personal organ of the Cyprian element. It de- 
 fended the proprietresses of some bagnios, and attacked 
 those of others. It was to the "levee," to "Cheyenne," 
 to " Biler Avenue," what the society journals of L,ondon 
 are to Belgravia and the West End. 
 
 ' ' Shang ' ' was an overgrown animal with coarse features, 
 dull eyes, heavy, sensual lips, and disproportionate limbs. 
 He was lumbering and shambling in his gait. He spent 
 much of his time in the society of the women whose cause 
 he championed, and of whose business his paper was the 
 exponent. 
 
 Personally, outside his profession, he was what is termed 
 a ' ' thoroughly good fellow. ' ' He was amiable in his dis- 
 position, genial, benevolent, and a warm friend. There 
 were people who despised his occupation while they liked 
 the man. He was temperate, and, strange as it may seem 
 in view of the character of the women with whom he was in 
 constant contact, he was believed to be chaste in his habits 
 and practices. 
 
 Several times his sheet was suppressed by the authorities, 
 and as often it reappeared on the streets. He saved no 
 money, although his paper was at times lucrative in its 
 returns. When he died, a few years ago, he was not 
 weighted down by age, but he was a white-haired old man 
 in appearance. The charity of some of his former newspa- 
 per associates contributed to the expenses of his interment. 
 
 M. Iy. Hopkins, the senior editorial writer of the Times, 
 was an out-and-out believer in the doctrine of State's rights. 
 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 189 
 
 He never alluded to the Tribune save as ' ' the poor old 
 black Republican newspaper concern of this city." 
 
 There were quite a number of journalists who were 
 prominent during the period between the time when I came 
 to Chicago and the fire of '71. Horace White, as editor of 
 the Tribune, assisted by James B. Runnion as managing 
 editor, gave that journal a wide reputation for its newsy 
 enterprise and its literary excellence. 
 
 Elias Colbert was known all through civilization for his 
 astronomical knowledge and researches ; George P. Upton, 
 Guy Magee, Joseph Forrest, J. M. Ballantyne, Henry M. 
 Smith — known later as ' ' Jubilee ' ' Smith — were among 
 the active workers of the ante-fire decade. 
 

PART SECOND. 
 
 Thk Work of Reconstruction. 
 
 Saturday, October 7th, at three o'clock in the afternoon, I 
 entered Mr. Storey's room in the Times building. This 
 was in the year 1871. I laid before him on the desk the 
 manuscript of an article, about a column in length, which I 
 had just written, on the " Goodenough " system of horse- 
 shoeing. He glanced at its head : 
 
 ' ' We will not use this to-morrow, for there is a surplus 
 of Sunday matter. Sit down ! ' ' 
 
 I seated myself, and he began to chat. For the past two 
 years, when absent from the city, he had left the charge 
 of the editorial matter in my hands. This had brought me 
 in closer contact with him. He would often discuss the 
 policy of the paper, projected improvements, and other 
 similar matters, before me. 
 
 He was quite communicative on this occasion. I thought 
 he was looking younger, and in other respects better than 
 usual. 
 
 He dwelt at some length on the prosperity enjoyed by 
 the Times, and spoke hopefully of the future. 
 
 191 
 
192 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 Monday, the 9th, I crossed Madison Street bridge from 
 the west, at about noon, and plunged into the hell of flame 
 and smoke beyond. After much difficulty, and with many 
 detours, and dodging tumbling walls, I succeeded in reach- 
 ing the locality in which I supposed the Times building had 
 stood. I could not find a vestige of the structure, nor pick 
 out the lot on which it had been erected. 
 
 The walls of the Tribune were still standing, but the 
 interior had been gutted by the flames. 
 
 I retraced my steps to the West Side, went to Rounds' 
 establishment and engaged the only press suitable to print a 
 newspaper. Then I started for Mr. Storey's residence, on 
 Michigan Avenue, which was south of the line of the flames. 
 
 I met George Atkins, foreman of the Times printing de- 
 partment. He handed me a bundle of manuscript 
 
 "I snatched this from the 'old man's' desk," he said, 
 " and had to run. It was the only thing I brought away." 
 
 It was the manuscript of the Goodenough horse-shoeing 
 article. So far as I know, it was the only thing that was 
 saved of the contents of the Times building. 
 
 Again I crossed the Madison Street bridge, and plunged 
 into the ruins for the purpose of reaching Mr. Storey's 
 house. Each moment there was a thunderous roar and 
 crash as the walls of some burned building tumbled to the 
 ground. The air was so filled with smoke as to blind one, 
 but still I could discover blackened bodies here and there 
 to the number of eighteen. 
 
 When I reached Mr. Storey's house on Michigan Avenue, 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 193 
 
 I saw three men sitting on the piazza. One was Jndge 
 Lambert Tree, another A. L. Patterson, business manager, 
 and an elderly man who leaned forward in his chair in an 
 attitude of dejection, whose mouth was pinched, and about 
 whose eyes there were innumerable wrinkles. It took a 
 second glance to recognize in this third person Mr. Storey, 
 who seemed ten years older than when I had left him Satur- 
 day afternoon. He greeted me with a faint smile and shook 
 hands with a languid clasp. 
 
 There was a short period of silence, all apparently 
 stunned by the stupendous calamity, not knowing what to 
 say. Finally I said : 
 
 " Mr. Storey, I have engaged a press at Rounds' ; I have 
 seen Atkins, and asked him to get his men together, and 
 have come up here to get the type in the barn." 
 
 There was an old font of the Times type stored away in 
 the loft of the barn in the rear of his house. 
 
 "What for?" asked Mr. Storey, with a kind of a half- 
 surprised air. 
 
 " Why, to resume the publication of the Times''' 
 
 He rose feebly to his feet, and said : 
 
 11 1 shall not resume the publication of the Times. The 
 city is destroyed. Everything is played out. I am now an 
 old man." (He was only fifty-one.) " I have about eighty 
 thousand dollars with which I can live comfortably for the 
 rest of my life. If I put that into a new paper, I would be 
 a pauper in less than a year." 
 
 " I think, Mr. Storey," said Mr. Patterson, " that you are 
 
94 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 mistaken as to Chicago being played out. In fact, the real 
 Chicago has not been touched by the fire. We still have our 
 immense system of railways, our sewers, our miles of water- 
 mains, our pavements, our lake navigation : in short, all that 
 constitutes the real Chicago has not been disturbed. " 
 
 "Well, that may be so," said the old gentleman; "but 
 where is business to come from ? ' ' 
 
 1 ' There are ten thousand business men burned out here, ' ' 
 I said, "all or a majority of whom will start again. As I 
 came along I saw on a board in the ruins the words : 'All 
 lost but wife, children and pluck. ' That is the spirit which 
 prevails everywhere. You can at least allow me to take 
 the type and make a start, and a week or two at most will 
 show whether there will be a resurrection or not, and if 
 there be a failure, the cost of so short an experiment will 
 not be a very large one." 
 
 He finally consented, and to Patterson was delegated the 
 duty of securing the room for publication and the moving 
 of the type. 
 
 Rooms were secured, the type moved after tremendous 
 difficulties in the way of obtaining transportation, a 
 squad of printers was drummed up from various saloons, 
 most of them in a state of intoxication, and the work of 
 type-setting began. Notices were put in the other papers 
 giving the place where the Times had resumed publication. 
 Mr. Storey did not appear until three days after I had seen 
 him at his house, and then he had come apparently to 
 satisfy himself that there was no prospect of success. He 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 195 
 
 found, upon meeting the business manager, that an enor- 
 mous number of advertisements had been taken, amounting 
 to several thousand dollars. 
 
 Every business man in the city who intended to start 
 again had brought in a notice of his new place, and in that 
 way there had come a mountain of advertisements. Storey's 
 face brightened, and he at once became interested. We had 
 a short consultation, in which it was agreed that the first 
 thing to be done was to secure larger and more spacious 
 quarters. 
 
 I at once started out in search of a site, and found a 
 vacant space on Adams Street just west of the bridge, and 
 which was owned by John Kline, an old settler who is mar- 
 ried to a relative of mine. On account of this relationship, 
 I got a lease of the lot at a ridiculously low figure. A 
 rough plan of a building was drawn, and, employing a car- 
 penter, I commenced operations in building. 
 
 I went to a certain firm of lumbermen with a bill of what 
 .was needed, and they refused to trust Mr. Storey for the 
 amount. One of the firm, a gentleman whom I had known 
 for a great many years, said that, while they would not 
 trust Mr. Storey, they would let me have the lumber if I 
 would myself assume the responsibility. Then the shanty, 
 ( ' two and a half stories long and one high " — as was said 
 of it at the time — was constructed, an engine was pur- 
 chased, and a Bullock press obtained, and all of the neces- 
 sary material was moved into the new building. 
 
 At this point I wish to relate another instance of the inef- 
 
196 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 fable meanness which characterized so many of Storey's 
 actions. As soon as the first issue of the Times was made 
 I suggested to Storey that I would be willing to throw off 
 one-half my salary for a period of five weeks, and that I had 
 no doubt that the majority of the employes, except the 
 printers, would be willing to do the same. A canvass was 
 made, and about thirty men entered into the agreement on 
 the half wages, except Patterson, the business manager, 
 who insisted that for five weeks he should work for nothing. 
 At the end of the five weeks, Mr. Patterson reminded 
 Mr. Storey that the time had expired, and asked him if it 
 were not best to resume full payment. Mr. Storey insisted 
 that the arrangement should extend through another week. 
 Now, the meanness of this transaction is in the fact that 
 during the five weeks that had already expired the paper 
 had been clearing $4,000 a week. Yet, in view of this 
 immense profit, Storey had the effrontery to "bilk" his em- 
 ployes out of the additional amount of a half- week's salary. 
 
II. 
 
 Building Operations. 
 
 After the shanty had been occupied, the question of a 
 permanent site and building came up, and became the sub- 
 ject of discussion. Mr. Storey, for a long time, insisted 
 that a plain, cheap structure of brick would answer every 
 purpose, and it was only after much persuasion that he con- 
 sented to erect a first-class building. 
 
 A lot eighty feet square was purchased on the site since 
 occupied by the Times, and the work of construction began. 
 
 In my younger days, I had been trained in mechanical 
 directions, and naturally on me fell the burden of the work 
 to be done. Plans were invited, and my selection from the 
 many presented was adopted. 
 
 The fire had proved that many kinds of stone had little 
 power to resist heat. Limestone walls, and sidewalks of 
 the same kind of stone, had been turned into lime under the 
 flames, ground into powder, and blown away by the savage 
 gales. Granite speedily cracked under the heat ; sandstone 
 best withstood the fiery test. 
 
 I traveled all through the quarry regions of Canada and 
 the Northern States, and at last, while in Michigan, learned 
 that a stone was in use for fire-grates, and was not impaired 
 
 197 
 
198 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 by heat. Tracing the stone to the quarry, I found the one 
 from which the Times walls were built. This quarry had 
 never been worked for anything more important than the 
 lining of fire-places in a limited area of Michigan. 
 
 I was given the superintendency of the erection of the 
 new building. I negotiated all the contracts, and person- 
 ally supervised all the work. I do not believe that a stone, 
 scarce^ a brick was laid, a pound of mortar mixed, or a 
 nail driven that I did not see. The wood- work of the build- 
 ing was all done by the day, and to it I gave as close atten- 
 tion as to the other departments. 
 
 Mr. Storey subsequently purchased and built on one 
 hundred and three feet north of and adjoining the eighty 
 feet which I had handled, and it gratifies me to be able to 
 say that at this date, twenty years later, there is not a single 
 crack in the external walls of the portion under my charge, 
 while the other, with which I had nothing to do, has shown 
 many gaps and wounds more or less serious in their 
 dimensions. 
 
 I discovered and applied some valuable improvements. 
 Before the date of the fire, the pits under printing-presses 
 were built of heavy plates of iron, which were riveted 
 together, and, having to conform to several inequalities in 
 the outlines of the bottom of the presses, they were costly, 
 clumsy, and hard to transport from the shops to the press- 
 rooms. 
 
 I ignored this style of construction, and substituted pits 
 of pressed brick, laid in concrete. By the aid of a siphon, 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 199 
 
 they are always kept dry, and in their construction cost but 
 a fraction of the amount paid for the old iron lining. 
 
 I also introduced a novel and inexpensive system of ven- 
 tilation, in which I availed myself of the air-ducts in the fire- 
 proof partitions for the transmission of foul gases, and which, 
 while it cost nothing, and worked beautifully, was ruined 
 by Mr. Storey, who, at the end of a year, changed the forms 
 of the rooms on the upper floors, breaking the connection 
 of the foul-air ducts. 
 
 Mr. Storey, when he was about the building, was a per- 
 petual nuisance, especially after the shell was completed and 
 the task of laying out the rooms was being performed. He 
 showed at this time some initial evidences of mental weaken- 
 ing. He would come down one day and point out what he 
 wished done, for instance, in the height of the walls and the 
 distances between the gas-stubs, and next day, finding the 
 work done, would declare that it was not all as he had 
 directed. 
 
 There were many such instances that showed an impair- 
 ment of his memory. When the time came for final settle- 
 ments with contractors, there was always trouble. Extras 
 that had arisen from his shifting of purpose in the construct- 
 ing of various things, and on his orders, he invariably dis- 
 puted ; denied having ordered them, and refused to pay for 
 them. Many lawsuits resulted, and many years elapsed 
 before they were settled. 
 
 I remember one suit in which he was summoned as a 
 witness, and which he resented as an insult to his dignity. 
 
200 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 It was an additional proof that his mental condition was 
 changing for the worse. 
 
 The suit was by the Cloggston Boiler Company, whose 
 boilers had been put in and failed to do the required work. 
 Storey declined to pay for them. When on the witness- 
 stand his voice shook with rage and nervous excitement. 
 
 1 ' What business is that of yours, you damned puppy ? ' ' 
 he replied to some ordinary question asked by the attorney 
 for the plaintiff. 
 
 Several times he made the same kind of an insulting reply 
 to legitimate interrogatories, and was three or four times re- 
 buked by the judge. 
 
 He had a very annoying habit of doing certain things 
 when I submitted plans to him. The Cloggston boiler case 
 furnishes an instance. He looked over the plans, heard 
 the statements of the contractors, and said : 
 
 ' ' Wilkie, I will accept this boiler on your recommenda- 
 tion." 
 
 Now, this was totally untrue, for I had persistently 
 advocated the ' ' Root boiler, " as I believe it is termed, and 
 which is built up of tubes, each of a single horse-power, 
 which can be increased by the addition of more tubes, and 
 an explosion in which can not include more than a single 
 tube. This was the boiler finally adopted on my recom- 
 mendation, but Storey always insisted that he had taken 
 the Cloggston apparatus at my suggestion. 
 
 The faster he made money the more exacting and penuri- 
 ous he became. At the end of the first ten weeks after 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 201 
 
 the starting of the new paper, the business had netted him a 
 profit of $40,000, and it continued to make money at the 
 same rate for years immediately following. And yet he 
 haggled over every cent, fought contractors in the courts, and 
 delayed the trial of cases on one and another pretense with a 
 view of tiring out the men suing him, and to force them to 
 a compromise at a low figure, and which, in many instances, 
 he succeeded in accomplishing. 
 
III. 
 
 Cumulative Blows. 
 
 In 1870 Mr. Storey went to Springfield to attend a con- 
 vention. Going to the train, he stepped off a platform and 
 broke his leg. He was taken home by Dr. Fowler, who set 
 the leg, and as soon as possible he was brought back to 
 Chicago. Further attention to his leg was given by Dr. J. 
 Adams Allen, and when Storey finally got. up on his feet 
 again, he found that under the manipulation of Dr. Allen it 
 had been left slightly out of line. 
 
 As Storey was very proud of his figure, the condition of 
 his limb was a frightful mortification, and created a feeling 
 against Dr. Allen, with whom he had been on intimate 
 terms for many years. This was one blow. 
 
 In 1 87 1 the occurrence of the fire was the second blow, 
 which, coming after the incident just related, was more 
 damaging than it otherwise would have been. The final 
 blow was the illness and sudden, and entirely unexpected, 
 death of his wife. 
 
 She died in January, 1873 ; the Christmas before, in 
 company with her husband, she had spent at South Bend 
 with his sister and nephew — the latter, Ed. Chapin, and the 
 former, the wife of a lawyer named Anderson. She caught 
 
 202 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 203 
 
 a violent cold which settled into rheumatism, and less than a 
 fortnight later she was dead. 
 
 The death was not anticipated. She was apparently- 
 improving when the rheumatism, which was of the migra- 
 tory character, struck her heart, and her life was extinguished 
 as a candle is blown out. She died in the night, and Mr. 
 A. L,. Patterson, the business manager, was the first one at 
 the office to learn of the event. He immediate^ went up to 
 the house, and he relates what he saw as follows : 
 
 1 ' I found Mr. Storey sitting in front of the grate before 
 a fire that was giving out but little heat and light. It was 
 very cold,, the sky was cloudy, the room was dark and 
 cheerless, and Mr. Storey was entirely alone. He seemed to 
 have grown many years older. I expressed my regret over 
 his loss, when he broke into a passionate fit of sobbing, the 
 only time that I have ever seen any exhibition of the kind 
 on the part of a man who had always prided himself 
 on being impervious to blows or to misfortunes of any 
 description." 
 
 There was no lot for burial ; no preparations whatever had 
 been made for the funeral. Mr. Patterson asked Mr. Storey 
 if he should take charge of matters, and consent was given. 
 Mrs. Storey had been attending the cathedral of Bishop 
 Whitehouse, and Mr. Patterson suggested that he be secured 
 for the services. This seemed very agreeable to Mr. Storey, 
 and was accordingly done The Bishop expressed himself 
 as very willing to officiate. 
 
 Before leaving the house, as Mr. Patterson was going out, 
 
204 . PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 he met the female domestic, who asked him if he would not 
 like to look at the body. She conducted him up-stairs to 
 the room. 
 
 ' ' The sight, ' ' says Mr. Patterson, ' ' was a frightful one. 
 She lay on her bed just as she had died, her only garment 
 being a nightgown, through which her form was perfectly 
 revealed. I could not help noticing that she was the pos- 
 sessor of a magnificent figure, whose outlines suggested a 
 grand voluptuousness." 
 
 The day of the funeral was a horrible one. A savage 
 snow-storm was raging, and a fierce wind drove the snow 
 into the faces of the people until sight was almost impossi- 
 ble. Through this dreary storm the sad cortege moved to 
 the depot, and thence to Graceland by cars, and the bod}^ 
 was deposited in the vault. 
 
 One can faintly imagine the desolation which afHicted Mr. 
 Storey when he returned to his empty home. Although his 
 wife had been a woman of questionable reputation when he 
 married her, she became faithful and gave to him devoted 
 attention and affection. She so endeared herself to him that 
 he grew fond of her, and, as far as his nature permitted, came 
 nearer loving her than any other woman. 
 
 She made herself indispensable to his comfort. She 
 studied his needs and peculiarities, and how to gratify them. 
 She coddled him as if he had been an infant. Having lived 
 the most of his life by himself, the new situation was espe- 
 cially delightful. It was at this time, when he was sur- 
 rounded by all kinds of gentle attention ; when, perhaps, 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 205 
 
 for the first time in his life, he was entirely happy, that his 
 wife suddenly sickened and died. 
 
 This blow nearly drove him insane. 
 
 Let me summarize the various causes, culminating in the 
 death of his wife, which were so many assaults on his 
 vitality. The first and perhaps most potent of them all was 
 his life in the Portland and in Speed's block, in both of which 
 his existence was a continuous debauch, with lewd women 
 and excessive drinking as the principal elements. 
 
 For years, without intermission, he followed a course 
 which was calculated to sap his vitality and impair his 
 mental strength. This, added to the fire, the breaking of 
 his leg, the death of his wife, constituted the combination 
 that began an impairment of brain and body whose results 
 were full of disaster. This aggregation of calamities wrought 
 serious evils on his nature, and he grew moody and morbid 
 He could not forget his wife ; he missed her smiles, her sooth- 
 ing voice, her caressing hands every moment. He could not 
 give her up. 
 
 It was while he was thus in mourning for the loss of his 
 wife that he became possessed by the belief that Dr. Hosmer 
 Johnson, who had attended Mrs. Storey in her final illness, had 
 not given her due attention ; that, instead of calling at long 
 intervals, he should have devoted his entire time to her 
 case. This conviction in time developed into one to the 
 effect that the physician had given her cumulative doses of 
 aconite — that is to say, that, instead of delaying one dose 
 until the effect of the other had passed away, they lapped on 
 
206 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 each other, and produced the effect of a single one. He 
 said to me one day, in discussing the matter, that he believed 
 that it was his duty to murder Johnson. Once possessed of 
 these ideas, he proceeded to attack the physician through 
 his paper with the malignant virulence which few of the 
 citizens of that day will fail to remember. 
 
 Dr. Johnson stood the attacks for some months in silence, 
 and then replied to them in an article of a column and a half 
 in the Tribu?ie, one of the most terrible things of the kind 
 which ever appeared in public print. 
 
 He gave his notes of the case of Mrs. Storey, the dates of 
 his visits, the medicine administered, its quantity, and 
 succeeded in amply refuting Mr. Storey's charges in every 
 particular. 
 
 He was not satisfied with a vindication of his professional 
 conduct of the case ; he became aggressive ; from defending 
 he turned into the assaulting party, and charged on his 
 enemy with terrific force. He asserted that the malady 
 which cost Mrs. Storey her life was the direct outcome of a 
 licentious life. This was an awful blow, but was no more 
 annihilating than another which crushed his antagonist with 
 the assertion that he was impotent. 
 
 Fancy the effect of these two withering assertions on the 
 nature of a man with the inordinate pride of Storey ! He 
 was then but fifty-four years of age ; to publish his impo- 
 tence must have created a shock which shattered one of the 
 most sensitive feelings in his soul — that feeling which every 
 man, irrespective of age or the real facts in the case, enter- 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 207 
 
 tains, and that is that his manhood, his virility, shall stand 
 unchallenged. 
 
 That Mr. Storey was not driven into an insane asylum by 
 the terrible riposte of Dr. Johnson is something provocative 
 of astonishment. 
 
 He believed that Horace White was the author of the 
 article. He showed me, a few days after the appearance of 
 the Johnson paper, a reply which was one of the most 
 beastly and abominable attacks on Horace White that ever 
 could be conceived. That gentleman had some discolora- 
 tion of the face in blotches, which Storey used as having 
 been caused by contact with a person whom to particularize 
 would be at once a scandalous libel and a gross insult. 
 
 The public, as a rule, extended no sympathy to Mr. 
 Storey in his overwhelming humiliation and defeat. It was 
 said by a prominent lawyer, who was the editor's professional 
 adviser : 
 
 1 ' For years Storey has been on the summit of a great 
 height from which, with entire impunity, he has been toss- 
 ing missiles on the heads of the crowd below, careless whom 
 he wounded, and secure, owing to his elevation, from any- 
 thing like reprisal. At last, an expert slinger plants a 
 stone directly in the middle of his forehead, and the world 
 rejoices as it hears his shrieks of pain. The general verdict 
 is, ' Served him right ! ' " 
 
 I induced Mr. Storey not to print the calumnious article 
 concerning Horace White. But he redoubled the number, 
 and, if possible, the venomousness of the attacks on Dr. 
 
208 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 Johnson, declaring in an editorial: "The world may set 
 me down as a dog if I do not ruin the man who killed my 
 wife!" 
 
IV. 
 
 Storey's Spiritualism. 
 
 Som£ months after the death of ' ' Bonnie, ' ' which was his 
 pet name for his second wife, I was spending the evening at 
 his house. He alluded to her in a caressing tone, and, 
 after some reminiscences of pleasant evenings we had passed 
 together when she was alive, he asked : 
 
 ' ' Have you ever given any attention to spiritualism ? If 
 you have, what do you think of it ? " 
 
 ' ' Yes ; I have given the ' ism ' considerable examination, 
 but I have never been able to reach anything like a positive 
 conclusion. On the whole, I am rather disposed to doubt 
 its genuineness. For three years I had a standing offer of 
 $100 to be given to any spiritualist in Chicago who could 
 - produce a ' manifestation ' which I could not reproduce by 
 natural means. Several attempts were made to secure the 
 prize, but all were failures. ' ' 
 
 11 1 don't take any stock in it," he said, " but I would 
 like to test it. I have heard of a ' medium,' as it is called, 
 that is said to have some mysterious power, and I'd like to 
 look into the matter. Suppose we go this evening ? I know 
 where a circle is to be held over on the West Side. ' ' 
 
 I was considerably amazed that he should have so much 
 
 209 
 
2io PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 information as to the whereabouts of a medium, but learned 
 later in the evening that he had before visited the place 
 where we went that night. 
 
 I consented to go, of course ; he ordered his carriage, and, 
 accompanied by Dr. Fowler, of Springfield, we drove to a 
 house whose locality I do not remember. 
 
 A ' ' circle ' ' was in operation when we entered. There 
 were two ' ' mediums ' ' or media — whichever it should be — 
 a man and his wife. 
 
 The circle broke up, and was re-formed by the addition of 
 the newcomers. Mr. Storey wore an air of solemn anticipa- 
 tion. The light was turned down ; there was some sing- 
 ing, and then a guitar, which had been lying on the table, 
 rose in the air and floated over our heads, its strings being 
 twanged with vigor. 
 
 There were palpable raps all over the room : a tattoo 
 which was heard from the walls, the ceilings, on and under 
 the table. ' ( Spirit fingers ' ' touched the hair and caressed 
 the lips of the sitters. Many messages were received, one 
 of which was the following : 
 
 ' ' I see, ' ' said the female medium, ' ' a spirit hovering 
 over the head of one of this party. He has a noble head 
 and face, and has white hair and beard. ' ' 
 
 I sat next to Mr. Storey and could feel that he was agi- 
 tated. His hand shook, but he said nothing. 
 
 ' ' The spirit, ' ' continued the medium, ' ' is a woman with 
 brown hair, red lips, a stout figure. She is about forty 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 211 
 
 years of age, and smiles on the man with the white hair 
 and fondles his beard. ' ' 
 
 It was the old, old ' ' racket, ' ' the twanging of the guitar, 
 the rappings and tappings, the spirit fingers, all of which 
 I had often seen, and which I knew to be gross deceptions. 
 I was trying to smother an expression of contempt, when 
 there suddenly appeared, directly over our heads, on the 
 ceiling, a space illumined by a pale blue light. Everybody 
 glanced up, and saw, written across the lighted space : 
 " Wilbur F. Storey." 
 
 The trick was so stale that unconsciously I uttered, in a 
 tone heard all over the room : 
 
 "Oh, hell!" 
 
 The light was at once turned up, and Storey, glancing at 
 me sternly, said, in an indignant tone : 
 
 : ' You must have drunk too much of that claret at 
 dinner!" 
 
 He never again invited me to join him in visiting spirit- 
 ual seances. In fact, for several months he did not ask me 
 to dinner, as he had been in the habit of doing at least 
 twice a week since the death of ' ' Bonnie. ' ' 
 
 I learned that, during this period of my absence, the 
 man and woman who acted as mediums at the spiritual 
 meeting referred to were installed as guests in the Storey 
 residence. 
 
 About six months after the death of his wife, while the 
 attacks on Dr. Johnson were being continued, he said to 
 me : 
 
212 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 "We must let up on Dr. Johnson." 
 
 I was about to say I was delighted to hear it, but changed 
 my mind and asked if I might be permitted to know the 
 reason. 
 
 " I have just received a communication from ' Bonnie ' in 
 which she asks me to stop the attacks on the doctor. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Indeed ! How did you get the communication ? ' ' 
 
 "Through an old Chicago man named Sampson, now 
 living at Denver. He received a message from 'Bonnie,' 
 through a medium, with a request to forward it to me. ' ' 
 
 Those people who may recall the sudden and surprising 
 cessation of the attacks of the Times on Dr. Johnson, may 
 now, for the first time, learn the reason. 
 
 At this period Mr. Storey gave up spiritualism, and 
 resumed it some years later, and which phase will be 
 alluded to in a subsequent chapter. One day, about six 
 months after the death of "Bonnie," I noticed that he 
 seemed very disconsolate. I mentioned the fact to him and 
 asked him if he was not feeling well. To this he replied : 
 
 ' ' I am feeling lonely. The fact is I must have a woman 
 about me. I cannot get along without one. ' ' 
 
 This reply brought to my mind an event that had taken 
 place in Mr. Storey's life several years before. There was 
 a young lady in Kentucky, the daughter of a family of 
 bluest blood, who was very beautiful, accomplished, and 
 possessed fine literary attainments. Mr. Storey made her 
 acquaintance through some letters which she wrote to the 
 Times, and which were so exceptionally fine that his 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 213 
 
 attention was attracted to the writer. He opened a per- 
 sonal correspondence with her, and in a brief time became 
 very much enamored with the writer. He went to Ken- 
 tucky to see her, and was infatuated with her beauty, her 
 charms of mind and person. I think that the result of the 
 visit was a qualified engagement of marriage. It was 
 followed by a correspondence of some length, which was 
 suddenly broken off, and a couple of months later infor- 
 mation came that the lady had been married. 
 
 This affection of Mr. Storey was probably the only pure 
 one that, up to that period, he had entertained for any 
 woman save his first wife. His remark in regard to the 
 necessity of having a woman around suggested his con- 
 nection with this Kentucky girl, and I said : 
 
 "Do you suppose that ," naming the 
 
 young lady in Kentucky, "is living happily with her 
 husband?" 
 
 He seemed surprised at the question, and said : 
 " I don't know. Why do you ask ? " 
 ' ' Well, I ask because I heard that she does not live on 
 good terms with her husband. He is much older than she; 
 he is coarse, unrefined, a sporting man, and there is an 
 entire lack of concord between them. You say that you 
 must have a woman about you. Suppose that I go down 
 to Kentucky and look over the situation. It may be that 
 
 may be anxious for a separation. If so a 
 
 divorce might follow, and then you could have ' a woman 
 about you ' who would make you a most admirable and 
 congenial wife. ' ' 
 
214 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 A glow of pleasure flashed over his face when he heard 
 this remark, and then, after a few moments' thought, he 
 said : 
 
 ' ' I have already been concerned in two divorces — one 
 from my first wife and another for my second wife — and I 
 don't hardly care to mix myself up in any more transac- 
 tions of the sort." 
 
 A curious, ludicrous and scandalous phase was devel- 
 oped immediately after Mrs. Storey's death. There was a 
 great rush of elderly virgins, simpering widows, young 
 girls, semi-courtesans and all sorts and classes of women 
 who were determined to marry Mr. Storey. Even the 
 charming Tennie C. Claflin — now wedded to a wealthy 
 and blooded Englishman — had aspirations for the place 
 that had just been vacated by the death of Mrs. Hattie 
 Dodge Storey. 
 
 Being considered rather more in the confidence of the 
 bereaved widower than anybody else, I was an especial 
 subject of attack by many women who were in search of 
 the relict of the widow Dodge. I was inundated with let- 
 ters and personal calls, all imploring my influence in aiding 
 them to marry the sorrowing widower. There was one 
 young and very handsome, refined girl who had set her heart 
 on marrying the old man, who was then more than sixty 
 years of age, and she wrote me and called on me several 
 times. She seemed infatuated with his wealth and con- 
 spicuous position, and would have married him at any risk. 
 
 It would be infinitely amusing, and not at all creditable 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 215 
 
 to the applicants, were I to relate some of the many con- 
 versations that occurred. Most of them, especially the 
 elderly ones, did not hesitate to state that they would only 
 marry Storey because he was rich. One of the ladies who 
 honored me by asking my assistance was a divorcee well 
 known in Chicago. She was a woman of about forty-five, 
 quite obese, with coal-black hair and eyes, a perceptible 
 mustache and side-whiskers — a noted termagant, whose 
 furious temper had made her home a hell for her husband 
 till he secured relief in the divorce court. 
 
 She opened the conversation without any preliminary 
 skirmishing. 
 
 " I want you to help me to marry old Storey." 
 
 ' ' Me ? I have no influence with Mr. Storey in matri- 
 monial matters. If you wish to marry him, walk right into 
 his room, and tell him what you want. He is of age, and 
 you can talk to him just as you might to your grand- 
 father." 
 
 She continued to insist on my aid. 
 
 " It is impossible I I could not consent to put you into 
 the power of a tyrant who would eat you up inside of a 
 week. He is a man with an awful, a tremendous temper. 
 He hates women." 
 
 " I don't care for all that ! I can manage a dozen like 
 him." 
 
 ' ' How, may I ask ? ' ' 
 
 " I'd break his old head with a rolling-pin, that's what 
 I'd do." 
 
2i6 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 There were regular agencies established to marry him. 
 There were two or three families where he was in the habit 
 of dropping in of an evening to play cards. At each of 
 these would be a widow or two, or an aspiring old maid, 
 who had come at the invitation of his entertainers. A 
 prominent lawyer undertook to push the efforts of some of 
 the claimants. Letters were received by myself and others 
 from different cities as to the prospects of securing him for 
 a husband. 
 
 There was a partial engagement between him and the 
 tall, stylish widow of a prominent citizen, and a marriage 
 would have undoubtedly resulted had it not been that some 
 mischief-maker hinted to Storey that there was a scandal 
 connected with the lady, whereupon the engagement was 
 broken. There is no reason to believe that there was any 
 truth in the story as to the taint on her record, but the 
 scandal was probably conceived in the interest of some 
 rival. 
 
 There were months during all that period when I scarcely 
 ever entered his room without finding some woman with 
 him who was bent on a matrimonial venture. One or two 
 whom I thus saw were holding the hand of the white-haired 
 sexagenarian, and trying to fascinate him with their fond 
 glances. The old man seemed to enjoy this siege. He 
 was not in the least moved by it, further than it excited his 
 dull sense of the ridiculous. He invented all sorts of names 
 for the women who surrounded him. One was " Old Jim's 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 217 
 
 Leavings ; ' ' another was the ' ' Calcimined Widow, ' ' and 
 there were equally characteristic names for still others. 
 
 I have no doubt that his love for the Kentucky girl was 
 the most profound and sincere that he ever entertained for 
 a woman. He married a third time, in 1873, the next 
 year after the death of " Bonnie," on account, as he stated, 
 that he must have a woman about him, and for the further 
 purpose of ridding himself of the tremendous pressure that 
 was being brought against him. 
 
Visit to a Paris Newspaper. 
 
 In my visit to Paris, in 1874, I made a brief inspection 
 of some of the principal French newspaper offices. 
 
 The French journals are entirely unlike those of any 
 other country in all material particulars — in appearance, 
 kind of paper, make-up, quality and selection of matter. 
 There is no editorial page, no department devoted to 
 telegraphic news, and no space given to matter scissored 
 from exchanges. One- third of the paper — the lower 
 portion — is cut off by horizontal lines from the upper 
 portion, and is known as the " feuilleton," which is devoted 
 to light literature, being generally a continuous story run- 
 ning through several numbers. 
 
 The leading or principal article appears in the first 
 column of the first page, and is signed by the writer, who 
 usually appends his real name. Among the French news- 
 papers Le Figa7'o is probably the best known in Paris and 
 in other countries. A brief account of the visit to the office 
 of this journal may be of interest. 
 
 One proceeds a short distance along the narrow and 
 crowded Rue Drovot, in Paris, and suddenly finds oneself 
 in front of a building so unique and fanciful in its appear- 
 
 218 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 219 
 
 ance that it forces the visitor, if a stranger, to pause for an 
 extended survey. It is gorgeous in colored glass, parti- 
 colored stones, niches, statues, gargoyles, balconies, bas- 
 reliefs, allegorical groupings and ornate pilasters. It is 
 dwarfed somewhat by the high buildings on both sides of 
 it, but asserts itself and attracts attention after the fashion 
 of a diminutive but exquisitely dressed and beautiful 
 woman sandwiched between a couple of substantial, stout, 
 plain dowagers. 
 
 This gorgeous creation, blazing with the splendors of a 
 richly decorated branch of the Spanish renaissance style, is 
 the facade of the Hotel Figaro — as it is termed — the 
 office of publication of the newspaper selected as the 
 representative of French journalistic enterprise and civil- 
 ization. Its guardian genius is the statue of the Spanish 
 Figaro, which occupies a roomy niche just over the grand 
 entrance. Above the left shoulder is seen the key-end of a 
 guitar. The hands are engaged in sharpening a quill pen. 
 On a black marble pedestal on which the statue stands are 
 golden letters carrying this legend : 
 
 " Je taille encore ma plume, et demande a chacun de quoi il 
 est question. ' ' 
 
 Freely interpreted, this means that Figaro is once more on 
 deck and ready for business. The original Figaro office 
 had been burned, and he once more sharpened his pen for 
 work. 
 
 One naturally expects a corresponding interior after 
 viewing so resplendent an exterior, and is not disappointed. 
 
22o PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 Ascending some wide, broad steps of marble, the visitor 
 finds himself in a grand vestibule, from which rise, on the 
 right and left, two spacious staircases most elegantly 
 decorated with bronzes. About the capacious vestibule are 
 statuettes of the guardian genius, Figaro, each of which is 
 the work of a master, and each of which represents the 
 figure in the act of composition. One of them is a Figaro 
 on a full run, who writes as he speeds along — an attitude 
 which proves that the French have the correct idea as to 
 enterprise, however much they may lack in putting it into 
 execution. Another vestibule, with more statuettes, more 
 carved panels, more stained glass, leads to the central room 
 of the structure. It is grand in dimensions, and beautiful 
 in proportions, extending to the roof of colored glass. It is 
 an atrium of Roman style, which opens into every room of 
 the building. Below is the business office, and above, a gal- 
 lery running all around the interior. 
 
 This rotunda glows with rich, warm coloring, and is as 
 ornate and resplendent as art, taste and wealth can make it. 
 Graceful columns spring up, supporting semi-circular arches, 
 each of which is ornamented with exquisite carving of char- 
 acteristic reliefs. The counter in the counting-room is a 
 marvel of beauty and richness. The floor is a fine mosaic ; 
 a stately bust of Beaumarchais occupies a conspicuous 
 position ; and from above unique and marvelously con- 
 structed candelabra ornament the room, and at night inun- 
 date, with a flood of mellow light, every part of the impos- 
 ing rotunda. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 221 
 
 The moment the visitor passes the second vestibule, he is 
 met by an obsequious attendant in livery, who wishes to 
 know what can be done for monsieur. If monsieur be an 
 advertiser, he is bowed to the proper clerk ; if a subscriber, 
 he is guided to the right place ; if he bring some intelligence 
 of real or fancied importance, he is politely shown into the 
 room of an editor, which is immediately adjoining the main 
 entrance. 
 
 There are a few American offices in which a person of 
 this kind would be passed from hand to hand with supreme 
 insolence, and would be fortunate if he escaped being kicked 
 down stairs. 
 
 At the Figaro, such a person is welcomed. There is an 
 editor whose metier is to attend to this class. He occupies 
 an elegant apartment ; he is courteous and listens patiently 
 to what each has to say ; he invites them to be seated, and 
 is not sparing in thanks, even to the one whose communica- 
 tion is worthless. He knows his business thoroughly ; he 
 readily separates the wheat from the chaff of intelligence ; 
 his suavity pleases the caller. 
 
 The prompt admission to an editorial room flatters the 
 vanity of the people, and, as a result, considerable informa- 
 tion of value, don mots, and the like, are collected in the 
 course of the twenty-four hours. What is better is that 
 people who have a real grievance are never snubbed by in- 
 solent subordinates, so that the very best feeling is every- 
 where entertained for the journal. 
 
 Opening from the gallery that encompasses the Spanish 
 
222 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 patio, or rotunda, are halls that lead to the rooms of the 
 various employes. These are all magnificently furnished 
 with rosewood furniture, rich tapestry, bronzes and marble 
 statues. Some rooms contain a single writer, others two or 
 three. The principal editor, Villemessant — since de- 
 ceased — then occupied a small room on the ground floor to 
 the right of the main entrance. There is also a superbly 
 furnished council-room in which all the literary force meet 
 once a month. There are bed-rooms, bath-rooms and 
 breakfast and dining apartments ; for a majority of the 
 literary attaches, except the editor-in-chief, eat, live and 
 sleep in the building. 
 
 There is also a very large room whose walls are covered 
 with glittering foils. Each day at two o'clock all the 
 employes assemble in this hall and receive lessons from an 
 expert in fencing. This practice is obligatory, for the 
 reason that each member of the staff is required to hold 
 himself ready to call some one, or be called, at a moment's 
 notice, to the field of honor. Any hesitation in such a case 
 is met with instant dismissal. 
 
 ' ' You have none of these in your country ? ' ' queried my 
 conductor, as he pointed to the implements of offense and 
 defense on the walls. 
 
 "No!" 
 
 ' ' What do you employ in America ? ' ' 
 
 I thought of all the weapons in use in American editorial 
 departments, from horsewhips to fists, canes, bludgeons, 
 boots, and thumb-nails, and found my French unequal to a 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 223 
 
 lucid explanation. As a compromise which meant every- 
 thing and nothing, I looked ferociously mysterious and 
 made no reply. 
 
 "Ah," he said, " I understand ! You do these things 
 here!" As he spoke he brought his hand around on his hip 
 and slapped that portion of his body where a Yankee wears 
 his pistol pocket. I did not undeceive him. 
 
 On its literary staff at the time of my visit Le Figaro had 
 one editor-in-chief, fourteen assistant editors, ten reporters, 
 and seventy men who included compositors, feeders and 
 stereotypers. All this force was engaged in getting out a 
 newspaper about one-half the size of the New York Herald, 
 and which contains not more than one-quarter as much 
 matter. 
 
 Each editor and reporter is furnished with a carnet — an 
 ingenious protection against imposition which ought to be 
 introduced into Chicago. It consists of a small folio of 
 morocco, bound with silver and shaped like a cigar case. It 
 contains a photograph of the emplo3^e in one compartment, 
 and in the other a written authentication of his position by 
 his superior. The ordinary star can easily be imitated ; the 
 photograph of the owner prevents anything like deception. 
 
 H. de Villemessant, the redacteur, or editor-in-chief, was, 
 next to Cassagnac, the most noted journalist in France. 
 His position as second to the other was due to the fame of 
 the latter as a duelist. As a successful administrative 
 journalist, Villemessant was the superior of all his French 
 contemporaries. So highly is he regarded that every issue 
 
224 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 of Le Figaro bears the statement in a conspicuous place at 
 its head : " H. de Villemessant, fondateur. ' ' 
 
 He received me very graciously. He was then about 
 fifty-five years of age, stout, with a gray beard and hair 
 which bristled in every direction like the extended quills of 
 an enraged porcupine. He had large, kindly eyes, and a 
 face suggestive of determination, great intellectuality, 
 geniality, and good living. His residence was just outside 
 Paris, and of a palatial character. He was known as a 
 generous and accomplished host and largely entertained his 
 friends. 
 
 When I related to him the enormous outlay of many 
 American newspapers for news, he said : 
 
 ''That seems to me absurd! What! Thousands of 
 dollars for a single dispatch ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes, often. The first-class American newspaper must 
 have all the important occurrences in the entire world of the 
 day before, in each morning's issue, regardless of expense." 
 
 ' ' That is very droll ! I have no use for any such expense 
 in Paris. Here, with over half a hundred competing rivals, 
 I can often increase the circulation of Le Figaro up to 200,- 
 000 copies without the expenditure of more than a hundred 
 francs." 
 
 This was proved by the Figaro at the time when Bazaine 
 made his escape. The paper published an exclusive account 
 which ran the circulation from 80,000 to 200,000. The 
 entire article was less than half a column. An American 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 225 
 
 newspaper would have published an entire page of a similar 
 occurrence. 
 
 Some further chat took place, and then the great redacteur, 
 after presenting me with his autograph, gave me a cordial 
 grasp of the hand, and, with many expressions of good will, 
 bowed me out. 
 
 The attaches of Le Figaro are a family. As said, they 
 live, eat and sleep in the same building. They are attached 
 to the office, and in constant waiting are carriages to be used, 
 in case of a necessity, for a hurried trip to a remote part of 
 the city. 
 
 Among these employes there exists a strong and cordial 
 esprit dzc corps, which secures excellent results by the creation 
 of a unity of purpose when some great end is to be achieved. 
 I saw nowhere in this office, nor among other French 
 journalists, of whom I met many, any vestiges of that con- 
 temptible jealous}^ so common on this side of the Atlantic, 
 in which one believes that, by pulling another down, one 
 builds one's self up. 
 
 It may interest readers to know the compensation received 
 by French journalists. For the year ending at the date that 
 I saw Villemessant his share of the earnings of his journal 
 was 400,000 francs, or about $80,000. The person in charge 
 of the city department is paid 50,000 francs ; the chief 
 reporter, 40,000 ; the manager, 30,000. The critic is given 
 an annual stipend of 12,000, while other reporters are paid 
 by the piece. If a writer secures the "leader" he is paid 
 250 francs for it, regardless of its length. Other writers are 
 
226 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 paid from four to twenty cents a line. It is thus seen that 
 French writers are paid from three to five times as much as 
 writers in this country ; at least this was the fact when I 
 visited Le Figaro, whatever it may be at the present date. 
 
 People outside of Paris have no comprehension of the 
 nature of a journalistic sensation in that city. A bon mot, 
 in a three-line paragraph, will create more excitement and 
 sell more papers than would a Cronin murder case, includ- 
 ing the finding of the body and the detection and punish- 
 ment of the criminals. 
 
 There was a series of financial incidents connected with 
 my visit to Paris, one of which has been alluded to, and 
 which, with some others, deserves a brief mention. 
 
 I went over with the two base ball nines — the Bostons 
 and Philadelphias — not to report their trip, but for the 
 reason that I could purchase a passage over and back for 
 about two- thirds the regular rates. 
 
 I wrote an account of their first game at IyOrd's Cricket 
 Grounds in l,ondon, and then left the nines and ran over to 
 Paris, where I had some acquaintances. I had only about 
 $300 when I started, intending when I ran short to draw on 
 Storey, who owed me, on account of my extra private 
 salary, $1,000. 
 
 When I reached the French capital and had been there a 
 week, my funds ran low, and I telegraphed Storey for a 
 thousand francs. He did not answer ; that he received it 
 admits of no doubt, for Judge Lambert Tree was in the 
 office when my cablegram came, and it was read to him. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 227 
 
 I learned afterwards that he was offended over a portion 
 of my London letter in which I made some allusion to the 
 substantial dimensions of the feet of English women. Some 
 English ass, stabled here in Chicago, went to Storey and 
 brayed a complaint to the effect that I had insulted English 
 women. Storey, who always believed the last one of 
 several contradictory statements, took umbrage at this 
 1 ' insult ' ' and undertook to punish me by paying no atten- 
 tion to my request for money. 
 
 I waited a week, and then drew for a thousand francs on 
 Dan O'Hara, one of my warm friends and admirers, who 
 promptly honored the draft. 
 
 I was training with a pretty expensive set, and just before 
 the time came to leave my funds were again at a low ebb. 
 Seeing that I was rather glum, Mrs. Clara Spencer, a 
 wealthy artist from St. Louis, who was in Paris studying 
 music, and at whose house I was spending the evening, 
 asked what was troubling me. I told her I had to leave for 
 home, that I had heard nothing from a draft which I 
 had drawn on Chicago, and, as a consequence, felt a good 
 deal embarrassed. 
 
 To my intense surprise, she opened her portemonnaie, 
 and handed me five one-hundred-franc notes, and insisted, 
 against my protestations, that I should take them. I 
 finally consented and took the money. 
 
 On the route from Paris to London was Charles Weldon, 
 an artist from New York, and with whom I had associated 
 
228 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 a good deal in Paris. As we separated at Charing Cross 
 station, he said : 
 
 1 ' I shall stop here a few weeks to make some studies in 
 the British Museum. I have more money than I need. 
 Have you all you require to get home in good shape ? ' ' 
 
 1 ' I have some — enough to carry me through if I am 
 very economical. " 
 
 "Oh, hang economy ! " he broke in with. " Here are 
 ten sovereigns ; take them ; they'll help you out." 
 
 I took them. 
 
 On the steamer Pennsylvania, when I was returning, 
 there were three semi-toughs from Brooklyn, hard drinkers 
 and jolly fellows. One of them approached me and said : 
 
 "See here, old man, when most Yankees come home 
 from the old country, they are short of greenbacks. I have a 
 bundle left over, and }^ou'd best take some. Here, take 
 this ! ' ' And he put two tens and a five, greenbacks, in my 
 hand. 
 
 I kept them. 
 
 When we landed, the first man I met whom I knew was 
 James Stewart, Recorder of Cook County, who had come to 
 meet John Healy, the principal man in the office next to 
 himself. 
 
 " Of course, you fellows are short after your trip ; here's 
 two tens to take you to Chicago in good style. ' ' 
 
 I took that twenty just the same as I had taken the 
 twenty-five, the fifty and the one hundred. 
 
VI. 
 
 A Case of Treachery. — I,ibei, Suits. 
 
 Mr. Storey had no use for friends. The allusion to 
 "Dan" O'Hara in the last chapter recalls an incident 
 which forcibly illustrates one of the peculiar phases in the 
 character of the editor. 
 
 "Dan" O'Hara was nominated for City Treasurer by 
 the Democrats ; the incumbent, David Gage, was a candi- 
 date for re-election. 
 
 Grave doubts prevailed as to the integrity of Gage, and 
 there was a demand that the funds in his possession be 
 counted. Suspecting that there was a deficit in his ac- 
 counts, the Republicans, to prevent a scandal in their party, 
 resolved to re-elect him, with the hope that, if there was 
 anything wrong, another term would give him opportunity 
 to square his accounts. 
 
 The Times supported Gage, as did every other daily in 
 the city. The Times was very severe on O'Hara, whom it 
 abused as if he were a common thief. O'Hara remonstrated 
 with me against this scandalous treatment, stating that he 
 was a life-long Democrat ; that he had always given the 
 Times a cordial support, and that he had rallied his friends 
 about the office when it was threatened with suppression. 
 
 229 
 
230 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 For these reasons, as well as for those of common honesty 
 — which included the selection of a man of integrity in 
 place of a defaulter — he thought Storey ought to aid him 
 in his canvass. 
 
 I agreed to present the matter to the " Old Man," and did 
 so at the first opportunity. Storey said he had nothing 
 against O'Hara, and that he believed Gage to be a de- 
 faulter. 
 
 ' ' The only interest I have in the City Treasurer is in 
 connection with the bank with which I transact business. I 
 want it to have a share in the deposits of the City Treas- 
 urer. ' ' 
 
 " Would you support O'Hara if he were to guarantee 
 giving 3'our bank its share ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 I informed Dan, who was greatly delighted, and readily 
 pledged himself to give Storey's bank a fair portion of the 
 funds. 
 
 I reported this promise to Storey. The paper said nothing 
 for or against O'Hara for three days ; on the morning of 
 the fourth, which was the day of election, the Times con- 
 tained an attack on the Democratic candidate, of the vilest 
 description, and this without a word of warning to me of 
 the change. 
 
 It will please those who are not familiar with the result 
 of that election, to learn that O'Hara was given the office 
 by a majority of twelve thousand votes.' 
 
 The outcome of the contest was not complimentary to the 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 231 
 
 boasted power of the press, as every newspaper in Chicago 
 vehemently opposed him. 
 
 O'Hara, though scandalously maligned, did not begin a 
 libel suit ; other victims, however, were not so considerate. 
 The Times had a libel suit almost constantly in progress. 
 It became so common a matter that Storey paid little atten- 
 tion to them, seemingly considering them a matter of course 
 and of no particular consequence. He always lost in a 
 libel case, but the amounts of the verdicts were never very 
 large, until one day a jury returned a verdict against him 
 of $25,000. This was the famous Early case, which will be 
 mentioned at length in another place. 
 
 The amount of this verdict was so monstrous, so unwar- 
 ranted, that the judge reduced it to $15,000. In talking the 
 matter over with Mr. Storey, I suggested that he allow me 
 to look over the cases of libel pending, and he consented. I 
 visited Dexter, the lawyer who had charge of all of the 
 libel cases, and to my astonishment found that there were 
 twenty-four suits pending, twenty-one civil, and three 
 criminal indictments — one for libeling Sam Ashton, a 
 lawyer and " boodler ; " one obtained by " Jim " McGrath, 
 a fifth-rate politician, and one for the publication of an 
 indecent newspaper. 
 
 By consent of Mr. Storey, I took charge of this depart- 
 ment of litigation. I found that under the management of 
 his attorney there had been a large amount of intentional 
 delay in the conduct of the cases. Mr. Smith, the junior 
 partner, who had charge of a portion of their law business, 
 
232 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 when asked why the cases were permitted to drag so, said : 
 
 1 ' The purpose of delay is to worry and wear out the 
 plaintiff." 
 
 1 ' How do you do it ? " 
 
 ' 'Oh, by filing demurrers and taking action which we 
 know will not be sustained, but which will delay the final 
 trial, and in that way we sometimes drive a man from the 
 field." 
 
 I looked over some of the legal bills of the firm for the 
 conduct of libel cases, and found the largest portion of the 
 accounts was for the securing of dilatory action. 
 
 When a case was finally reached and decided against the 
 Times, as it always was, it was then appealed to the 
 Supreme Court, not with the expectation of securing a 
 reversal of the verdict, but solely to delay final action. At 
 rare intervals a new trial would be ordered, and then the 
 same system of demurring and pleading, absence of wit- 
 nesses and the like, to secure delays, was repeated. 
 
 It may be observed here that the juries invariably con- 
 sidered Storey as a mine of wealth, and, whether the libel 
 was justifiable or not, they concluded that, as the "Old Man " 
 was rich and the plaintiff poor, he would not miss it if they 
 gave a verdict against him. " Old Storey won't miss five 
 hundred dollars out of his millions, and it will do Flaherty 
 a heap of good," was the way they argued. 
 
 The indictment for the publication of an obscene paper 
 was one caused by the printing of the particulars of a nude 
 dance in a house of ill-fame. On the grand jury that found 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 233 
 
 this indictment were two young men well known about town, 
 Fred Erby and George Brown. The Times proceeded to 
 ' ' lambaste ' ' these two young men in the most approved 
 style and to cite some alleged facts in their private lives that 
 were not complimentary, and, in addition, to abuse the entire 
 grand jury in a most scandalous manner. 
 
 For these publications Storey was arrested and brought 
 before Judge Williams for contempt of court. The trial 
 was a very imposing one. A lawyer who was the attorney 
 of Sheriff Agnew opened the case for Storey. He was 
 followed by William C. Goudy, in one of his long con- 
 stitutional speeches, and then Emery A. Storrs closed the 
 case with one of his very best humorous, effective, brilliant 
 efforts. 
 
 The Times, anterior to this indictment, had attacked 
 Williams on man}' occasions, and it was felt that, when the 
 case of contempt came before him, no eloquence or logic, or 
 even law, would prevent his finding Storey guilty, for the 
 sake of revenging himself by sending him to jail. He pro- 
 nounced the sentence of imprisonment ; Store)'' s lawyers 
 vainly pleaded for a fine, but Williams curtly refused, and 
 ordered the sheriff to lock his prisoner up. The bailiff took 
 the ' ' Old Man ' ' across the famous bridge traveled by so 
 many criminals of all descriptions, and in a few moments 
 the key was turned upon him, and the great editor of the 
 Times was a prisoner in a common jail. 
 
 Anticipating this action, Goudy had arranged with a 
 railroad to have a locomotive ready with steam up, which 
 
234 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 he mounted and flew with, lightning speed to Waukegan, 
 where Judge McAllister of the Supreme Court lived, and 
 secured from him a supersedeas, with which he returned to 
 Chicago in time to present it and secure Storey's release in 
 the course of the evening. 
 
 The old gentleman was not confined behind the bars, but 
 was held in the jailer's office. 
 
 It is a curious fact that Erby and Brown, instead of 
 being responsible for the indictment, had both fought 
 against it when the matter was discussed by the grand jury. 
 
 It so happened that among the spectators of the nude 
 exhibition for the description of which the Times was 
 indicted was the city editor of a prominent daily news- 
 paper. After Storey's release, I addressed a private note to 
 this young gentleman, assuring him that when the case 
 came to trial we should need him as a witness, and that if 
 he had any objection to appearing as such, possibly it would 
 be well for him to use his efforts to squelch the case. 
 Whether or not he did so, I don't know, but in any case 
 the matter never came to a trial. 
 
 I obtained a hint from an anonymous letter about some 
 facts rather derogatory to the early career of Sam Ash ton. 
 I secured by correspondence some further facts in regard to 
 the same person, and had a copy sent to him, telling him 
 that it would be used on trial of the criminal libel. For 
 some reason or another his prosecution was abandoned 
 without trial. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 235 
 
 The remaining criminal libel, that of "Jim" McGrath, 
 was called. When the trial was finished the jury remained 
 out all night, and returned into court with a disagreement, 
 standing six to six. 
 
 It was well known that McGrath' s case had no founda- 
 tion in justice, but was a malicious personal and political 
 persecution. 
 
 These three cases were the only ones in which I took a 
 personal interest. The Times changed its legal advisers in 
 the management of its libel cases, and during Mr. Storey's 
 control of the paper lost but one other case, and that one 
 which involved a verdict of a few hundred dollars. 
 
 Since that sagacious lawyer, Alfred S. Trude, took charge 
 of the libel business of the Times and Tribune, neither has 
 been afflicted with the malady of adverse verdicts. 
 
VII. 
 
 The Auce Early Libel Suit. 
 
 There came by the late mail to the Times, in 1876, three 
 letters from Rockford, 111., each reciting the particulars of 
 an alleged scandal involving a young lady and a promi- 
 nent citizen. The letters were signed by well-known citi- 
 zens, the hand-writing of two of them being familiar to 
 Charles Atwood, of the composition department of the 
 Times. 
 
 The letters substantially agreed in their statements, and, 
 not having the smallest reason to doubt their truthfulness, 
 Atwood gave them out to the printers, and they duly ap- 
 peared the next morning. 
 
 The consternation and indignation which took possession 
 of the beautiful town on Rock River when the Times 
 reached there can scarcely be imagined as to their dimen- 
 sions. The young lady involved belonged to one of the 
 best families in the place, and her reputation was spotless. 
 
 Warned at once that a terrible mistake, a blunder, a 
 crime, had been committed, the Times sent a reporter by 
 the first train to Rockford and found that the letters were 
 forgeries, and that there was not even a trace of truth in 
 the atrocious scandal. These facts were published in full 
 
 237 
 
238 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 in the Times ; together with ample apologies for the publica- 
 tion. 
 
 This should have ended the matter, but bad advisers 
 seized the opportunity to foment mischief. The retractions 
 and apologies were rejected, and suit was begun, with the 
 result of the astounding verdict of twenty-five thousand dol- 
 lars. It is but the truth to admit that a majority of the 
 community was a unit in saying, ' ' It served old Storey 
 right!" 
 
 The case was appealed to the Supreme Court ; the judg- 
 ment of the lower court was affirmed ; then a rehearing was 
 asked for and granted, and the case was remanded. 
 
 Meanwhile, under the instruction of Storey, and the ad- 
 vice of his counsel, A. S. Trude, I instituted a series of 
 quiet investigations into the private life of the plaintiff. 
 There were some vague rumors afloat, which I traced up, 
 and found to be without foundation. A worthless character, 
 who had once lived at Rockford, but who carried on an ap- 
 parently respectable business in Chicago, was approached 
 by me and asked as to his knowledge of some of the rumors 
 referred to. 
 
 He professed to know something, and the next day went 
 to Rockford, told the interested parties about my seeing 
 him, and presented my statements in a light that produced 
 the conviction that I had offered him money to testify to 
 some damaging facts in regard to the young lady. 
 
 The grand jury was in session ; the Chicago witness was 
 taken before that body, and I and an ex-sheriff of Rock- 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 239 
 
 ford, whom I had employed as detective to assist in the 
 tracing of the rumors, were indicted for a "conspiracy to 
 ruin the character " of the young lady involved in the suit. 
 
 The feeling against the Times in Rockford was exceed- 
 ingly bitter, and concentrated on me when the finding of 
 the jury was made known. Arrangements were made to 
 secure a public triumph by arresting me in Chicago and 
 taking me through the town by daylight to afford the com- 
 munity a sensation. 
 
 A friend notified me by telegraph of what had occurred, and 
 that night, on a late train, I went to Rockford, stayed at the 
 house of an acquaintance, and the next morning, at the pre- 
 cise hour that Sheriff Peake rang the bell at my door in 
 Chicago, I entered Judge Brown's court with a bondsman 
 and gave bail. 
 
 The gentleman who furnished bail resided in Rockford, 
 but had once lived in Chicago. It was Anthony Van 
 Inwagen, father of James Van Inwagen, formerly the part- 
 ner of Hamill on the Board of Trade. When I first came 
 to Chicago, I was fortunate enough to secure a home for 
 two 3^ears in the family of the elder Van Inwagen. 
 
 He had entire confidence in my innocence of the infa- 
 mous charge contained in the indictment, and became my 
 bondsman with the sincere belief that I was being wronged. 
 
 Sheriff Peake came back empty-handed, and considerably 
 chagrined to find me out on bail, although he was one of 
 my friends, and believed that there was a conspiracy against 
 me on the part of some Rockford politician. 
 
*4o PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 I remained in Rockford several days in order to show 
 the people that I was not ashamed to face them. Robert 
 Porter was then the reporter of the Inter-Ocean, and morn- 
 ing after morning flooded that sheet with the most scandal- 
 ous calumnies of me and the other defendant. In his public 
 career as a tariff correspondent of the New York Tribune, 
 and in all his connection with the bureau of statistics, he 
 has proved his unreliability to be no less, and himself no 
 less an outrageous liar than when he was reporting my case 
 at Rockford. 
 
 Believing Rockford to be prejudiced, I secured a change 
 of venue, and the case went from Judge Brown to Judge 
 Thomas Murphy, of Belvidere. W. W. Woodward, the 
 prosecuting attorney, an old college friend, refused to con- 
 duct the case against me, and the task was performed by 
 William Iyathrop, a lawyer of Rockford, a politician, and 
 who secured an election to Congress on the strength of 
 acting as the prosecuting lawyer. 
 
 I got even with him two years later, when he was a candi- 
 date for renomination, by publishing some political infor- 
 mation of a damaging nature, which reached the delegates 
 a couple of hours before the opening of the session. 
 
 I was defended by an imposing array of counsel : A. S. 
 Trude, W. C. Goudy, Judge Coon of Marengo, Brazee of 
 Rockford, and Emery A. Storrs, all personal friends of 
 mine. 
 
 Storrs made a masterly effort, speaking a day and a half. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YFARS OF JOURNALISM. 241 
 
 The jury disagreed. Judge Murphy told Storrs, after 
 the trial, that, " if the jury had brought iu a verdict of 
 guilty, he would have set it aside before their bottoms had 
 struck their seats. ' ' 
 
 The case, after a time, was struck from the docket. 
 
 The Early libel suit was eventually tried before Judge 
 Rogers, Mr. Store}^ making his last appearance in court, 
 and a verdict for $500 was found. This was paid after a 
 motion for a new trial was overruled, and thus terminated 
 a very famous case. 
 
VIII. 
 
 The Russo-Turkish War. 
 
 In 1877, war broke out between Russia and Turkey. 
 Having had a taste of army correspondence, I suggested to 
 Mr. Storey that it would be an additional feather in the cap 
 of the paper to have a representative in the field. The mat- 
 ter was discussed at some length, and seemed to impress 
 him favorably. He said he would think it over. 
 
 At the time I spoke to him, war had not been declared, 
 but the situation was menacing, and the indications were 
 that hostilities might be declared at any moment. I was 
 anxious to visit the regions involved, and urged on Mr. 
 Storey that, if the Times should conclude to have a repre- 
 sentative, I would be the best within his reach, from my 
 experience in military operations and my knowledge of 
 foreign languages. 
 
 It was finally agreed that I should go, if war was de- 
 clared, and he instructed me to hold myself in readiness to 
 start at a moment's notice. 
 
 The proclamation of the Czar was flashed across the 
 ocean. I immediately saw Mr. Storey, who told me to go 
 at once. I announced that I would be ready to start the 
 next morning. Karly the following day I appeared at the 
 
 242 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 243 
 
 office with my grip packed, and stopped on my way at the 
 business office, to say good-by to Business Manager Patter- 
 son. He informed me that I needn't be in a hurry, for the 
 reason that Mr. Storey had sent another man. 
 
 ''Another man? You're joking. Who is the other 
 man ? ' ' 
 
 " Keenan." 
 
 " I don't understand it. Mr. Storey ordered me yester- 
 da3^ to get ready to start this morning. ' ' 
 
 "I know," said Patterson, "that he did. But Keenan 
 came down a couple of hours ago, rushed into Mr. Storey's 
 office and urged that yo>\x were a very expensive man, and 
 that he could do the work for much less money. ' ' 
 
 Who is Keenan ? 
 
 About a year before, I happened to be in Indianapolis on 
 business for the paper, when I became acquainted with 
 Colonel Wilson, who had charge of an extensive department 
 in the business of the Pullman Sleeping Car Company. He 
 was showing me about the town, and finally said : 
 
 "Would you like to see a new editor we have in the 
 city?" 
 
 I expressed a willingness to meet him, and thereupon he 
 took me to one of the newspaper offices and entered the 
 editorial rooms. The only occupant was a young man who 
 was sitting within a railed enclosure, facing us as we en- 
 tered, and whose head was just visible above a paper that 
 he was reading. We walked up to his immediate vicinity, 
 when the Colonel said : 
 
244 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 "Mr. Keenan, let me make you acquainted with Mr. 
 Wilkie, the senior editor of the staff of the Chicago Times." 
 
 Mr. Keenan never raised his eyes from his paper, and did 
 not appear in the least to notice our presence. We stood 
 for a moment awaiting some sign of recognition, and it was 
 perhaps a full minute before we discovered that the action 
 on the part of Keenan was a deliberate cut. 
 
 I don't think there was any situation in my life when I 
 was so much mortified, humiliated and enraged. It was a 
 distressingly awkward situation. We twisted around on 
 our feet, felt extremely silly, and finally sneaked out — 
 sneaked is the only word that describes the manner in which 
 we left the room. 
 
 A few weeks before the negotiations wdth Mr. Storey 
 about going abroad, I noticed a stranger flying around the 
 hall of the editorial floor. I recognized the head as that of 
 Mr. Keenan. The head was a spherical one — what is 
 popularly termed a ( ' bullet head. ' ' His hair was thick and 
 black, his neck short, his form stubby, and his stature below 
 the average. He was active as a cat, extremely energetic, 
 a hard worker, a fairly good writer, as he took and filled 
 acceptably a position on the editorial staff, and was the 
 possessor of an audacity which equaled that of IyUcifer. 
 
 When he first came he was assigned a room some dis- 
 tance from that occupied by Mr. Storey. In less than a 
 week he had moved himself into the ante-room through 
 which everybody had to pass who wished to see Mr. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 245 
 
 Storey. This was the gentleman who had supplanted me 
 as the correspondent for the Russo-Turkish war. 
 
 Of course I was frightfully humiliated by the occurrence 
 and entertained no kindly feeling for Mr. Storey or Mr. 
 Keenan. I gave up the idea of going entirely, and went on 
 with my usual work, and all the time was careful to avoid 
 seeing Storey. 
 
 A month passed. One morning as I was going through 
 the counting-room Patterson called me into his office, and 
 said, a broad smile illuminating his face : 
 
 ' ' Well, old man, you pack your carpet-sack for Bulgaria, 
 and this time there won't be any mistake about it. You are 
 to get ready to start by the first train." 
 
 ' ' What are you giving me ? ' ' 
 
 " Oh, it is all on the square. Keenan has been dis- 
 charged. ' ' 
 
 ' ' ' Discharged ? ' What do you mean ? ' ' 
 
 1 ' Keenan has slopped over. This morning we got a cable 
 of two solid columns from L,ondon and found after it had 
 been set up that we had the same matter which had been 
 standing on the galleys for several days, and which was a 
 verbatim dispatch which had appeared in the columns of 
 the Iyondon Times. Storey was so angry that he instantly 
 discharged Keenan by cable. ' ' 
 
 I went up to Storey's room, and he said : 
 
 "You will have to go abroad after all. Keenan has 
 made a botch of it." 
 
 He then related to me substantially what Patterson had 
 
246 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 told me. He gave me some instructions as to what I was 
 to do. To my surprise I was told that I was not expected 
 to go to the scene of operations, but that I was to make my 
 headquarters in London, and use such means to obtain 
 information as I found to be most available. L,ater in the 
 day I dropped into Mr. Storey's room, when he read me a 
 dispatch from Keenan, saying : "What shall I do with the 
 men and the office ? ' ' 
 
 " ' Men and office,' " repeated Storey, with supreme con- 
 tempt. "What the hell does the idiot mean by 'men and 
 office'?" 
 
 He never replied to Keenan' s dispatch. When I reached 
 the cable office in London, I made some inquiries about my 
 predecessor. I learned that he had rented and fitted up an 
 office in a building, and had employed a man and sent him 
 to the front. 
 
 " 'K was a rahther queer chap, was this 'ere Keenan," 
 said the clerk. " ' B comes in 'ere one mawnin' and 'e ses 
 to me : ' Aw, you don't know nothink about telegrawphin' 
 news, you don't. Hi'm goin' to show you 'ow we do it in 
 Hamericar,' ses 'e. 'Hi'm goin' to hinundate you with 
 stuff,' ses 'e. And blest if 'e didn't, for one day ! But 'is 
 message 'adn't more than reached the other soide w'en back 
 comes one for 'im that lifted 'im out into the street. That's 
 wot it did." 
 
 "Do you know where he is now ? " I asked. 
 
 "No, I don't know w'ere 'e is, but I do know that 'e 
 went away without pay in' 'is rent or for 'is furniture." 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 247 
 
 I may as well as not finish with Keenan at this point as 
 to the " men and office " to which he alluded in his dispatch 
 to Mr. Storey immediately after his discharge. It involves 
 an element of great hardship and manifest injustice. 
 
 Some weeks passed when there came a letter to me, signed 
 D. Christie Murray, claiming that the writer had been 
 employed by Keenan to go to the seat of operations, and 
 had suddenly been informed by Keenan that he had been 
 removed as the agent of the Chicago Times, and could do 
 nothing for him. I sent his letter to the home office, and 
 so informed Murray. This was in January, 1878. In 
 March I received the following letter from Murray, dated 
 at West Brunswick, Staffordshire : 
 
 ' 'My Dear Sir : — I have received a letter from Mr. Storey, a copy 
 of which I enclose. It does not appear to me at all to meet the 
 exigencies of the case, and I have to give you formal notice of my 
 intention to take legal steps for the recovery of the amount of my 
 claim. My first overture towards a prompt settlement of the matter 
 having failed, I shall (since it becomes necessary for me to undergo 
 an exposure of the pecuniary difficulties into which I was thrown by 
 Keenan's default) place a higher value upon my claim and shall add 
 to it such sum for damages as my solicitors may advise. Before pro- 
 ceeding to this very unpleasant action, I shall allow a week to elapse, 
 and I trust that even yet the matter may be amicably arranged. It 
 cannot reflect happily on your journal to find its name dragged into 
 the courts on a question like this." 
 
 As the matter 'was " not my funeral " I did not answer 
 
 this communication. 
 
 As a part of the correspondence, and for the purpose of 
 
243 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 shedding some light on one of Storey's peculiarities, I 
 append his letter in reply to Murray's. It is dated Febru- 
 ary ii, 1878, and bears the characteristic ear-marks of the 
 ukases so often issued from the Czar of the Times' dominion : 
 " D. C. Murray, Esq. Sir: — Keenan was authorized to buy news 
 for the Times, and was supplied during his engagement with money 
 for the purpose. He never had any authority, and knew perfectly 
 well that it was not intended he should have any authority to enter 
 into any contract by which this office should be bound for a debt or 
 damages. He had no more right than you have to sign the name of 
 the undersigned to any paper, or for any purpose. 
 
 "Yours, etc., W. F. Storey, 
 
 "Per Dennett." 
 
 On the 6th of June, I again heard from Murraj^. His 
 letter was dated from 4 Davis Inn, Strand, W. It read : 
 
 " Sir : — I am somewhat surprised at the want of courtesy you have 
 displayed in ignoring my last letter. I learn that it will be of no 
 avail for me to proceed at law against the Chicago Times for the 
 recovery of the ^134 I claim from its proprietor. I shall, therefore, 
 attempt no legal action, but I shall take such measures as to me seem 
 most likely to be effectual to prevent my journalistic brothers from 
 being taken in the trap from which I have, with so much damage to 
 myself, escaped. 
 
 "In consequence of the repudiation of my claim by the Chicago 
 Times , I am most bitterly embarrassed. The sum which that journal 
 owes me would not only set me free from my present monetary 
 troubles, but would put me in a position to continue my own work 
 with ease and profit. In the face of absolute poverty, literary work 
 gathers difficulties which are not natural to it. I could never well 
 afford to be robbed, but at this time the fraud of which the pro- 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 249 
 
 prietors of the Times have been guilty is fatal to my position and is 
 likely to be fatal to me. 
 
 1 ' I claim nothing for commiseration, but I submit that my demand 
 against your journal is just and moderate. In a week's time, I shall 
 not only be friendless, but homeless. I am already dishonored by 
 debts for which the Chicago Times is alone responsible ; but I shall 
 leave a record which will scarcely be nattering to those upon whom 
 the responsibility rests. 
 
 "I have, as a matter of course, no feud with j^ou, and, desperate as 
 my case is, I am sorry to have to address you in this way, but I must 
 make my protest somehow, and I can only do it through you. 
 
 "D. Christie Murray." 
 
 My sympathies were profoundly affected by his con- 
 dition, but, as I was powerless to relieve it, I felt that silence 
 on my part, while apparently ungenerous and discourteous, 
 would be, in the end, the best. I could not aid him, and I 
 thought that his wounds, if left undisturbed, would sooner 
 heal. 
 
 The last communication from Mr. Murray was short and 
 pointed. He wrote soon after the preceding letter, from 
 the same locality, Davis Inn, the following : 
 
 "Sir: — You have not troubled to answer my letter. Unless I 
 receive an answer to this, the whole story of my engagement with 
 your journal will be in the hands of the New York Herald (who will 
 be glad to use it) by next post. Your least courtesy would be to 
 make some response, if it were ever so coldly official." 
 
 I did not reply even to this communication. I believed 
 that his claim was just ; that he had been scandalously 
 treated ; that the Times should have remunerated him to 
 some extent, and, hence, did not care to the extent of a 
 
250 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 nickel if the affair should be aired in the American news- 
 papers. 
 
 In the following summer, while in Paris to look up the 
 International Exposition, I met Keenan, who was in a posi- 
 tion not much more desirable than that in which he had 
 been the means of placing the unfortunate Murray. He 
 was "broke" and among strangers. However, he man- 
 aged to return to New York, where he issued a novel, 
 ' ' pitching into ' ' financial swells, and which is said to have 
 made a creditable success. 
 
 How Murray extricated himself from his difficulties I 
 never knew. He reached London in time, and beyond 
 question gave a bad name to American journalists with his 
 English newspaper friends. 
 
 Despite his ' ' bitter embarrassment, " " absolute poverty, ' ' 
 and being on the verge of ' ' homelessness and friendless- 
 ness," he resumed his occupation of novel- writing, in which 
 he had been very successful anterior to his engagement by 
 Keenan, and is now probably marching on the highway 
 leading to fortune. 
 
 He seems, however, destined to occasional set-backs. It 
 was announced a few months ago that an English author, 
 D. Christie Murray, had met with some serious misadvent- 
 ure in Texas. All these trials may prove disguised bless- 
 ings, as they may be used as the basis of many realistic and 
 thrilling novels. 
 
IX. 
 
 Russo-Turkish War and Irish Politics. 
 
 In the absence of specific instructions from the home 
 office, I did not, at the outset of my career in I^ondon, in 
 the early part of 1877, devote very much attention to Russo- 
 Turkish war proceedings. I sent rumors from the front, 
 war sentiment among the English, military preparation, a 
 good deal of Irish news, and some other material by the 
 cable, and wrote two letters a week of men and manners in 
 the capital. 
 
 I had taken a letter of introduction to Hon. John Dillon, 
 member of Parliament, from Melville B. Stone of this city. 
 I had also taken one of the same kind from the Pinkerton 
 agency to one of the prominent inspectors of Scotland 
 Yard. 
 
 My arrival threw a great portion of L,ondon into a fierce 
 commotion. I went to the House of Commons, after mail- 
 ing my letter to Dillon, to send in a card to him. It was 
 yet winter, and I still wore an American overcoat and cap, 
 the former a long ulster with a wide, flowing collar, and 
 the latter a black ' ' Alexis ' ' seal-skin without any visor. 
 I noticed that as I passed along the halls people seemed 
 to glance at me with something like curiosity in their faces. 
 
 251 
 
252 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 The policemen who guard the halls at intervals always 
 spied me for a long distance before I reached them, and 
 always stopped me as if I were an intruder, and seemed 
 astonished to find that I had business with a member. 
 While an usher was absent with my card, I waited in the 
 ante-room, and was the center of curious looks. When 
 Dillon came out, and shook hands with me, there was an 
 increase in the agitation. 
 
 The incident might be extended to an indefinite length. 
 The papers — some of them — mentioned the frequent 
 appearance in the lobbies of the house of a stranger, and 
 unmistakably a foreigner, who held secret consultations 
 with the disaffected Irish members. 
 
 At the house in Bloomsbury Square where I had a room, 
 the chambermaid, who had become my admirer from the 
 munificence of tuppenny tips, informed me in strict con- 
 fidence that her young man ' ' was a-watching me ; ' ' that 
 he was in the government service. I reported this to 
 Dillon, who made a strong attack, in a speech, upon the 
 Tory ministry, for the employment of spies on his personal 
 friends and associates. 
 
 One day soon after this, I was eating a chop in a house in 
 the Strand, when there entered a stout-built fellow who 
 took a seat at a table where he faced me. He ordered some- 
 thing, and meanwhile glanced at me furtively ; it was some- 
 body I had seen before, but who, where, or when, I could 
 not recall. At length he addressed me : 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 253 
 
 1 ' Are }-ou the gent that brought a letter from the Pinker- 
 tons to Scotland Yard ? " 
 
 ( ' Yes, I brought one. Why do you ask ? ' ' 
 1 ' You are a reporter on a newspaper in America ? ' ' 
 11 I'm a correspondent of an American newspaper." 
 He began to laugh with great glee. " Why, blow me," 
 he said, ' ' if they aint been takin' you for some bloody 
 furrin conspirator, and been frightened out of 'alf their seven 
 senses ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 He offered his hand, and said : ' ' Come up to the Yard 
 and see us. Good-by." 
 
 The next morning I saw in one of the newspapers that 
 the mysterious foreigner seen in consultation with certain 
 Irish members had proved to be the reporter of an Amer- 
 ican journal. 
 
 During the remainder of my stay in England, I depended 
 very largely on Mr. Dillon for information on Irish affairs. 
 When he was in L,ondon I secured the intelligence from him 
 in person ; when he was in Ireland, he sent me frequent dis- 
 patches by telegraph — in fact, he acted as the representa- 
 tive of the Times bureau. He did not receive any compen- 
 sation for this telegraphic service ; he prepaid his dis- 
 patches, keeping an account of them, for which I paid him 
 at intervals. 
 
 Mr. Dillon was one of the most interesting gentlemen I 
 ever met. He had the appearance of a Spanish hero of 
 romance. He was tall, erect, slenderly formed, with very 
 dark complexion, black hair and beard, large, dark eyes, 
 
254 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 full of a dreamy poetry. The general expression of his 
 face was one of sadness. I need not mention his qualities 
 as a speaker, for the reason that he has been heard on at 
 least two journeys through this country. He is, in brief, 
 a most attractive figure, an acute politician, an honest 
 patriot, a wise statesman, and a polished, agreeable gentle- 
 man. 
 
 I made several efforts to put myself in communication 
 with Parnell. I wrote him a number of times in regard to 
 current events or possibilities of the future, and either re- 
 ceived no answer at all or one of a wholly unsatisfactory 
 nature. 
 
 A member of Parliament from whom I received a great 
 deal of aid and attention was J. H. Puleston, who was popu- 
 larly known as the ' 'American member, ' ' he having lived 
 for a time in Philadelphia. He was a member from Wales, 
 thoroughly well-informed on political affairs, a banker, a 
 genial and entertaining host, and an admirable manager in 
 the operation of political plans. 
 
 I knew several of the other Irish members, jolly fellows, 
 very fond of ' ' the crathur, ' ' tellers of good stories, broadly 
 humorous, but apparently members of Parliament rather for 
 the purpose of filling vacancies than being on hand to vote 
 on the right side of any phase of the Irish question that was 
 before the House. 
 
 The Irish question and the Russo-Turkish war covered 
 most of the ground of my cable matter. As I said at the 
 outset, I sent only an occasional short dispatch regarding 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 255 
 
 the events at the seat of war, and more in reference to 
 Irish politics. Mr. Storejr began writing me to extend the 
 size of the dispatches and increase their frequency. 
 
 During this portion of my stay in L,ondon, he w T rote me 
 quite often, suggesting outlines for my work. 
 
X. 
 
 Mr. Storey Visits Europe. 
 
 During this period of my stay abroad as correspondent 
 of the Times, I had no office, no organization, but collected 
 my information from various sources, and used my lodgings 
 as headquarters. It was at a subsequent visit in 1 880-1 that 
 a bureau was organized, and this will be spoken of later. 
 
 My time was chiefly occupied in letter-writing, although 
 during the winter of 1877-8 the intelligence from the seat of 
 war was very heavy, and that, in connection with keeping 
 watch of English public opinion and probable action in 
 reference to the belligerents, kept me very much occupied. 
 My son, John E. Wilkie, came over in September of 1877 and 
 was of great assistance to me in the collection of information 
 and the conduct of the affairs of the office. 
 
 In July of 1877 I was ordered to Edinburgh to witness 
 and report the gathering and proceedings of the great Pan- 
 Presbyterian convention. I have already, in my book, 
 ' ' Sketches Beyond the Sea, ' ' elaborated the details of this 
 trip. I refer to this visit now because, as this work is one 
 of my personal experiences in journalism, I wish to put it 
 on record that the editor of the Scotsman, and Villemessant, 
 of the Paris Figaro, are the only two editors in Europe 
 
 256 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 257 
 
 with whom I succeeded in coming in contact during the 
 three periods that I resided abroad. 
 
 I saw these two face to face ; I shook hands with them ; 
 the}^ revealed themselves living entities, as being of flesh 
 and blood, in all of which respects they were utterly unlike 
 all the other editors of whom I heard, but whom I never 
 saw. The editors of all the other papers except these two 
 were mysteries, intangible, inaccessible, anonymous, un- 
 known. If there were any men who were realities at the 
 head of the British press, they were railed off within sacred 
 and secreted places, to which the world had no access. 
 
 There was an awful solemnity and secrecy about the 
 British editor. A man who is connected with the editorial 
 department of a British newspaper is absolutely debarred 
 from allowing the fact to be known. 
 
 In May of the next year, 1878, I was ordered to go to 
 Paris to witness the opening of the International Exposition. 
 There is no necessity of my furnishing any of the details of 
 this portion of my work while abroad, as what I saw was 
 presented at the time of my stay in the French capital. 
 
 Meanwhile I had been hearing through my friends in the 
 Times office that Mr. Storey's health was failing, that he 
 had spent some time at the Hot Springs in Arkansas, and 
 that the physician in charge had asserted that the former 
 diagnosis of his difficulty — which had been pronounced by 
 Chicago physicians as a stomach trouble — was incorrect, 
 and that the lesion was cerebral in its location. 
 
 In the latter part of May I received a telegram dated at 
 
258 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 the Westminster Hotel, London, signed W. F. Storey, and 
 instructing me to report to him at once in person. I was a 
 good deal astonished at the receipt of the telegram, as I did 
 not know till then that he had left Chicago, although he 
 had informed me by letter that he was contemplating to 
 make at some time a trip to the Old World. 
 
 In one sense Mr. Storey had not been, up to that time, 
 much of a traveler. He went once to Dakota to see a big 
 field of wheat. He went to New York once in 1868 to 
 marry his second wife. Once in two or three years he 
 would visit South Bend, where he had some nephews and 
 nieces. He also, as said, made a trip to the Hot Springs. 
 This was all the traveling he did until he was sixty years 
 of age, when he concluded to visit Europe. 
 
 Meanwhile he had been, in his earlier years, a constant 
 and regular traveler along other routes. At a furious gallop 
 he traversed the vine-clad, wine-producing territory occupied 
 by the Corinthian I^ais and others of the famous charming, 
 lascivious and indecorous of the gentler sex. His pace 
 was what fox-hunters call a killing one. Together with his 
 ardent labor in his profession, these bursts of speed resulted 
 in what specialists term ' ' sclerosis, "or a lesion located in 
 the brain. This condition led him to make the visit to the 
 Hot Springs from which he returned with the belief that he 
 was very much better. 
 
 I hurried to Calais, across the channel, and by train to 
 London, and early the next morning sent my card up to the 
 room of the editor. I was painfully astonished when I en- 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 259 
 
 tered and saw the tall figure that came forward to meet me. 
 His hair had turned to a dead, bleached white ; his eyes 
 had lost much of their former brilliancy, and were dull and 
 sunken. The face had a pinched appearance, and the long, 
 slender fingers were thin and cold. He was still proudly 
 erect in his carriage, and in this direction exhibited his 
 matchless spirit. He might pale and bleach and wrinkle, 
 but he would not be bent by the enemy. 
 
 His voice had lost much of its old firmness. It was low, 
 and a trifle suggestive of weakness. His step was slower 
 and more hesitating than when I had left him the year 
 before. He leaned heavily on a cane when he moved, and 
 advanced slowty, like a man who had just risen from a long 
 and wearing illness. After a short chat over home matters 
 and things over in Paris, his eyes suddenly took on some of 
 their old light, his face grew stern, and his breath came 
 with a hissing sound through his closed teeth. 
 
 I recognized the long familiar symptom. He was mad. 
 When at home in his office, if the staff of writers on the 
 editorial floor heard a quick, firm step in the hall, accom- 
 panied by a harsh wheezing, they knew at once that the old 
 man was in a temper. If the step was slow and deliberate, 
 and a monotonous species of whistling was heard, then each 
 listener knew that the skies were serene, and menaced by 
 no storm. 
 
 After a few moments, in which his breath came and went 
 in the familiar style, and during which I ran over everything 
 I had done to discover if any of my lightning-rods were 
 
2 6o PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 down and left me exposed to the swift-coming tempest, he 
 said : 
 
 "We must pitch into the line of steamers. It's 
 
 simply damnable the way they do things ! ' ' 
 
 I was at once relieved : the storm had passed by on the 
 other side. 
 
 ' ' Is that so ? The line has the reputation of being 
 
 one of the safest on the ocean. ' ' 
 
 " It may be all right as to safety ; that isn't what I am 
 complaining of. The morning we got into Liverpool, I had 
 just dropped into a sleep, the first for forty-eight hours, 
 when I was suddenly waked up by a most infernal racket 
 on the deck right over my head. I rang for the steward and 
 told him to stop that noise. He said he'd try, but it didn't 
 stop, and then I rang again. The steward then came back 
 and said he couldn't stop it, and then I ordered him to send 
 down the captain. After a long time the captain came, but 
 not until I had sent for him four or five times. When he 
 did come at last, I asked him why in hell he outraged his 
 passengers by allowing such a noise over their heads when 
 they were trying to get some sleep. He went on to explain 
 something or other, but didn't satisfy me or stop the noise." 
 
 ' ' That was intolerable 1 ' ' 
 
 ' ' I want to give that line hell, and I want you to attend 
 to it." 
 
 "All right; I'll attend to it." 
 
 I didn't attend to it further than to learn that the " out- 
 rage " occurred when the ship had come to anchor, and, as 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 261 
 
 usual, a small engine was set at work raising the baggage 
 out of the hold. 
 
 His sending for the captain of the steamer was character- 
 istic of one of the phases of his nature. He imagined him- 
 self supreme in the possession of authority, and I do not 
 doubt that, had he had occasion in his business to order 
 Jehovah into his presence and to rebuke Him for supposed 
 offenses, he would not have hesitated a second, provided he 
 had a messenger to convey the summons. 
 
 He had come over to travel through Europe for the bene- 
 fit of his health. A route, which included the principal 
 cities of the continent, was laid out, and, very soon after, 
 we started for Dover and crossed over to Ostend. Fortun- 
 ately, the channel was on its good behavior, and we reached 
 the Belgian coast without his being much upset by the 
 journey. 
 
 All along the ride through the beautiful hedges and farms 
 of England he noticed nothing. On the ship he sat with 
 bowed head, as if occupied with a dream. 
 
 At Brussels it rained the next morning. It rained for 
 two consecutive days, and then came a clear morning. We 
 drove out to visit the site of the battle of Waterloo, and 
 had just reached the point, when again the rain-clouds envel- 
 oped us, and we were obliged to return to the city. 
 
 These storms struck me afterwards as being portentous of 
 evil. They greeted us almost immediately on our arrival 
 on the continent, and persistently dogged us nearly every 
 day and night thereafter. 
 
262 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 We left Brussels in a furious storm and went to Amster- 
 dam. The hosts of rain pelted the roof and windows of 
 the car without intermission. At Amsterdam a cold, 
 furious norther tore down on us from the Zuyder Zee, 
 chilled us to the very marrow, and drove us shivering back 
 and over to the Rhine. The Cathedral at Cologne, the 
 venerable town, the surface of the river, the swells of the 
 mountains were covered with inky clouds that deluged us 
 with water. 
 
 I began to grow superstitious. It was as if a malignant 
 demon were pursuing us, and threatening us with some dire 
 calamity. Mr. Storey seemed to be keenly and unfavorably 
 impressed by the persistent environment of gloom. There 
 was a slight cessation of the storm's pursuit as we crossed 
 from Mayence, by Seidelberg, in Germany, to Basle, in 
 Switzerland, where we halted for the night. 
 
 Now, in the high altitudes of Switzerland, I confidently 
 anticipated an improvement in the health and spirits of the 
 traveler. He did not respond to the pure air of the heights. 
 We moved to L,ucerne, whose magnificent lake, marvelous 
 geological phenomena, towering mountains and unique 
 antiquities, I was certain, would rouse him from the lethargy 
 that had taken possession of him. He glanced indifferently 
 at the Titanic, snowy Alps, the circle of ancient watch 
 towers, the curious bridges, with their ancient paintings, 
 which span the Reuss, as if they did not interest him. His 
 speech became little more than an occasional mumble, and 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 263 
 
 his thoughts were fixed apparently as if engaged in introspec- 
 tion. The locality was not benefiting him. 
 
 Reluctantly I piloted him to the train, and night found 
 us at Berne, the Swiss capital. The ' ' Old Man ' ' went to his 
 room with a feeble, shuffling step, still silent and preoccupied. 
 I bade him good-night with the assurance that the next 
 night we would be in one of the most famous, beautiful and 
 noble cities of Europe, Geneva. He responded with a faint 
 smile, and some remark so low that it escaped my under- 
 standing. 
 
 As was my custom at all points on the trip, I had risen 
 at early dawn — for we traveled only during the day — and 
 had been taking notes of the town. At about nine o'clock 
 I returned to the hotel, and when I entered the hall on 
 which the Storey party had rooms, I noticed servants rush- 
 ing in and out of the apartments. I hurried forward and 
 entered the room. 
 
 Mr. Storey was seated in a chair, and was a figure that 
 struck me with horror. His face was as white as chalk. 
 The right side of his mouth was drawn around and up as if 
 it had been caught in the corner by a hook and pulled up 
 by a line. The lower lid of the right eye was drawn 
 upward and twitched with a swift motion. His lips were 
 bloodless and ashen in hue. He was trying to say some- 
 thing, but could only give utterance to a frightful mum- 
 bling of incoherent sounds. 
 
 The picture was awful. He was dressed in a suit of 
 gray, which formed a dolorous harmony with the white 
 
264 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 hair and beard, the colorless cheeks, and the cadaverous 
 ashiness of the lips. 
 
 His eyes had changed, but had not grown weaker. On 
 the contrary, they had become stronger. They gleamed with 
 unmistakable rage and defiance. Helpless, immovable as 
 if bound with a network of thongs, his glance alone gave 
 signs of life. He seemed like some powerful animal 
 suddenly pierced through a vital part by the spear of a 
 hunter, dead save as to his e3'es, which gleamed, as it were, 
 with a mortal hatred of his enenry. 
 
 It was the first time in his life that he had encountered 
 an overmastering hostile force. Used to command, a 
 potentate, an autocrat, a dictator, he had in an instant been 
 met bj 7 - a foe who, in a single lightning and unlooked-for 
 blow, had reduced him to impotence. He was crushed, 
 nervous, helpless, but his proud nature was unconquered, 
 and his glance evinced his undaunted courage. 
 
 I determined at once to take him to Geneva, only a short 
 distance away, with the expectation that the best medical 
 aid could be obtained at that point. He was carried down 
 to his carriage by the servants, and a few hours later was 
 in comfortable apartments in a hotel at Geneva. 
 
 Very strangely, within a few hours he began to show 
 signs of partial improvement. He was able to move his 
 right arm, and then speak in a manner which, with extreme 
 difficulty, could be in part understood. 
 
 The line of the trip, as originally planned, was to go 
 south into Italy. I found that we had reached Geneva in 
 
 Sf 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 265 
 
 advance of the season. It was very cold ; I could find no 
 medical man of prominence in the city, and hence I con- 
 cluded that we must leave there for some other point, and I 
 proposed that we should at once go to Paris, where I knew 
 Brown-Sequard to be at that time, and whose medical skill I 
 was convinced was what Mr. Storey needed. He was very 
 obstinate, and insisted that we should continue on the pro- 
 posed route through to Italy. Mrs. Storey insisted that 
 there was no use in trying to convince him that he should 
 go to Paris, and was certain that he would die if we carried 
 out the original programme. 
 
 By some means he secured a couple of small bottles of 
 brandy during the absence of his friends, and, considering 
 his paralyzed condition, succeeded in getting into a ' ' how- 
 come-you-so ' ' state which lasted a couple of days, during 
 which he more than ever persistently refused to go to Paris. 
 
 A curious little incident occurred in reference to this 
 brandy. I was pay master of the trip, paid all of the ex- 
 penses, and was very careful to secure from the hotels de- 
 tailed bills of the amounts paid out. When the Geneva bill 
 was made out it contained an item for "deux bouteilles 
 fine champagne. ' ' The items were all in French, but the 
 eagle eye of Mr. Storey's helpmate caught this one, and she 
 read it as if it were in English, and raised a great disturb- 
 ance over a charge for champagne when none had been 
 furnished, not knowing that " fine champagne " is the best 
 grade of brandy. 
 
 In her thrift she gained the impression that I had been 
 
266 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 drinking champagne, and in that way taking an unfair ad- 
 vantage in the expenditure of the funds. 
 
 I finally professed to be willing to continue the journey 
 to Italy, and that night Mr. Storey was carried into a 
 sleeper under the impression that we were going south. 
 Next morning found us in Paris. He was taken in a car- 
 riage and driven at once to the apartments of Judge Lam- 
 bert Tree. The latter came down to the sidewalk, and 
 when Storey saw his old friend, tears came into his eyes — 
 for the first time in his life, so far as I know — and the old 
 man wept. 
 
 Brown-Sequard was called, who said that Storey would not 
 have lived a week had he gone south on the Italian journey. 
 He prescribed the moxa treatment, and further said that 
 Mr. Storey should immediately be sent back to Chicago, and 
 that he should embark on a French steamer at Havre, in 
 order to avoid the rough passage across the channel to 
 Dover. The tickets held by Mr. and Mrs. Storey came by 
 Iyondon and returned the same way. To have returned by 
 Havre might have endangered the loss of the cost of the 
 return tickets, and, in addition to this, Mrs. Storey very 
 naturally wished to do some shopping, with the result that 
 they remained in Paris several weeks. 
 
 Up to that period, from the time we left I/mdon until 
 Storey had his stroke of paralysis, he was in his dominant 
 mood as far as his wife was concerned. She wished to go 
 directly from L,ondon to Paris, which he pooh-poohed. At 
 Brussels she wished to purchase laces, as they are cheaper 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 267 
 
 there than in any other part of Europe. This desire he 
 overruled with contempt. 
 
 During the time that he was confined in Paris, his dis- 
 position entire^ changed. His autocratic manner disap- 
 peared ; he became as humble as a Uriah Heap. He urged 
 his wife to buy all sorts of things — diamonds, laces, royal 
 purple dresses — and to expend a fortune in the purchase of 
 luxuries of every description. 
 
 Storey became a trifle better and returned to Chicago. 
 His travels did not then end. Some time later he entered 
 a region of darkness where, for months, blind, imbecile, 
 idiotic, he stumbled, fell, groping through God knows what 
 obstacles — a phase of his life that will be treated in later 
 chapters. 
 
XI. 
 
 Storky's "Mausoleum " —About Making His Wiu,,, 
 
 ThK next year after my return from London I published a 
 collection in book form of many of my letters from the Old 
 World, with the title "Sketches Beyond the Sea," for 
 which name I confess my indebtedness to Fred Cook, a 
 former well-known Chicago journalist, and now a resident 
 of the city of New York. The first edition was sold in 
 advance in Chicago by subscription, and two thousand 
 copies were at once disposed of. 
 
 It was, in 1880, put into the hands of a publishing house 
 who claim to have sold about 30,000 copies. The plates of 
 the work were destroyed in a fire which consumed the book- 
 house engaged in its publication. 
 
 When I came home in 1878, I heard that Mr. Storey had 
 begun the construction of a residence which was to be a 
 model of its kind, the finest and most expensive on the con- 
 tinent. For some reason he never said anything to me 
 about this building, which, in view of the fact that I had 
 taken charge of all building operations after the fire, some- 
 what astonished me. 
 
 One day, in passing along Grand Boulevard, I noticed, on 
 Vincennes Avenue and Forty-Third Street, the white 
 
 263 
 
269 THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 
 
 marble walls of the basement of the structure. Inspired 
 by an idle curiosity, I strolled over to look at it, and, in 
 five minutes' inspection, saw that a fraud was being per- 
 petrated in the work. Many of the slabs were inferior, and 
 there were serious defects in the foundations. 
 
 I reported the condition, with the result that the architect 
 was discharged, a large portion of the work was torn down, 
 and rebuilt in a different manner in some instances, and in 
 different material in others. I was assigned, at intervals, 
 to supervise the landscaping of the grounds and the con- 
 struction of the lodge. These duties agreeably diversified 
 my editorial work in the building seasons of 1879 and '80. 
 
 It has been an almost world-wide wonder as to what 
 induced Mr. Storey to erect this marvelous structure. It 
 was not thought of till he had married the third Mrs. 
 Storey, and, as she is the possessor of artistic qualities, it 
 seems probable that to her genius was due the inspiration 
 to build a palace. 
 
 The ' ' architect ' ' whom they selected to make the draw- 
 ings of the house had been a ticket-peddler at Wood's 
 Museum in old days, and, beyond being able to draw a 
 pretty picture, had no capacity as a designer. Storey's 
 varying mental condition was exhibited as the mansion 
 grew. Again and again were changes made : iron was sub- 
 stituted for wood ; the conformation of rooms was radically 
 altered ; in fact, the work of construction exhibited all the 
 vagaries of a person laboring under some form of dementia. 
 
 That the building of this preposterous dwelling injured 
 
270 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 his mental condition ; that it embarrassed the finances of 
 his newspaper ; that it hastened his death, will not be 
 doubted by those who were familiar with the inside facts of 
 this stupendous folly. 
 
 In a sense, the result is a monstrosity. It is a Gothic 
 structure in white stone. The Gothic is an ecclesiastic 
 suggestion, and demands the grave colors in harmony with 
 religious ideas. It is as much out of harmony with the 
 intent of a dwelling-house, like that of Mr. Storey, as the 
 thick walls of a prison for the building of a summer arbor 
 or a floral conservatory. Its internal divisions are con- 
 tradictory, bizarre, and the creation of whims instead of 
 taste. 
 
 The incessant and costly alterations, the rascality of some 
 of those who were engaged in the building, made the struct- 
 ure more than twice as expensive as it should have been. 
 
 The old gentleman was in the habit of driving out to the 
 house every fair day in summer. He worshiped the gleam- 
 ing pile of marble. He was so infirm that to get in and 
 out of his carriage was a slow, tedious, painful operation. 
 With feebleness paralyzing his limbs, he firmly believed 
 that he would live to move into the palace, and to enjoy 
 it for many years. He was in the habit of citing Commo- 
 dore Vanderbilt as an example which he would likely 
 imitate. 
 
 Vanderbilt had no Portland and Speed's blocks, with 
 their licentious, impairing and debauched experiences, in 
 his career. He had not, in youth and manhood, overdrawn 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 271 
 
 the funds stored to his credit for his old age in the bank of 
 health. 
 
 At sixty years of age, Storey was a far older man than 
 Vanderbilt at eighty. 
 
 He was disappointed in his dream of occupying the 
 palatial marble dwelling, and if there was a feminine in- 
 fluence which stimulated him to undertake the work, it, too, 
 encountered a wretched defeat. It was all? around a fraud, 
 a monstrosity, a ruinous waste of money, a frightful humili- 
 ation, a disgraceful failure. 
 
 One day, in 1880, he drove out to the " Mausoleum," as I 
 had facetiously nicknamed the structure. It was one of his 
 bad days ; his face was pinched as if with suffering, hie 
 eyes had sunk in their sockets and were dull and troubled, 
 and his voice was tremulous. 
 
 He descended from his carriage and stood leaning heavily 
 on his cane. To the left was the glittering marble pile ; to 
 the front the beautiful grounds reached across to Grand 
 Boulevard, and in the distance extended the broad highway 
 with its double line of trees, and alongside of it masses of 
 green woodlands, revealing here and there, through vistas, 
 and above their tops, the gables and roofs of stately resi- 
 dences. 
 
 The contrast between all this growth, strength, beauty 
 and freshness, and his own condition, pale, feeble, aged, 
 seemed to attract his pained attention. His head was bowed 
 with an expression of profound dejection. 
 
 A few days before this Judge Lambert Tree had said to me: 
 
272 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 " Can't you induce Storey to make his will ? He is in a 
 most wretched condition, and if he don't take some action 
 soon, it will be too late. ' ' 
 
 Acting on this suggestion, I spoke to Mr. Storey, saying : 
 
 ' ' Here is all this beautiful property, and your newspaper, 
 which, in case an3^thing should happen to you, would be 
 divided, and liable to become a wreck. Don't you think it 
 would be best for you to make a will to provide for the con- 
 solidation and perpetuation of j^our interests ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, you're right. I will make one." 
 
 " I hope the newspaper will not be neglected." 
 
 1 ' No ; I have a plan that I will carry into effect right 
 away." 
 
 And then, in a low, quavering voice, he outlined his de- 
 termination. He said : 
 
 " I intend to perpetuate the Times." His utterance was 
 low, almost indistinct at times ; his ideas were confused. 
 He talked as if he were half-soliloquizing, or addressing 
 some invisible presence in his immediate vicinity. The re- 
 mainder of what he said, as near as I could catch it, was : 
 
 ' ' I intend to provide that, after my death, the Times 
 shall continue under a board of management, in which you 
 shall have a commanding position. The profits will be 
 divided among my heirs up to a certain specified amount, 
 and the rest given to worthy charities." 
 
 Once or twice afterwards, I called his attention to the 
 matter and inferred from his replies that he still had the 
 project under consideration. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 273 
 
 This reply of the weak, trembling old man was very differ- 
 ent from one he had made me some years before when I spoke 
 to him on the same subject, when he felt himself strong and 
 was filled with self-reliance. It was at a period when his 
 head jostled the stars that I said to him : 
 
 11 Mr. Store} 7 , you are childless, and there is no blood 
 relative of your name worth} 7 to inherit your great name, 
 your fortune or your journal. Your friends are anxious 
 that you should make such a disposition of your newspaper 
 that it will go on forever. ' ' 
 
 "There is no hurry about it ! I'm only fifty-six. Van- 
 derbilt is over eighty. Look at Gladstone ! He must be 
 nearly or quite seventy, and he is as good as he ever was ! 
 Look at John Bright ! " 
 
 " Of course I didn't speak of it because I think you are 
 liable to give out. You are good for another generation, 
 but the point is that now, while your health is superb, your 
 brain at its best, and all j^our faculties unimpaired, is the 
 very best time to devise and mature a plan for the perpetua- 
 tion of the great institution you have erected. ' ' 
 
 Storey was silent for a minute, and then there came a 
 flush into his face, his eyes flamed, and, in a voice firm and 
 vibrating, he said : 
 
 "I don't wish to perpetuate my newspaper. I am the 
 paper ! I wish it to die with me so that the world may 
 know that I was the Times ! ' ' 
 
 That this egotism was in the nature of a prophecy will 
 
274 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 not be doubted by any one who is familiar with what has 
 since taken place. 
 
 There was a touch of the sublime in this assertion, an un- 
 conscious repetition of the haughty saying of the French 
 monarch, " Detat, c' est moi! " 
 
XII. 
 Wanderings in Indian Territory. 
 
 In April, 1880, I started out, as the representative of the 
 Times, for the purpose of making an extended trip through 
 certain parts of the West and Southwest. As it was laid 
 out, it included the entrance to the Indian Territory, 
 through the Cherokee country, thence through the land 
 of the Creeks, the Sacs and Foxes, and the Pottawat- 
 totnies, thence north to Denver, to Leadville, to the Gunni- 
 son, through the Ute country, and west of the Klk Moun- 
 tains to a point on the Union Pacific Railway. 
 
 It was expected that the trip would occupy several 
 months, but about one-third of the last end was not com- 
 pleted, owing to the fact that the passes through the Ute 
 region were blocked with snow, which would not be melted 
 before the middle of July. 
 
 I spent several weeks in Indian Territory among the 
 Creeks, Cherokees, Choctaws and other Indian tribes, and 
 saw much of novelty and interest. Some of the incidents, 
 scenery, and one or two other things that came under my 
 observation may be presented with profit. 
 
 While at the agency of the Sac and Fox Indians, whose 
 reservation lies west of the Creek country, I was invited by 
 
 275 
 
276 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 one of the post traders, a Mr. Gibbs, to dine with him for 
 the purpose of meeting some notabilities. There were seven 
 or eight at the table, among whom was a full-blooded chief, 
 Wawkomo, a man about forty years of age. He was 
 garbed in complete Indian costume. 
 
 A rich Mackinaw blanket of blue was belted around his 
 waist, and covered the lower portion of his frame like a 
 petticoat, or something rather like the kilt of a Highlander. 
 Below this garment were to be seen handsome, well-fitting 
 leggings, elaborately fringed, and on his shapely feet 
 beautifully beaded moccasins. His torso was covered with 
 a highly-colored calico shirt, so opened at the throat as to 
 display a considerable portion of his dark and muscular 
 chest. Around his neck was a string of wampum made of 
 shells strung on a cord, and whose actual value, owing to 
 its great length and the scarcity of the material of which it 
 was composed, was, I was assured by those who knew, very 
 great. 
 
 He had a half dozen or more heavy German silver rings 
 on the fingers of both hands, and bracelets of the same 
 material on his wrists and above his elbows. His forehead 
 was shaved well back to the crown, but diverging as it 
 went, to leave a promontory on the very summit which was 
 gathered into a long queue and very carefully braided. 
 The ends of this tail were tied with gay, parti-colored rib- 
 bons, decorated with feathers from the wing of an eagle, 
 and a very handsome silver ornament, curiously chased and 
 almost as large as a saucer. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 277 
 
 Erect as a statue was the chief, broad as to shoulder, and 
 might}' as to torso and thighs. His complexion was not at 
 all the customary coppery hue ; a pronounced swarthiness 
 seemed ingrained in its application. The top of the head, 
 where the hair was cut away, was decorated with patches 
 of vermilion, and the same rich tint was applied to each 
 cheek. He was neither over-dressed nor over-painted. In 
 his way he was as faultlessly made up as the most fastidious 
 lounger in the French capital. He was, in fact, one of the 
 handsomest specimens of manhood that I ever saw. He was 
 a most harmonious symphony in age, features, dress, stature, 
 facial expression and surroundings. 
 
 Wawkomo had been standing around the store for an hour 
 or so in various picturesque attitudes, and without an}' other 
 sign of life than the exchange of an occasional grunt with the 
 interpreter — a melancholy half-breed, whose Indian origin 
 was indicated by his coarse black hair, his general reticence 
 and a very bright cord around the crown of his broad- 
 brimmed slouch hat. Somebody announced dinner. The in- 
 terpreter flung a guttural monosyllable at the chief, who fell 
 into the procession that filed out of the store and into the 
 dining-room at the trader's house. 
 
 Mr. Gibbs was a very swell post-trader, which was seen in 
 the fact that there were napkins, and a dinner in courses, led 
 by the regulation soup. Wawkomo took the seat next to me, 
 and thereupon I anticipated that some odd developments 
 would take place when this magnificent savage undertook to 
 eat at a civilized table. 
 
278 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 My anticipations were totally wrecked. The chief seated 
 himself with the dignity of a Roman senator, unfolded his 
 napkin, sipped his soup without noise, carved his meat, 
 masticated it silently, and, in short, exhibited all the man- 
 ners of a well-bred gentleman. During the dinner he never 
 spoke. 
 
 ' ' Does Wawkomo live with his tribe ? " I asked of my 
 vis-a-vis. 
 
 1 1 Yes ; why ? ' ' was answered. 
 
 ' ' Because he has all the manners of a gentleman at the 
 table. I supposed he would ' gobble ' things Indian fashion. ' ' 
 "Yes, he gets on nicely." 
 
 ' ' Where did he pick up his knowledge of napkins, spoons, 
 and other et ceteras of civilization ? ' ' 
 
 " He did it just as well the first time he sat down at the 
 table. The Indians are very observing and see everything, 
 although they appear to see nothing. He saw how others 
 did and then followed their example. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Well, he is the most finished chap in blanket, leggings 
 and scalp-lock that I ever saw or heard of. He beats Coop- 
 er's copper-cclored heroes all out of sight." 
 
 Wawkomo apparently never paid the slightest attention 
 to this conversation or. to a good deal more of the same 
 import. When he returned to the store, I pulled out a 
 pouch of smoking-tobacco, and touched him on the arm, 
 saying to the interpreter : 
 
 " Please tell the chief to try some of this tobacco. He 
 will find it as fine as the finest he has ever smoked. ' ' 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 279 
 
 The interpreter said something to him in the Indian 
 tongne ; he filled his pipe, lighted it, took several puffs, and 
 said in perfect English : 
 
 11 Good tobacco ! You're from Chicago." 
 
 Had some one hit me with a club I would have been no 
 more astonished. 
 
 ' ' You speak English ? " I stammered. 
 
 1 ' Yes, a little, ' ' he replied, with a face as immobile as a 
 brass clock. 
 
 I learned later that the chief understands well and speaks 
 fairly the English language, although he is averse to using 
 it unless it is absolutely necessary. 
 
 At the same agency I was talking with the superinten- 
 dent, when there came into view a long string of Indians on 
 ponies. In the case of each there was a quarter of fresh 
 beef on the back of the pony, which was used by the rider 
 as a saddle, on which he or she rode astride. They were 
 blanket Indians and as gorgeous as a rainbow. There were 
 wrinkled, white-haired old bucks, able-bodied young men, 
 who rode their ponies like Centaurs, and now and then a 
 boy who clung to the beef like a monkey. Among them 
 was a squaw to whom the agent directed my attention. 
 
 ' ' Do 3:ou see that squaw ? ' ' pointing to a woman who 
 rode on a saddle of gory beef, and who sat like a statue, 
 looking straight before her as if seeing nothing. 
 
 1 ' That particularly dirty one who looks as if she were 
 dreaming ? ' ' 
 
28o PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 "Yes, that one. Very homely, isn't she? About the 
 hardest-looking specimen in the lot, hey ? ' ' 
 
 " Quite so, I think." 
 
 ' ' To look at her you would be likely to think that she 
 was some old hag, mean, savage, bloodthirsty, and all that, 
 wouldn't you?" 
 
 "Yes, that is about it." 
 
 1 ' Well, you are right in some points. She is dirt3 r , blood- 
 thirsty, and would drive a knife into you with just as little 
 compunction as she would slice off a chunk of that beef. 
 But she isn't old ; she isn't ignorant. She speaks English 
 as well as you or I ; not only that, she speaks French and 
 Spanish. She is a fine pianist and can sing like an artiste." 
 
 " You are trying to play a joke on me, I take it." 
 
 " Nothing of the kind. It is all as true as Holy Writ." 
 
 " Be good enough to explain." 
 
 "I will. Several years ago that squaw, then a young 
 girl, was sent to a school in Kansas. She developed extraor- 
 dinary abilities as a student. She became an excellent 
 linguist and musician. There was a young white divinity 
 student in another school at the same town with whom she 
 fell in love. He did not respond. Humiliated, despairing, 
 she left the school, went back to the tribe, selected and 
 married one of the most disreputable old bucks in the reser- 
 vation, and became the creature that 3^ou just saw. Never 
 since she came back has she spoken a word of English." 
 
 The Indian ladies demand some notice. The Cherokee 
 women are very shy and retiring ; some of the young girls 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 281 
 
 are stylish, refined and attractive, more especially those with 
 an admixture of white blood — just enough to lower the 
 high cheek-bones and erase the darker shades of the com- 
 plexion. I saw several of these in Tahlequah — the Chero- 
 kee capital— who -vere dressed in fashionable style, and 
 who were really very charming in their manner and appear- 
 ance. 
 
 The Creek women are of another breed. The majority of 
 them have a half or a quarter negro blood — a cross that is 
 not conducive to symmetry of form or refinement of feature. 
 I was the guest for two days and nights' of a Creek notable, 
 being delayed by a flood-swollen ford. His possessions con- 
 sisted of four or five log houses, which were tumbling down 
 from neglect. In front was the stream we were waiting to 
 cross ; behind was a ragged clearing of some ten acres, 
 devoted to the growing of corn, all beyond which was 
 dense timber. 
 
 The owner was a burly negro — who called himself a 
 Creek — of about three-score years, with a razeed ' ' plug ' ' 
 hat which must have been a remnant of the Noachic age ; 
 a shirt and trousers of the color of the soil, and made up of 
 innumerable patches that seemed to have been fastened 
 together with a thread about the thickness of a clothes-line. 
 
 He was a sooty old sultan with an extensive harem. He 
 had a wife or two in each of the log cabins, and in other 
 convenient places ; a supply of odalisques to meet the neces- 
 sities of the situation. I had the pleasure of meeting and 
 conversing with three or four of them, and of securing dis- 
 
282 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 solving views of some of the others. The most conspicuous 
 of them was a full-blooded negress, who was over six feet 
 in height and nearly the same in breadth. Her lips were 
 enormous flaps of flesh, and her misshapen feet huge as 
 those of an elephant. Her great jov/ls hung down like 
 hams, and her nostrils were two capacious openings like the 
 entrances to great caverns. 
 
 Another of these spouses was a full-blooded Creek with a 
 mere trace of a forehead, coarse hair, in texture like the 
 mane of a horse, and which fell down around her face and 
 shoulders as if she had been abroad bare-headed, buffeted in 
 a gale ; protruding cheek-bones, and a chin and jaw as 
 broad and square as those of a prize-fighter. Her single 
 garment was of calico, streaked with grease and gore, and 
 she had neither shoes nor stockings. 
 
 She was seated on a stump, her heels raised, her toes 
 inturned, the wind occasionally revealing considerable areas 
 of her dusky skin. She sat thus, stolid, immovable, impas- 
 sive, gazing at me with eyes that did not seem to wink, and 
 at intervals squirting, with a robust ( ' whish, ' ' a stream of 
 ink-colored tobacco juice through an opening where there had 
 once been teeth. 
 
 There was a third, a weazened, skinny woman, some 
 forty years of age, who waited on us at the table, who 
 seemed the bad result of a combination of a demoralized 
 Indian and an inferior negro. In the rear of the main 
 cabin two dark-hued women with disheveled hair stood 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 283 
 
 over a mortar, dug out of an upturned stump, and with 
 wooden pestles pounded a grist of corn. 
 
 At Muscogee, when I came to the ' ' tavern, ' ' I asked the 
 landlord where I should register. 
 
 " I don't keep any book," he replied. 
 
 ''You don't? Why not?" 
 
 " Because it ain't none of my business who comes and 
 goes. I tend strictly to my own concerns." 
 
 " I suppose you have a good many visitors who wouldn't 
 care to leave their names along the line of travel ? ' ' 
 
 " I reckon so." And we dropped the conversation. 
 
 From some information that I picked up at a later day, I 
 learned that strangers visiting the country were liable to 
 disappear now and then. On this account, to prevent trac- 
 ing them,, no registry was kept of strangers who were on 
 their way to the interior of the country. I^ater in my jour- 
 ney opportunity was offered me to recall this custom under 
 circumstances which made the recollection a decidedly un- 
 pleasant one. 
 
 At Ocmulgee, the Creek capital, I was furnished with a 
 new driver, of whom my first most intimate knowledge was 
 through my organ of smell. There was a pungent, pole-cat 
 odor about him that was penetrating and abominable. I 
 soon learned from him that his business was skunk-catching 
 when he had no other occupation. Imagine a journey of 
 two days in the company of this redolent person ! He was 
 a man of about forty years of age, with a thin face, a re- 
 
284 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 treating jaw, a tuft of hair on his chin, while a cascade of 
 tow-colored hair fell far down his shoulders. 
 
 * ' What is your business ? " I asked after I had looked 
 him over. 
 
 "Waal, I raise a little corn, but I ginerally buy a few 
 hides and furs among the Ingins. ' ' 
 
 ' ' What kind do you buy ? Many skunk skins, for in- 
 stance ? ' ' 
 
 11 Yep ; heaps of skunk." 
 
 1 ' I thought so. Is there as much money as there is smell 
 in handling pole-cats ? ' ' 
 
 " I make some days as high as two or three dollars." 
 
 My ill-smelling driver was very reticent at the outset, but 
 in time became fluent, even to the extent of garrulity. He 
 was a white man from the States who had married a Chero- 
 kee woman — no white man ever admits marrying a Creek — 
 and was a full member of the tribe. Once he discoursed as 
 follows : 
 
 " A white man hain't got any more show in this part of 
 the territory than a cat in hell without claws. Over there," 
 jerking his whip in the direction of the southwest, "there 
 was two skeletons of a man and a boy found last week, 
 with both their skulls broke in, and nobody knows where 
 they are from and who they are. Almost every day a body 
 is found in some slough or stream, and all that's known 
 about them is that, from the shape of the skulls, they are 
 white men." 
 
 And then, for interminable odorous hours, he proceeded 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 285 
 
 to relate incidents of horrible murders which he knew, as 
 well as the names of the victims and their assassins. My 
 blood seemed to shrink in my veins, and cold chills crept 
 up and down my spine, till I wished the Creek country to 
 the devil. 
 
 It was then that I recalled with a shock the refusal of the 
 landlords at Muscogee and Ocmulgee to permit their guests 
 to register their names, residences or destinations. Not a 
 soul at either place knew my name ; I might be shot, 
 dragged into some thicket, and it would be several weeks 
 before my silence would attract attention. Then no inqui^ 
 would reveal the point at which I had entered the Creek 
 region, and. the end would be one of those ' ' mysterious dis- 
 appearances ' ' that are so often recorded in the newspapers. 
 
 "You see," he said, "the thing is jest hyar. The 
 Cherokee paper never says anything about these killings, so 
 the world don't get to know of 'em. Ef it's a white man 
 that is killed they are dog-gonned glad of it, and hyar's 
 another thing : Ef one man shoots another, no matter how 
 bad a murder it may be, no one dast say anything about it. 
 Trouble is, no man will be a witness, 'cause he knows that 
 ef he sw'ars agin a man, he has got to leave the country on 
 the jump, or else he gets a charge of buckshot in his back. 
 He's got to hustle when he leaves the place whar the trial 
 is held, or they load him up with buckshot when he passes 
 the first timber. ' ' 
 
XIII. 
 
 Employment of Women. 
 
 The Times, from the beginning, under the management 
 of Mr. Storey, was fairly liberal in the employment of 
 women. The first one engaged was early in the sixties, 
 when Miss Sarah Cahill, a young lady living in Faribault, 
 Minn., was given piece work. She covered a vast amount 
 of ground, having a marvelous versatility, handling innum- 
 erable topics with graceful delicacy. She became the wife 
 of a Texan, Col. Worthington, who soon after left her a 
 widow, with one child, a boy, now a young man. 
 
 Some years after closing her connection with the Times 
 as a resident of Chicago, she resumed it as its corre- 
 spondent from St. Paul, which position she held for several 
 years. She has been always a liberal contributor to St. Paul 
 journalism, and even yet wields a pen that has lost none of 
 its earlier point and delicacy of touch. 
 
 Miss Anna Kerr, a young lady of Scotch origin, was for 
 many years the librarian and book-reviewer. She was im- 
 mensely popular with the force on the Times, and when 
 she suddenly sickened with quick consumption and died, 
 she was mourned as if she were a younger and favorite sis- 
 ter. 
 
 286 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 287 
 
 For a time, Mrs. C. W. Romney, when she was Miss 
 Caroline Wescott, had charge of the books, and proved her- 
 self a painstaking and hard-working employe. Her advent- 
 ures since she left the Times would fill a volume the size 
 of a Webster's unabridged dictionary. Her first effort, 
 after leaving the Times, was the institution of a ladies' 
 walking-match, a la Dan O'Leary, in which she brought 
 into prominence Bertha Von Hillern, a capital ' ' walkist, ' ' 
 and who has since attained distinction in other directions. 
 
 Miss Wescott next turned her attention to real estate, and 
 opened an office on Dearborn Street. 
 
 She then tried the far West, marrying Mr. John Romney, 
 who soon left her a widow. She began operations at I^ead- 
 ville in its booming days, canvassed for advertisements, 
 wrote for the newspapers, dealt in mining stocks, was editor of 
 a Durango newspaper, in Colorado, and, after a trip or two 
 to Europe to place some mining securities, she settled down 
 in her old home, Chicago, and is now in charge of a trade 
 journal. 
 
 Miss Marian Mulligan, the daughter of Col. James Mulli- 
 gan, was, for a time, literary editress, and, although young, 
 she performed her duties with all the judgment of a veteran. 
 
 Miss Margaret Buchanan, now Mrs. Alexander Sullivan, 
 was connected with the Times, both before and after her mar- 
 riage, mainly in an editorial capacity. I need not dwell 
 on her marvelous intellectual ability ; she is too well known 
 to need eulogy. I will only say of her that I regard her as 
 the ablest woman in the United States. 
 
288 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 For many years, over the signature of ' ' Cameo, ' ' Mrs. 
 Longstreet-Smith acted as the New York correspondent of 
 the Times. 
 
 Mrs. Maria Storey, between the date of the separation 
 from Mr. Storey and the divorce, contributed many bright 
 articles to the Times. She always sent them to me, and I 
 turned them over to Mr. Storey, who never failed to have 
 them published. She used no signature, but he must, of 
 course, have known from the handwriting who was the 
 author. 
 
 Miss Agnes Leonard, in the '6o's, was frequently repre- 
 sented in the columns of the paper in poetical and high- 
 grade compositions. She is now, and has been since her 
 connection with the Times, dependent on her pen for sup- 
 port. She is now Mrs. Agnes Leonard Hill, having been 
 married to Mr. Hill soon after the fire of 1871. 
 
 Perhaps the most sprightly, vivacious and piquant 
 feminine contributor the Times ever had is Blanche 
 Tucker, at present Madame Blanche Roosevelt Machetta 
 d'Algeri, singer, authoress, and, withal, the most beautiful 
 woman in Kurope. 
 
 Blanche was a poor girl, living in Chicago at the time of 
 the great fire, and escaped with but a single garment. She 
 was passionately devoted to music, and finally succeeded in 
 getting one of the Washburnes of Wisconsin to send her to 
 Europe, with the understanding that he was to allow her 
 fifty dollars a month for half a year, the allowance to be 
 continued if she gave promise of success. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 289 
 
 At the end of that time Washburne withdrew his support, 
 and then I took up her case, and organized a club here in 
 Chicago, composed among others of Judge, then Mr. Egbert 
 Jamieson, Tom Brenan and Dan O'Hara, supplying a total 
 of fifty dollars a month. 
 
 When she was about to leave for New York, I said to her 
 among other things : 
 
 ' ' Write to me often about whatever strikes your fancy : 
 men, women, fashion, art, music, theaters ; in fine, any thing, 
 evetything that interests you. Your voice as a singer may 
 fail, and then you can fall back on your pen ! " 
 
 She had had but little schooling, and her first letters, 
 while they had abundance of snap, fancy and promise, 
 were crude, ungrammatical, badly spelled, and, in many 
 instances, undecipherable. But her improvement was rapid. 
 Her English, her grammar, her form of expression, her 
 observation, all became of a better quality, and the Times 
 began to use her correspondence. 
 
 For many years she wrote weekly letters from London, 
 Paris and Milan, which were filled with musical and art 
 gossip, racy personal characterizations, and replete with 
 nice touches of humor and ironical delineations. 
 
 She made a successful debut at Covent Garden Opera- 
 house under Gye, but her health gave out, and after a long 
 struggle she gave up music, and fell back on her pen. 
 Her books are numerous and as a rule successful. She has 
 written and published ' ' The Home-I^ife of L,ongfellow ; ' ' 
 " Marked in Haste," a society novel; "The Copper 
 
2 9 o PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 Oueen," also a society novel, a considerable portion of 
 which is located in Chicago, and which includes many inci- 
 dents connected with the great fire. 
 
 Her most successful work is her " L,ife of Gustave DoreV' 
 which has been translated into half a dozen different lan- 
 guages. 
 
 Her last work, "Verdi, Milan and Otello," I believe to 
 be one of the very best of her literary productions. 
 
 She was married in 1877, in Chelsea, Iyondon, to August 
 Machetta, a very handsome young Italian, the son of the 
 general director of the Italian system of telegraphs. Her 
 mother and one of her sisters and a few American friends 
 were present at the ceremony. On me devolved the honor 
 of acting as the guardian of, and giving away, the bride. 
 
 One of her most valuable books is entitled : ' ' She Would 
 be an Opera-Singer." It is a record of her own experi- 
 ences, and presents in a graphic and most realistic style the 
 trials, sufferings, vexations, mortifications, the arduous 
 labors, and all the rest, that make up the life of an aspirant 
 for honors on the lyric stage. 
 
 Madam Machetta has had an eventful life. Longfellow's 
 " Pandora " was set to music for her benefit, and brought 
 out as an opera in New York. She traveled for a time 
 with Gilbert, the composer, and created for his operas the 
 leading feminine roles. 
 
 She has the entree of the best social circles of Europe. 
 She speaks half a dozen languages with fluency and cor- 
 rectness. Her life is a romance. 
 
PART THREE. 
 
 Another Trip Abroad. 
 
 I returned from the old country in the autumn of 1878, 
 and resumed my connection with the Times. Young J. E. 
 Chamberlin, who had been acting for a year or so as man- 
 aging editor, failed in health, and was succeeded by Clinton 
 A. Snowden, who for some years had been city editor. 
 This change took place near the close of 1880. 
 
 Snowden was a young man as ambitious as he was huge 
 in bulk and immense in stature. He determined to make 
 the Times the "biggest thing" on the continent. Mr. 
 Storey's mental balance was somewhat unsettled, and he 
 listened with avidity to the solicitations of his enthusiastic 
 lieutenant. The number of the pages was to be increased ; 
 the news was to be doubled in quantity, and improved in 
 quality. The " Old Man " was delighted, and entered into 
 the scheme with his whole soul. 
 
 I took advantage of this favorable condition of feeling to 
 state to Mr. Storey that no first-class journal could be es- 
 tablished without a European bureau. The suggestion 
 
 291 
 
292 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 caught with the rapidity with which gun-powder explodes 
 at contact with fire. 
 
 "Just the thing! "said Mr. Storey. "All the great 
 American newspapers have bureaux of news in the old 
 world ! " 
 
 ' ' Exactly what I have been studying, ' ' said Snowden, 
 as if he had been giving the establishing of a bureau in 
 Kurope his entire thought for at least six months. 
 
 An understanding was soon reached ; it was to be no 
 temporary or ephemeral matter. I was to go to I/mdon 
 and establish a bureau, with the option of remaining three 
 years, or longer, if I chose. I rented my house for 
 three years, stored the furniture at a sacrifice, and took my 
 family with me, my son, John B. Wilkie, going as a paid 
 assistant in the purposed enterprise. 
 
 I went over in January ; my wife, daughter and son came 
 later. I sold, when I left, a valuable young horse, a fine 
 top-buggy and a sleigh. 
 
 When I shook hands with Mr. Storey the day I left, and 
 bade him good-by, it was the last time I ever saw his face. 
 
 I determined upon a system of organization, and pro- 
 ceeded to put it into effect at once. An office was procured 
 at No. 6 Agar Street, Strand, and fitted up with so much 
 celerity that Mr. Storey did the unusual thing of express- 
 ing satisfaction. Under date of February 28, 1881, he 
 writes : 
 
 1 ' Dear Mr. Wn,KiB : — I have yours of the 15th. You seem to be 
 getting on famously, and evidently mean business. Your plans all 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 293 
 
 strike me as admirable. Your suggestions shall be faithfully fulfilled. 
 I have no doubt that our most sanguine hopes of the branch will be 
 realized." 
 
 The system adopted in the bureau had, I think, some 
 valuable features in the matter of economy, and also 
 efficiency in the supplying of news. I started out with the 
 idea of paying only for services actually rendered. No 
 person connected with the bureau outside of its managers 
 received any regular salary. Geographically, all the differ- 
 ent parts of the continent, and portions of Northern Africa, 
 were represented by the bureau. 
 
 I began by writing to the American legation at each 
 capital in Kurope, asking them to give me the name of 
 some person connected with their own body, or a native 
 resident, who would furnish the bureau information. 
 In this way we secured Sigmund Wolf for Cairo ; Frank 
 Mason at Berne, Switzerland ; Madame Marie Michailoff for 
 St. Petersburg ; Belle Scott-Uda for Italy, and to keep an 
 eye on Vesuvius ; Hourtz for Berlin ; William Robeson, 
 ex-consul at L,eith, for Tripoli, covering Northern Africa 
 generally ; Hon. John Dillon and Wm. Wall, Dublin, and 
 John Joline Ross for Paris. 
 
 Bach attache was instructed that in case of some very 
 unusual occurrence, like the burning of the opera-house at 
 Nice or the assassination of the Czar, a brief account was 
 to be sent at once by telegraph, and, if more extended 
 reports were needed, they would be ordered from the 
 
294 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 bureau. As said, the payment for this work was special ; 
 that is, according to its importance. 
 
 The New York Herald employed a force to which large 
 annual salaries were paid, and in many cases a furnished 
 house was supplied. Of course the difference between that 
 system and the one adopted by the L,ondon bureau of the 
 Times made a balance in favor of the latter of several thou- 
 sand dollars per annum. The contrast will appear in a 
 stronger light when I state that Mr. Connery, who was 
 managing editor of the Herald at that time, informed a 
 friend of mine that the cable service of the Times from 
 the old country was fully equal to that of the Herald in 
 many respects, and in some others was greatly its superior. 
 Albert Brisbane and Frank Gray, both of whom are jour- 
 nalists of great judgment and experience, paid me the high 
 compliment of pronouncing the work of the bureau of the 
 Chicago Times the very best that had ever been done for an 
 American newspaper. 
 
 The bureau also included a system of soliciting adver- 
 tisements, and which, during its short existence, had suc- 
 ceeded in laying a very substantial foundation for future 
 business. Just before the bureau was discontinued, I had 
 made a partial agreement with a noted horse-breeder for a 
 notice of his place, for which he was to pay ^500 ; but as I 
 was recalled at the very time that negotiations were pend- 
 ing, I gave the office no information in regard to the pro- 
 jected contract. 
 
 As it was, quite a number of well-paying advertisements 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 295 
 
 were secured and published in the Chicago Times. I have 
 never doubted that, had the bureau been continued another 
 year, I could have placed it upon a self-sustaining basis. 
 
 There was a great rivalry among the leading American 
 papers in the winter and spring of 1881 to secure an 
 advance copy of the revised edition of the New Testament. 
 The Chicago Tribune and the New York Herald, World, 
 Times, and many other papers, all had representatives 
 in L,ondon, some of them with blank checks, prepared 
 to pay any amount for the coveted object. None of them, 
 of course, avowed the purpose of their visit. They were 
 all there for some other object. 
 
 I met Charles Harrington, a reporter of the Chicago 
 Tribune, one day on the Strand, and the moment he saw me 
 a look came over his face which said as plainly as if in so 
 many words : "I'm after the Revised Testament." What 
 he did say after the customary commonplaces was that he 
 had just come from Paris, where he had been to leave 
 his sister, who was in poor health. He left me just as soon 
 as he could conveniently, and I saw him no more. 
 
 I spared no effort to secure the document. I called upon 
 several of the most prominent detective agencies in the 
 metropolis to enlist their services. I sent an agent to the 
 house of a bishop who had been concerned in the revision, 
 who was to gain admission to the episcopal residence on 
 some pretext or other, his instructions being to look over 
 as much of the library as he could, in the hope that he 
 might light on a copy and bring it away with him. It was 
 
296 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 supposed, of course, that the official would be received by 
 the bishop in his study, and if there were any of the books 
 in the bishop's possession, they might be found in that room. 
 
 For a long time I worked in every possible direction 
 without achieving the slightest result. I had a friend, an 
 American doctor, permanently located in I/mdon, with 
 whom I was on terms of great intimacy, and with whom I 
 used to take long trips up and down the river. On one 
 occasion, when we were going to Greenwich, he noticed that 
 I seemed very much preoccupied. He asked what was the 
 matter, and I told him of the fierce rivalry that was in 
 existence among the American papers, of the great number 
 of agents in London in search of the book, of the large 
 sums of money with which they were intrusted to prosecute 
 the work, and of the fact that the Times had given me no 
 margin in the shape of an outlay ; and yet that my anxiety 
 to win was all the more intense in view of the tremendous 
 odds that I was compelled to encounter. 
 
 ' ' Why, ' ' said he, ' ' I think I can give you a lift in that 
 direction." 
 
 "You don't mean it ! " 
 
 11 1 certainly do." 
 
 ■ ' Well, if you can assist me in this matter you will make 
 me your everlasting debtor. How much of it do you think 
 you can get ? ' ' 
 
 " I can't tell you just yet, but I will look into the thing 
 and let you know to-morrow. ' ' 
 
 The next day I met him at the Grand Hotel, when he 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 297 
 
 informed me that he could obtain so many manuscript 
 pages of the revised copy. I at once flew to the cable 
 office and telegraphed to the home office : 
 
 ' ' Can get large part of Revised Testament. How many 
 words ? ' ' 
 
 The answer came : 
 
 ' ' Four thousand. ' ' 
 
 Everybody in the Northwest will remember the appear- 
 ance of the Chicago Times one morning in April, 1881, 
 when it was an enormous mass of paper which contained 
 the entire contents of the New Testament and thousands 
 of changes taken from the revised English edition. 
 
 The matter appeared in the Chicago Times Friday morn- 
 ing. The changes were telegraphed back to New York and 
 appeared in the World Saturday morning. The next Tues- 
 day the New York Herald published the matter which had 
 been sent by its I^ondon representative. 
 
 The jealousy of the rival papers was vicious and tremen- 
 dous. The Chicago Tribune asserted that the dispatch was 
 bogus and had been made up in the office. Storey met 
 this by publishing the receipt of the telegraph company for 
 the payment of a cable message of four thousand words. 
 A few days later the revised edition reached here, where- 
 upon the Tribune tried it again. It took portions of my 
 cable and published them and corresponding portions of the 
 revised version in parallel columns, showing a sum total of 
 seventeen differences, and again asseverated that the proof 
 of fraud was incontestibla 
 
298 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 The matter had been handed me by my friend, the doctor. 
 He would tell me no more than that he had copied it from 
 notes handed him by a clerk of one of the members of the 
 Board of Revision. That clerk, of course, had to make a 
 copy for the doctor. I took the manuscript furnished by 
 the doctor and copied it on the type- writer. It then went 
 to the cable office, where it was copied once more. When 
 it reached Valencia, Ireland, it was copied again. It was 
 copied again at Newfoundland, again at New York, again 
 at Chicago, where it went into the hands of the printers 
 and proof-readers, and doubtless underwent the changes and 
 alterations which are almost always inevitable in the hand- 
 ling of copy. 
 
 Inasmuch as it was handled and copied or repeated nine 
 times, the seventeen errors made an average of less than 
 two mistakes in each repetition. And, in addition, the 
 copy came in such shape from New York that much of it 
 had to be repeated. 
 
 The next month after the victory on the struggle for the 
 first copy of the Revised Testament, I accomplished another 
 feat which, so far as I am aware, has never been equaled. 
 The Oxford and Cambridge boat-race was rowed, the start 
 being at nine o'clock A. m. I sent over the event, the 
 time, the name of the winning crew, in season to be printed 
 in the morning edition of the Times, whereby its readers 
 were able to read the result several hours, according to the 
 clock, before it had occurred. 
 
 The explanation is simple. There is five hours and 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 299 
 
 fifty-eight minutes' difference in time between London and 
 Chicago. The race which takes place at nine o'clock in 
 the morning in London is occurring when the watches in 
 Chicago mark 3 A. m. 
 
 Soon after these two signal triumphs, I received, under 
 date of May 30, a letter from Mr. Storey, in which he said : 
 
 ' ' Your dispatches are marvels ; still they are too costly. 
 A quarter of a column, or half a column, ought to suffice on 
 all ordinary occasions — indeed, on all extraordinary occa- 
 sions, unless it be a very extraordinary occasion. Of 
 course, } r ou can not elaborate, even, unless the world comes 
 to an end on your side of the Atlantic — then you might 
 enlarge a little. This matter is vital, for the present cost is 
 more than we can stand. ' ' 
 
 He then devotes a page or two to abusing McNeil, the 
 contractor, for the reason that some coping placed around 
 his lot by McNeil had become uneven. He had written me 
 a letter on the same subject a month before, accusing 
 McNeil of being a swindler. I replied in a sharp letter, in 
 which I stated that neither McNeil nor I, who had employed 
 him to do the work, was to blame, but he, Mr. Storey, for 
 he had insisted on having the coping put down in Novem- 
 ber, when the ground was full of frost, and, as a matter of 
 course, when the frost came out in the spring the stones 
 would be thrown out of place. 
 
 In a letter of May 31, he concludes as follows : 
 
 " Do not be disturbed by trifles. I didn't mean to dis- 
 turb you about McNeil's faux pas, but I was vexed, and 
 
3 oo PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 am yet. I know — I am sure — of your loyalty, and I ap- 
 preciate it. Do not ever doubt it. 
 
 ' ' I hope you are happy ; you have your family with you, 
 and ought to be. 
 
 "I hope that your mission will be successful, so that 
 you shall neither wish to come home, and neither that I 
 shall wish to have you. ' ' 
 
II. 
 
 A Financial Collapse. 
 
 It will be supposed by most people reading these extracts 
 from Mr. Storey's letter that I was highly pleased with 
 their kindly tone. 
 
 On the contrary, the letter thoroughly alarmed me. I 
 knew him so well that I was perfectly aware that his pur- 
 ring was the prelude to a vicious scratch with every nail in 
 his paw. Circumstances tended to give a sinister meaning 
 to some of his words, especially concerning the cutting 
 down of dispatches. 
 
 During the period I had been running the bureau, I had 
 been cramped for mone}-. I had to use my private funds ; 
 the remittances from the office were always behind, and 
 when they did come were often in driblets. 
 
 At first I was very much embarrassed, and wrote savage 
 complaints to Mr. A. L,. Patterson, the business manager, 
 whom I half suspected of hostility to my bureau. I dis- 
 covered later that it was not in the least his fault ; he was 
 carrying a burden that would have crushed half a dozen 
 common men. 
 
 At the time I began to receive warning to cut down my 
 telegrams, as I learned afterwards, the Times was in a 
 
 301 
 
302 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 desperate financial strait. There were twelve hundred 
 correspondents throughout the country to whom the office 
 was some months in arrears. Cash at the rate of sixty 
 thousand dollars a year was being diverted to the " mauso- 
 leum ' ' on Forty- third Street and Vincennes Avenue. My 
 bureau was costing from $3,000 to $5,000 a month. To 
 meet this enormous outlay the earnings of the paper were 
 insufficient. 
 
 Snowden, inexperienced, immature, reckless, inundated 
 the pages of the Times with news matter much of which 
 was costly and utterly valueless. 
 
 In a letter dated April 12, 1881, Mr. vStorey writes : 
 
 ' ' I am not surprised, of course, nevertheless I am glad 
 you are getting on so well. I have confidence that you will 
 make 3^our bureau a success that no other American paper 
 can approach. 
 
 " I am still improving in health. I thank you for your 
 congratulations and anticipations. I think now I shall go 
 to Europe in 1883, and I fondly hope that I shall find you 
 in Iyondon. 
 
 " With all my wishes for your happiness, I am very truly 
 yours. ' ' 
 
 A brief note from Mr. Storey, dated February 7, 1881, 
 will present an idea of his lack of knowledge of current 
 events : 
 
 "My Dear Sir : — Failure on such an occasion as the event of yes- 
 terday is practically to make your whole mission a failure. The Rus- 
 sians in Constantinople, and not a word from you ! " 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 303 
 
 The rumor was that the British fleet had moved in front 
 of the cit}-, and not that the Russians had captured it. 
 
 The warnings given in Mr. Storey's letter of May 31, 
 concerning the reduction of dispatches, finall}^ grew into a 
 tremendous clamor. The managing editor wrote me at 
 least three times a week, under "instructions" from Mr. 
 Storey, to cut down the quantity of matter. Snowden 
 thundered at me for a couple of months, and then the same 
 class of ominous correspondence continued in another hand- 
 writing, commencing, ' ' Mr. Storey instructs, ' ' and ending 
 "per C. Dennett." 
 
 The removal of Snowden was a very peculiar transaction. 
 For months Mr. Storey had been indirectly indorsing the 
 extravagance in news of Snowden. The facts in the case 
 show that in this stage the mind of the ' ' Old Man ' ' was 
 becoming impaired. Snowden would go into Mr. Storey's 
 room and say to him : 
 
 ' ' Mr. Storey, such and such a thing has happened in 
 Southwestern Texas. Shall we send a man down to work 
 it up?" 
 
 ' ' Yes, if you like, ' ' would be the reply, apparently with- 
 out any conception of the subject. It was with the greatest 
 difficulty that Mr. Patterson, the business manager, suc- 
 ceeded in arousing Mr. Storey's attention to the ruinous 
 condition of the finances of the Times. Finally Storey 
 seemed to awaken to an actual conception of what was in 
 progress, and said that he would take measures to check 
 the extravagance. 
 
304 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 The manner in which he proceeded to " check the 
 extravagance" was one entirely in harmony with his 
 treacherous and unfeeling nature. He had been praising 
 Snowden extravagantly for his enterprise. He wrote him 
 the most flattering letters from Green I,ake, was kind and 
 cordial to him to the last minute, even smiling as he drove 
 his knife into the victim's heart. 
 
 One morning he sent orders to all the heads of depart- 
 ments to be at his room at a certain hour. All had assembled 
 except Snowden, and a messenger was sent to summon him. 
 When he came in he had the expression of one who expects 
 a cordial reception, and undoubted!}-, on the way in response 
 to the summons, he ran over in his mind the good things 
 which he had done, and for which he doubtless anticipated 
 that he was about to be complimented. 
 
 The door closed behind him. Said Mr. Storey, looking 
 at him with a half-smile : 
 
 1 ' Snowden, I am going to take the bull by the horns. 
 You are a failure. You are too extravagant. I shall put 
 Mr. Dennett in 3-our place." 
 
 One can, perhaps, imagine the reaction in the mind of the 
 big blond manager. One of those who was present told 
 me that Snowden' s face first grew pale, then flushed scarlet ; 
 he sank down visibly as if he had lost the strength of his 
 legs, and he had the appearance of one who has received a 
 mortal blow. How inconceivably fiendish, thus summoning 
 the chiefs of all the departments to be present to witness 
 the degradation and humiliation of one of their own number ! 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 305 
 
 The first practical step toward cutting down the expenses 
 of the London bureau was the stopping of the salary of my 
 assistant, John B. Wilkie. This was cut off some time in 
 August with the understanding that it would be held back 
 for one month and at the end of that time restored. This 
 would save to the office a trifle over $100, but at the expira- 
 tion of the time it was not restored, in spite of the fact that 
 he continued to serve the paper for that month and the two 
 succeeding ones. That saved the Times, in the aggregate, 
 three hundred dollars. 
 
 The unfavorable portents which I had inferred from Mr. 
 Storey's purring letter of May 31 came to a realization 
 some time in October, when I received a letter from the 
 managing editor stating that he was instructed to have me 
 discontinue the bureau and report in Chicago. I was so 
 outraged at this treatment that upon reaching the office I 
 made a settlement of my bureau accounts and left without 
 seeing Mr. Storey, the managing editor, or any one else 
 except the business manager. 
 
 As before said, I had an option of staying at least three 
 years, or permanently, if I so elected, but I was in London 
 only from January to October. The loss to me in the trans- 
 action, on account of moving my family over and back and 
 the sale of property, amounted to about $2,800, which was 
 an amount not very much less than half the sum I received 
 for the ten months' services. 
 
 During 1882 I wrote a large book entitled " A History of 
 the Great Inventions and their Kffect on Civilization, ' ' for 
 
306 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OP 
 
 Ruth Bros., of Cincinnati and Chicago. I contributed daily 
 editorials to the News, and also for several months editorial 
 matter to the St. Paul Globe by telegraph. 
 
 When Mr. Storey became idiotic, which he did within a 
 few months, and a conservator was appointed, I was asked 
 to re-attach myself to the Times. This I did, and remained 
 with it under Conservator Patterson and Receiver Hurlbut, 
 retiring permanently when the Times was taken possession 
 of by West and his gang of blackmailers. My connection 
 with the Chicago Times and Mr. Storey commenced in Sep- 
 tember, 1863, and extended in an unbroken line to 1881, 
 was resumed in 1883, and terminated finally in 1888, being 
 a service of twenty- three years. 
 
 Of all the results of my journalistic career, the Chicago 
 Press Club is one concerning which I feel great pride and 
 gratification. 
 
 There is an erroneous impression regarding the origin of 
 the Press Club — the one that attributes it to Mark Twain. 
 He was, in a certain sense, the occasion of its organization, 
 but in no sense the cause of it. In December, 1879, he was 
 in Chicago, and some of the newspaper men suggested giv- 
 ing him a little reception and entertainment. The only 
 place available at the time was a basement saloon, damp, 
 odorous, redolent of sawdust and mephitic with stale 
 tobacco smoke. 
 
 After the gathering had adjourned, Melville B. Stone and 
 myself happened to walk away together, when one of us re- 
 marked : ' ' What an infernal shame it is that the press of 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 307 
 
 Chicago has no better place to entertain a distinguished 
 visitor than a foul-smelling subterranean den ! " On the 
 strength of this it was decided that an effort should be made 
 to form a club. 
 
 A half-dozen prominent journalists were notified ; a pre- 
 liminary meeting was held at the Tremont House, the result 
 of whose deliberations was a resolution to institute a Press 
 Club to be composed exclusively of members of the literary 
 department of the newspapers. A charter was obtained, a 
 constitution was drawn up, officers were elected, and on 
 January 8, 1880, the Chicago Press Club began its existence 
 in the rooms which it has ever since occupied. The club 
 did me the honor to elect me the first President, a distinc- 
 tion which I have always recalled with much pleasure and 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Before the present club was instituted, there had been no 
 less than six efforts made to establish press clubs, but none 
 succeeded, principally for the reason that, when their 
 finances became low, they admitted outsiders — lawyers, 
 actors, and other professional men. The ten years' exist- 
 ence of the present club is due in part to the universally 
 excellent management that has controlled it, and the further 
 fact that it is homogeneous — the constitution expressly 
 providing that no man is eligible for membership unless for 
 at least one year prior to his application he shall have sup- 
 ported himself by his pen in literary work. 
 
 The club has proved to be a great missionary force. 
 Before it was instituted, the Bohemian element predominated 
 
308 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 among the newspaper men of the city. This class had no 
 home, and when off duty, partly from necessity and partly 
 from inclination, resorted to the beer-hall for a place of 
 shelter and recreation. 
 
 Now the club furnishes them a splendid home. It is so 
 much more attractive than the old places of resort that it 
 draws its members as a matter of taste and comfort. It has 
 a fine library, hundreds of costly paintings, pianos, billiard- 
 room, restaurant, reading and writing-rooms, and spacious 
 parlors for lounging and receptions. The club has vastly 
 improved the habits and morals, especially of the reportorial 
 element ; it has instituted receptions which are attended by 
 ladies, and which afford some of the reporters the only 
 opportunity they have for contact with the refinements of 
 feminine society. 
 
III. 
 
 Storky's Other Spirit. 
 
 When Mr. Storey was married the third time, he entered 
 a family that had a private, special spirit of its own. The 
 bride brought it with her along with her other household 
 furnishings, and it became a part of Mr. 'Storey's domicile. 
 
 As has been related, Mr. Storey, after the death of his 
 second wife, gave a great deal of time to spiritualism. In 
 that case his motive was a desire to secure communication 
 with the woman whom he so tenderly loved. In the case of 
 the new spirit the motive for resorting to it was one of 
 health. 
 
 It was after his health had failed that he took into his 
 keeping this family spirit, in order, perhaps, that he might 
 always have one on hand and accessible. It was, as 
 claimed, the spirit of an Indian girl that now obsessed and 
 then possessed him. It was known as "Little Squaw," 
 and Mrs. Storey was its trainer, exhibitor and mouthpiece. 
 
 11 Little Squaw " made her appearance in 1875, about a 
 3 r ear after Mr. Storey had been married the third time. 
 From that period it, or she, clung to him till his consciousness 
 was obscured by imbecility. She followed him everywhere, 
 night and day, giving him suggestions as to the origin of 
 
 309 
 
310 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 his ill-health, where to travel, how to dispose of his 
 property, who were his friends and who his enemies. 
 Strangely enough, the infantile spirit had some malignant 
 qualities, and she so influenced him that she alienated all 
 his friends and left him to die by inches in a sad isolation. 
 
 Whoever came to see him at the office, on no matter what 
 business, was compelled to listen to Mr. Storey's conversa- 
 tion, which was wholly devoted to ' ' I^ittle Squaw, ' ' what 
 she had said to him and done for him. If the visitor 
 remained long enough, Mr. Storey would relate the same 
 thing in the same language over, and over, and over again. 
 
 He moved into the house on Prairie Avenue belonging to 
 Fernando Jones. ' ' ' L,ittle Squaw ' told me, ' ' he would 
 say, ' ' that I am being poisoned by sewer gas, ' ' and then he 
 proceeded to make it warm for Fernando Jones in abusive 
 letters. 
 
 I would go into his office and remark : 
 
 1 ' Good morning, Mr. Storey. You are looking better 
 this morning. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, I know I'm better. 'Little Squaw' last week 
 ordered me to be rubbed with salt and whisky, and I had it 
 done and am feeling much better. ' ' 
 
 Or again : 
 
 ' ' ' Iyittle Squaw ' tells me that I shall live as long as 
 Commodore Vanderbilt did. He lived to be over eighty 
 years of age." 
 
 Or: 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 311 
 
 * ' ' Little Squaw ' ordered me to go to such and such a 
 watering-place, and I grew better at once. ' ' 
 
 Such are a few of the thousands of things he said of the 
 Indian spirit, which managed always to flatter his vanity by 
 speaking of him as the "White Chief." It was an omni- 
 present spirit ; it whispered in his ear at the table, in the car- 
 riage, on the couch in the night. It never left him for a 
 moment. It never ceased to suggest, to ask, to demand, to 
 cajole, to wheedle, to threaten, till his ears were dulled by 
 death. 
 
 Mr. Storey was known to be imbecile long before the fact 
 was admitted. He was entirely incapacitated for the intel- 
 ligent transaction of business in 1882, or two years before 
 his death. It was given out at the office, when people 
 wished to see him, that he was temporarily ill ; at home, 
 that he was improving, and would be down to-morrow. At 
 the house no outsider would be admitted to see him ; callers 
 were informed that he was sleeping, or on some excuse or 
 another were refused admittance. 
 
 Even an order from Mr. Trade, his lawyer, to the con- 
 servator appointed by the court, Mr. Patterson, to see Mr. 
 Storey, was not honored. 
 
 ' ' little Squaw ' ' has the credit of being indirectly respon- 
 sible, for plunging the poor victim deeper into the abyss of 
 idiocy. Among other remedies which this creature sug- 
 gested for his malady was the water-cure. This was at a 
 time when he still had a few gleams of intelligence. In 
 obedience to the prescription of the Indian practitioner, he 
 
3 i2 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 went to the bath-room by himself, rilled the tub with cold 
 water and climbed into the chilling fluid. He was at once 
 so shocked by the cold as to become practically helpless. 
 He struggled to get out, but, unfortunately,* he had entered 
 the tub reversed, with his feet where his head should have 
 been, so that the steep incline of the head end kept his feet 
 slipping back. 
 
 It was a long time before anybody came to his assistance, 
 and when he was finally rescued, the shock had destroyed 
 the last particle of intellect, and left him idiotic. 
 
 The last editorial work done by Mr. Storey was three 
 brief articles which appeared in three consecutive issues of 
 his newspaper. They were double-leaded, and placed at 
 the head of the editorial column. All were of the same im- 
 port : they were a paean over the unrivaled prosperity of 
 the Times. 
 
 The closing words of the first were : ' ' Stick a pin there ! ' ' 
 of the second, ' ' Stick a spike there ! ' ' and of third, ! ' Stick 
 a crow-bar there ! ' ' These were the last words, so to 
 speak, of the great editor. 
 
 During the months preceding his dissolution, not a soul 
 outside of the house was permitted to see him. Brother, 
 sister, nephews and nieces knocked vainly for admission. 
 
 In fact, poor Storey's final illness, and death were en- 
 vironed by a scandalous scramble after his wealth. Not a 
 single one of his kin by blood gave a single thought to the 
 
 preservation of the great institution which the editor had 
 
 • 
 reared : all they wanted was his wealth. They were hun~ 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 313 
 
 gry hyenas, snarling, growling, snapping, tearing each 
 other to get at the carcass. 
 
 I had often had conversations with one of them when 
 Storey's condition became alarming, and was assured by 
 him that when Storey died he and all the other heirs of 
 blood would keep the Times institution intact, and spare no 
 effort to continue it as it had been conducted by its founder. 
 
 The Times as an institution, as the growth of years and 
 the result of infinite labor, of brains, patience, and the com- 
 bined thought and exertions of a high order of intellect, 
 became, in the estimate of these mercenary creatures, simply 
 an article of traffic, like a car-load of pork or a corner lot ; 
 and not a grand institution capable of exerting omnipotent 
 influences, but a vulgar thing of purchase and sale, like a 
 cargo of cabbages. 
 
 Not a word was uttered in favor of perpetuating this 
 monument of Storey's life-work. They wanted no monu- 
 ment : what they yearned and fought for was cash, or its 
 equivalent. They were anxious to pull down the towering 
 column, so as to break it up and sell it at pot-metal rates. 
 
 I have no moral to present, based on the career of Mr. 
 Storey. The essential facts of his life have been given in 
 these reminiscences, and each reader can deduce his own 
 conclusions. It is simple justice to state that much of his 
 greatness and success was due to the men who surrounded 
 him. The majority of his staff in the literary and business 
 departments were with him substantially from the beginning 
 of his career to his death. 
 
314 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 The Pattersons — Austin, business manager, and Ira, 
 who had charge of the distribution of the paper — came 
 with him from Michigan and were on duty when he died. 
 John Stridiron, cashier, also came with him from Detroit, 
 remained at his post for nearly thirty years, and left only 
 when incapacitated by total blindness. Michael Henne- 
 berry, assisted by Hyde and Foote, had charge of the com- 
 mercial department for many years, the first-named dying 
 in his harness. 
 
 In the editorial department M. L,. Hopkins stood by Mr. 
 Storey for eight years, Andre Matteson for about fourteen 
 years, and in my own case over twenty years with Storey, 
 and twenty-three with his newspaper. Charles Dennett 
 was by his side for many years and ended his life in his 
 chosen profession. 
 
 It is these men who are mainly responsible for his won- 
 derful rise. 
 
 Storey never had the manliness to admit his obligations 
 to the men about him. Hundreds of times did I sug- 
 gest the adoption of certain plans and measures, and 
 equally often did he apparently give them no attention, and 
 yet within a week or a month would he communicate the 
 identical projects to me as of his own creation. My 
 experience in this direction was paralleled in innumerable 
 instances in the experience of the business management of 
 his newspaper. 
 
IV. 
 
 Changes of a Generation. 
 
 There have been many very marked changes both in the 
 moral and the practical conditions of the press within the 
 period concerning which I have written, and which covers 
 a little over a generation. 
 
 Thirty-five years ago, more especially here in the West, 
 the editor, as a rule, was given no higher title than that of 
 1 ' printer. ' ' It was a term as comprehensive as the present 
 one of journalist. The word "printer," in its regular 
 meaning, is entirely respectable, but in the earlier sense it 
 conveyed no very elevated meaning. 
 
 At that period, there prevailed very extensively a low 
 state of morals in the newspaper profession. The fact that 
 a man was known as a" printer ' ' seemed to debar him 
 from association with the better class of people. He was 
 rarely, if ever, regarded as a man of intellect ; he was 
 looked upon as a good fellow ; when he visited the editor 
 of some newspaper, the latter always spoke of him as "our 
 rollicking friend, John Smith, P. B. (perfect brick) ; before 
 he left the town, some of the boys and ourselves drained a 
 few bowls over at Jake's place, and the night was passed in 
 songs, stories, wassail, and a bully time." 
 
 315 
 
316 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 I have known personally perhaps a hundred editors who, 
 every day and night of their lives, after their labors were 
 finished, filled themselves up with bad whisky, and who 
 were always ready, even during business hours, to accept 
 an invitation to go out and ' ' take something. ' ' 
 
 George D. Prentice was a man who probably was intoxi- 
 cated more or less for twenty hours of each twenty-four of 
 every day of his professional life. The last time I saw him 
 was in 1862. He sat in his seat, in his office, bent forward, 
 his face flushed, his speech incoherent, his expression ap- 
 proaching the idiotic, and his entire appearance pitiful in 
 the extreme. In his case, a most brilliant life, a supreme 
 genius, unequaled wit and humor, were all reduced to a 
 total wreck by the excessive use of alcoholic stimulants. 
 
 The principal editor of the St. L,ouis Republican during 
 the war was a man of great ability, and one of those genial 
 journalists who were willing to lay down their pens in the 
 middle of an editorial, in its most critical portion perhaps, 
 and go out, in response to an invitation from a caller, to 
 some neighboring saloon, take a seat at a table, and remain 
 one, two or three hours, guzzling liquid ruin. 
 
 Pat Richardson, of McGregor, Iowa, the editor of the 
 News, the brightest paper in Iowa, was an inveterate inebri- 
 ate all his life, and finally died from the indirect effects of a 
 prolonged debauch. One who knows the newspaper men 
 of Chicago can recall the cases of scores of men who, when 
 not actively engaged in their business, were to be found in 
 the saloons in a state of inebriety. 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 317 
 
 George Lanigan is a specimen of a class in whom drunk- 
 enness predominated. It can probably be said of him with 
 entire safety that he did not draw a sober breath for years. 
 Yet, withal, he was a man of a high order of ability, of 
 wonderful genius, and, had he lived a sober life, he would 
 undoubtedly have attained the first rank in journalism. He 
 was on the Tribune here in Chicago late in the sixties, and, 
 when his services were needed, word was sent to his wife 
 as to their nature. She doused him with cold water, 
 wrapped up his head with cold, wet cloths, and in a short 
 time would restore him to a condition of partial sobriety, in 
 which he would do his required work to perfection, and the 
 instant it was done would resort again to the bottle. 
 
 One of the brightest reporters that Chicago ever knew was 
 Harry Griffith, who, about 1865, was one of the most prom- 
 ising young journalists in the city, and who ended a career 
 whose possibilities permitted unlimited success by excessive 
 drink. 
 
 These are specimen cases, and represent a vast number of 
 the same class. 
 
 As a matter of fact, it is, or has been, almost impossible 
 for a newspaper man to resist the temptation to drink. He 
 is universally regarded as a good fellow. Everybody is his 
 friend, or pretends to be. He is looked upon as the pos- 
 sessor of great power to influence the business, the environ- 
 ments, the reputation of the public ; hence there is a con- 
 stant effort to placate him, to please him, and custom seems 
 to have established that the shortest and most effective 
 
3 i8 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 route to gain his good will is through the saloon. He goes 
 into a drinking-place to get a glass of beer, intending to 
 hurry back to his work, when he meets a friend as he leaves 
 the counter, who says : 
 
 "Hello, Johnny! I'm just going to have a glass of 
 beer. Join me." 
 
 " Thanks, I've just had one." 
 
 "One ! What's one beer ? Have one with me. I don't 
 like to drink alone. ' ' 
 
 The newspaper man yields. While the two are quaffing 
 their potations, one or two other acquaintances come in. 
 
 "Come, boys," say the late comers, "we're going to 
 take something. What will you have ? ' ' 
 
 They all drink. The newspaper man starts to go away, 
 when one of the others says : 
 
 " Boys, you must all have a round with me. I haven't 
 bought anything yet. ' ' 
 
 Of course they all drink again. 
 
 Many a time, in my own case, have I left my room to 
 run across the street to get a glass of beer, leaving my door 
 open and everything with a reference to not more than a 
 two-minutes' absence, and have been caught in a " snap ' ' 
 like this, not reaching my room in hours after leaving it, 
 and meanwhile drinking from six to ten glasses of beer. 
 What was my experience has been that of almost every 
 newspaper man who is not a total abstainer. 
 
 There is still too much indulgence in stimulants among 
 newspaper attaches ; but it can be truthfully said that the 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 319 
 
 vice is not nearly so prevalent and deep-seated as it was ten 
 years ago. There was a period when many a reporter 
 prided himself on wearing the disreputable title of ' ' Bohe- 
 mian," abjuring soap and clean linen, making his habitat an 
 underground den odorous with the fumes of sawdust, rancid 
 beer, stale tobacco- smoke and fetid breaths. 
 
 In Chicago the fine carpets, the walls hung with paint- 
 ings, the elegant furniture, the cleanliness of the commodi- 
 ous rooms of the Press Club, have, to a very considerable 
 extent, furnished a substitute for the vile dens which 
 formerly secured the patronage of so many literary men. 
 
 There is an equally marked and valuable improvement in 
 the matter of the education, the scholarship of men con- 
 nected with newspapers. The time has about passed when 
 it is the thing for the reporter with a dirty shirt, a beer- 
 scented breath, to sneer at the ' ' college graduate. ' ' It has 
 not been learned that a degree from a college especially fits 
 one for the ready performance of the duties connected with 
 journalism, but it is becoming known that, other things 
 being equal, the college graduate has much the best of it in 
 the race for distinction. 
 
 A college training is not an absolute necessity for report- 
 ers, editors, book-reviewers and other attaches of the press ; 
 it is, however, as a rule, a valuable assistance. 
 
 I am gratified to assert with entire positiveness that, dur- 
 ing the period that I have been connected with journalism, 
 there has been an immeasurable advance in the personal hab- 
 its and in the intelligence and education of the newspaper 
 
320 
 
 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OP 
 
 fraternity. There has been an aecession to the dign^f 
 journal, mb oth in its personnel ^ in the development 
 its intellectual forces. 
 
 Here in the "rowdy West » the improvements in these 
 two Sections have been almost revolutionary in the 
 character Courtesy, as a rule, has taken the pLce of tie 
 savage abuse and vituperation which once found so extended 
 lodgement in editorial columns. Journalists are ceasing to 
 hate and des pi se each other. There is growing something 
 --~ ^deference cWe^ of ^ 
 
 roa! V „f tt th , 6 S ° Uth ' ^ CraCb ° f ^ r6V0lver «* the 
 roar of the shot-gnn, in and about the newspaper offices 
 
 are no longer heard. I„ New York City, the self-styled 
 head-center of newspaper enterprise, one no more reads 
 on the editorial pages expressions similiar to those applied 
 by Horace Greeley to Henry J. Raymond , when he ^ . 
 "You he, you little villain, you lie ! " 
 In practical methods the improvements have been even 
 more marked than those of a moral and educational nature 
 In 1856, the Daily Evening News at Davenport was for 
 some months, struck off on an old-fashioned hand-press. 
 When we progressed to a Guernsey press, with a Teuton as 
 the motive power, we thought we had reached the limit of 
 progress. 
 
 There was no Associated Press in the West ; there was no 
 telegraph news, save that now and then a Chicago newspaper 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 321 
 
 of exceptional enterprise would order a short dispatch con- 
 cerning some event like the declaration of war. 
 
 The transition from the old Franklin lever press to the 
 "Inset" — which is the latest improvement in printing- 
 presses — is great. This is first of all notable for its mam- 
 moth dimensions. It requires a good-sized building for its 
 accommodation alone. Where the press of previous years 
 turned out a printed sheet of eight pages, the perfected 
 machine prints eight, ten, twelve, sixteen, twenty-four or 
 thirty-two pages. Its capacity is enormous. It is a mon- 
 ster of towering height, with whirling wheels, flying levers, 
 with the roar of a Niagara, and whose heavy vibrations set 
 the earth in a quiver for blocks around. In New York, 
 where there are several of these Titanic machines, their 
 clamor may be heard for half a mile, and the buildings for 
 two squares around the offices where they are located are 
 shaken from foundation to cornice. 
 
 I well remember the pride with which we put into the 
 Times an intricate system of speaking-tubes, which per- 
 mitted an employe in the editorial, composing or counting- 
 room to communicate with any of the other departments. 
 The mouth-piece at the editorial desk was the center of a 
 web which ramified through all the departments. 
 
 We were especially pleased with our enterprise and the 
 novelty of the contrivance when we ran from the Western 
 Union Telegraph Company's building, a block away, high 
 up through the air to the room of the telegraph editor, a 
 pneumatic tube, through which the dispatches were trans- 
 
322 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 mitted with the speed of light. The telephone has sup- 
 planted the speaking-tubes, and the private wire has taken 
 the place of the pneumatic tube. 
 
 Instead of sending matter to the office of the Western 
 Union Company, and thence having it shot through the air 
 to the Times, the Washington and New York correspond- 
 ents telegraph their matter directly to the room in the 
 Times office where it is to be prepared for the printer. 
 
 The hot, yellow, malodorous gas-lights have given way 
 in the composing-rooms to the cool, brilliant arc light or the 
 mellow radiance of the incandescent electric lamp. 
 
 In a majority of the great newspaper offices the smear of 
 ink and Faber have disappeared, and in their place has 
 come the clean, musically-clicking typewriter. No more 
 sputtering pens, no more breaking of points or sharpening 
 of pencils ; no more Horace Greeley manuscript ; no more 
 excuses for the blunders of proof-readers, and such a lessen- 
 ing of the labor of the compositor as to greatly increase his 
 comfort, make type-setting a positive enjoyment, and greatly 
 prolong the life of that important member or the newspaper 
 profession. 
 
 The clumsy, old-fashioned "turtle-backs " have been re- 
 placed by the light, clean-cut stereotype plates, which have 
 the advantages of great rapidity, multiplication to an un- 
 limited extent, the saving of type, and a more distinct im- 
 pression on the printed page. 
 
 The antiquated, laborious and sloppy method of ' ' wet- 
 ting-down ' ' paper, by which process much time was con- 
 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF JOURNALISM. 323 
 
 sumed, lias been succeeded by the modern process of dry- 
 printing, by which much more artistic results are produced. 
 The gigantic labor and waste of time once involved in the 
 cutting of the paper into sheets of a size to be printed has 
 been superseded by the endless roll. The modern press 
 takes the paper, prints both sides at once, folds it, and 
 registers the number printed. 
 
 An essential agent in the vast improvement of the press 
 is telegraphy. In the earlier days of journalism, one or 
 two papers in New York furnished the news for the journals 
 of all the principal cities west and south. The news column 
 of a city newspaper outside of its own limits depended on 
 the scissors for its information. Things that happened in 
 New York were known in their detail three days after they 
 occurred. Events transpiring in L,ondon required fifteen 
 days to reach Chicago. Occurrences happening in Central 
 and Southern Europe required not less than three weeks to 
 cross the continent to the metropolis of the West. North- 
 ern Africa furnished intelligence that was a full month on 
 its passage. Russia, Siberia, India, Southern Africa only 
 revealed their latest doings to us six months or a year after 
 they had happened. 
 
 At the present moment there is no point in civilization — 
 that is, any place not a desert — concerning which any 
 development of importance may not be known in Chicago 
 the next morning at the very latest. 
 
 I may add relative to my personal journalistic experience 
 that three of my published books are the direct outgrowth of 
 
324 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 
 
 my newspaper connection. Two of them, ' ' Walks About 
 Chicago' ' and ' ' Sketches Beyond the Sea, ' ' are from matter 
 furnished over the signature of ' ' Poliuto ' ' in the Chicago 
 Times, and " Pen and Powder," also over the same signature, 
 was made up from war sketches and correspondence pub- 
 lished in the New York Times over the nom de plume of 
 "Galway." 
 
 THE END. 
 
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Nov. 2007 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 (724)779-2111