An incident connected with the Indian War of 1856-58, in Washington Territory, furnished another outlet for Derby's effective wit. A Catholic priest was taken prisoner by the savages at that time and led away into captivity, and in caricaturing the scene Derby represented an ecclesiastic in full canonicals walking between two stalwart and half-naked Indians, carrying a crook and crozier, with a tooth-brush attached to one and a comb to the other; while the letters "I. H. S." on the priest's chasuble were paraphrased into the words, "I hate Siwashes." It must not be thought, however, that Derby's life was wholly devoted to fun and frivolity, for he has been pronounced by an accomplished military writer and critic to have been "an able and accomplished engineer." He was the author of "The Squibob Papers" and of "Phoenixiana; or Sketches and Burlesques," either of which would worthily place him in the forefront of humorists in the history of American literature. I own a copy of the latter book which was given by the author to my husband. It seems strange, when one considers the character and career of this gifted man, that subsequent to his death nearly every member of his family should have met with a tragic end.

Although not a practical joker, my husband found much in Derby that was congenial, as many of their tastes were similar. Both of them were devoted to literature and both were accomplished writers; but while Derby published his works and was rewarded with financial success, Mr. Gouverneur wrote chiefly for the newspaper press. He edited and published a work by James Monroe, entitled "The People the Sovereigns," but never sent to the press any works of his own production. I think that the lack of encouragement from me was the chief obstacle that deterred him from embarking upon a literary career. He commenced several novels but never finished them, and his chief literary remains are principally confined to the limits of his "commonplace-books."

President Buchanan's niece, Harriet Lane, subsequently Mrs. Henry Elliott Johnston of Maryland, presided with grace and dignity over the White House during her uncle's administration. I first met Miss Lane before the period when Buchanan represented the United States at the Court of St. James. It was at a party given by Mrs. Hamilton Fish, whose husband was then a U.S. Senator from the State of New York. Her blond type of beauty made an indelible impression upon me, as she was very much the same style as the daughters of General Winfield Scott. Some years before her death, while she was living in Washington, I incidentally referred to this resemblance between the Scotts and herself and was not surprised to hear her say that others had spoken of it. To an exceptionally fine presence, she added unusual intelligence and brilliant power of repartee. I have often heard the story that at a social function at the White House an accomplished courtier was enlarging to Miss Lane upon her shapely hands—"hands," he ejaculated, "that might have swayed the rod of empire." Her retort came without a moment's hesitation, "or wake to ecstasy the living lyre." Emily Schomberg, who married Hughes Hallett of England, wrote some years ago a charming sketch of Harriet Lane Johnston which was published in Mrs. Elizabeth F. Ellet's book entitled, "The Court Circles of the Republic."

Among the prominent belles of the Buchanan administration, and an intimate friend and companion of Harriet Lane, was Rebecca B. Black, daughter of the eminent jurist, Judge Jeremiah S. Black of Pennsylvania, Attorney-General and for a time Secretary of State under Buchanan. She was the widow of Isham Hornsby of Washington, where, in her beautiful home, she was surrounded by a charming circle and was much admired and beloved. Peter Grayson Washington, a son of Lund Washington, whom I have already mentioned in connection with my wedding, was a conspicuous figure at the National Capital during the Buchanan regime. During the Pierce administration he was Assistant Secretary of the Treasury under James Guthrie. He had an impressive bearing, and carried a gold-headed cane which he boasted had originally belonged to his distinguished relative, the first President. Although by birth a Virginian, Mr. Washington never wavered in his loyalty to the Union. During the latter part of the Civil War he made a visit to us in our Maryland home, and I shall always remember the expression of his opinion that many leaders of the Confederate cause were not true representatives of the South, citing as examples some members of Jefferson Davis's cabinet. He concluded his remarks with the facetious statement that "if they had only chosen a second Washington as a leader they might have been successful." Earlier residents of the District will recall Littleton Quinton Washington, a prolific writer chiefly upon political subjects, and a younger half-brother of Peter G. Washington.

My old and valued friend, Mrs. Hamilton Holly, and Peter Grayson Washington were the Godparents of my eldest daughter. At the earnest request of the former, this ceremony took place in the house of Mrs. Alexander Hamilton, in the De Menou buildings. Mrs. Holly and I characterized the gathering as a revolutionary party, as so many of the guests bore names prominent during our struggle for independence. I never saw Mrs. Hamilton Holly again. Shortly after this pleasant function I sailed for China, and just before starting on my long voyage I received the following note, which saddened me more than I can well express:—

SEP. 9th.

My dear friend,

For many days I have been blessed by your very kind letter, but am too, too low to answer it. One day so weak as to be obliged with my hand to wave Mrs. Furguson away (another lady obtained admittance), lest in the effort to converse I might find another home. My hand and head are exhausted.

Most truly yours,

E. H. HOLLY.



CHAPTER XII

SOJOURN IN CHINA AND RETURN

Prior to the Civil War, Mr. Gouverneur received an appointment from James Buchanan as U.S. Consul to Foo Chow in China, and I decided to accompany him upon his long journey. Meanwhile a second daughter had been added to our family, much to the disappointment of the large circle of relatives who were still anxiously expecting me to hand down the name of Gouverneur. We named her Ruth Monroe. We took passage upon the clipper ship Indiaman, a vessel of heavy tonnage sailing from New York and commanded by a "down-east" skipper named Smith. No railroads crossed the American continent in those days, and the voyage to the far East had to be made either around Cape Horn or by way of the Isthmus of Panama or around the Cape of Good Hope. We selected the latter route, leaving New York in October and arriving in Shanghai the following March. My preparations for such a protracted journey with two very young children were carefully and even elaborately planned but, to my dismay, some of the most important articles of food for the childrens' diet became unfit for use long before we reached our destination. As one may readily imagine, I was accordingly put to my wits' end for substitutes. We also provided ourselves with a goodly amount of literature, and more particularly books relating to China, among which were Father Evariste Regis Huc's volume on "The Chinese Empire," and Professor S. Wells Williams's work on "The Middle Kingdom." We read these en route with great interest but discovered after a few months' residence in the East that no book or pen we then knew conveyed an adequate idea of that remarkable country.

We had a very favorable voyage, and sailing in the trade winds in the Southern hemisphere was to me the very acme of bliss. I was thoroughly in sympathy with the passage of Humboldt where he speaks of the tropical skies and vegetation in the following beautiful manner:—"He on whom the Southern Cross has never gleamed nor the Centaur frowned, above whom the clouds of Magellan have never circled, who has never stood within the shadow of great palms, nor clothed himself with the gloom of the primeval forests, does not know how the soul seems to have a new birth in the midst of these new and splendid surroundings. Nowhere but under the equatorial skies is it permitted to man to behold at once and in the same sweep of the eye all the stars of both the Northern and Southern heavens; and nowhere but at the tropics does nature combine to produce the various forms of vegetation that are parceled out separately to other climes."

The patience of our captain was sorely tried by the lack of wind while passing through the Doldrums. This nautical locality, varying in breadth from sixty to several hundred miles and shifting in extreme limits at different seasons of the year, is near the equator and abounds in calms, squalls and light, baffling winds which sometimes prevent the progress of sailing vessels for weeks at a time. When we finally emerged from the Doldrums, we were compensated for the trying delay by greeting the trade winds so cherished by the hearts of mariners. We sailed many leagues south of the Cape of Good Hope and much too far away even to catch a glimpse of it, but we realized its proximity by the presence of the Cape pigeons which hovered around our vessel. The albatross was also our daily visitor and one or two of them were caught by the sailors, regardless of the superstition of possible calamity attending such an act. Our only stop during the long voyage was at the Moluccas or Spice Islands, in the Malay Peninsula, and was made at the request of the passengers who were desirous of exploring the beauties of that tropical region. The waters surrounding these islands were as calm as a lake and all around our ship floated the debris of spices. The vegetation was more beautiful than I can describe and the shells which covered the shores were eagerly collected by the passengers.

Our fellow voyagers were four missionaries, who on Sundays conducted divine service, and a Mr. Pemberton, a young Canadian who was en voyage to join the Hong of Purden and Company in Shanghai. In these early days it was the custom of parents of refractory or adventurous sons to place them on board sailing vessels for lengthy outings. Occasionally they were sent upon whaling voyages, where the hardships were greater and the voyage more prolonged. On the Indiaman there were several of these youths and it was quite pathetic as well as comical to see them ascend the rigging amid the jeers of a well-disciplined crew. One of them, whose father had occupied an official position in the City of New York, had been quite a society "swell" and claimed acquaintance with me. At times he was required by the captain to hold my younger child, a mere babe, in the arms. Every now and then we were startled by her shrieks and for quite a time we could not detect the cause until we finally discovered that his task was uncongenial and that, in order to get rid of his charge, the incorrigible youth had administered an occasional pinch.

One Sunday afternoon while sailing in the Indian Ocean we had a narrow escape from shipwreck. Every sail was set to catch the least breath of air, and Mr. Gouverneur and the children were on deck with the captain, when in the distance they saw what seemed to resemble a huge wall. The moment the experienced eye of our skipper saw it he exclaimed, "My God, we are gone!" It slowly but surely approached our ship and when it reached us its force was so great that our sails almost dipped into the ocean. The ship, however, gradually righted itself and we were naturally more than grateful for our deliverance. I chanced to be resting in my cabin at the perilous moment and in a most unceremonious manner was thrown to the floor. After reaching the mouth of that stupendous river, the Yangtze Kiang, we thought our long voyage was nearly ended, but we soon discovered that we had not yet "crossed the Rubicon," and that trouble was still in store for us. We had just passed the mouth of this river and cast anchor when, to our surprise and dismay, we encountered a severe storm, and during the night dragged anchor for about twenty miles. The morning, however, dawned bright and clear, but our captain, who had lost his temper during the storm, did not accord the Chinese pilots who boarded us a very gracious reception. This was my first glimpse of the Chinese within the limits of their own domain.

When we reached the city of Shanghai it was quite dark, but we found coolies awaiting us with chairs. I shall never forget my first impressions of China. All of my anticipations of the beautiful Orient were fully realized, and, as I was carried through the crowded streets, visions of the Arabian Nights enchanted me and it seemed to me a veritable region of delight. The streets of Shanghai, however, after the broad thoroughfares of Washington, appeared like small and complicated pathways. They were not lighted with public lamps at this time, but myriads of lanterns of every conceivable shape and color carried by wayfarers met the eye at every turn and made the whole scene appear like fairyland. But, alas, the following morning I was undeceived, for daylight revealed to my vision a very squalid and dirty city. We were carried to the largest hotel in Shanghai, where it seemed as though I were almost receiving a home greeting when the sign over the door told me that it was the Astor House! Still another surprise awaited me. Although in a strange land, one of the first persons to welcome me was a former acquaintance, the wife of Mr. Robert Morrison Olyphant, the head of the prominent Hong of Olyphant and Company. Her maiden name was Anna O. Vernon and I had formerly known her quite well in New York and Newport.

We did not linger long in Shanghai, but embraced the first opportunity to reach Foo Chow. It was a coast voyage of several days and was attended with much discomfort, as the choppy seas through which we sailed made all of us very ill—a remarkable experience, considering the fact that during the whole of our protracted voyage we had not suffered an uncomfortable moment. We reached Foo Chow, however, in due time, and Mr. Gouverneur at once assumed his official duties. Foo Chow is called by the natives Hok Chiu, or "Happy City." It is also what is termed a "Foo-City," signifying a place of the largest magnitude, and was the sole Chinese port where royalty was represented. It is situated upon the Min River, about twenty-five miles from its mouth, and is the capital of the Province of Fokien. The navigation of the river Min was regarded as dangerous, and the insurance rates for vessels navigating it were higher than those of any other Chinese port. The place is surrounded by castellated walls nine or ten miles in circumference, outside of which are suburbs as extensive as the city itself. Its walls are about thirty feet high and twelve wide at the top. Its seven gates are overlooked by high towers, while small guardhouses stand at frequent intervals along the walls.

Upon our arrival in Foo Chow we found no house provided for the U.S. Consul, and immediately made our residence with a missionary family, where we were most comfortable, until the Hong of Augustus Heard and Company provided us with a residence for which we paid rent. The English government took better care of its representative. Not far from us was the British Consulate, a fine building reminding one in certain respects of the White House. In another residence near by, and provided by his government, lived the British interpreter, a Scotchman named Milne. Walter H. Medhurst, the British Consul, and his interpreter were descendants of early English missionaries. We found Foo Chow to be a somewhat lawless city. Many of its inhabitants were mountaineers from the surrounding region who had become pretty well starved out and had found their way into the city. As a result of their early training, they gave the authorities much trouble.

I was naturally much impressed by some of the novel and curious customs then prevalent. The seat of honor assigned a guest was on the left of the host. The uncovered head for a man was a mark of disrespect and a servant would accordingly be severely reprimanded if he appeared before his master with his hat off. Persons in mourning wore white, in striking contrast with the somber apparel used by ourselves. The shoe polish in vogue was a chalky white substance. From these and other examples it can readily be seen I was justified in feeling that I had been transferred to another planet and had left "dull earth behind me." When we reached Foo Chow, the gorgeous flowers and other vegetation were at their best. The month of April was a season set apart by the Chinese to decorate with flowers the graves of their ancestors; and coming from a land where such a ceremony was unknown, it impressed me as a beautiful custom. It suggests, moreover, the inquiry as to whether it was from the Chinese, or from an innate conviction of the beautiful sentiment demanding an outward expression, that induced the descendants of the Blue and the Gray, at a later period, to strew with flowers the last resting-places of those whose memories they delighted to honor.

Next door to the U.S. Consulate lived a Parsee named Botelwalla, who was an English subject. He never uncovered his head, and his tarpaulin hat carried me back to the pictures in my geography while studying at Miss Forbes's school. He was extensively engaged in the opium trade, and had large quantities of it stored in his dwelling. One day he came to our home to make a social visit and, taking it for granted that he was a fire-worshiper, I inquired whether he came from Persia. He told me that twelve hundred years ago his family emigrated from that country to India, where their descendants had since resided. I recall an incident which convinced me at the time that he was not a consistent follower of his own religion. Mr. Gouverneur noticed smoke issuing one day from what he thought was a remote portion of the Botelwalla home, and immediately called out to the Parsee from an adjoining window that his house was on fire. Without a moment's hesitation, he got all of his family together, and for a while they worked most strenuously to subdue the flames and to save from destruction the hundred thousand dollars' worth of opium lodged in the Parsee's home. Somewhat later we were surprised to learn that it was our own kitchen which was on fire. Our ignorance was due to the fact that the walls of the two houses were so irregular and so oddly constructed that it was at first exceedingly difficult, upon a superficial view, to distinguish certain portions of our own home from those of our neighbor. The one feature, however, connected with the fire which impressed us most forcibly was the fact that Botelwalla, our neighbor and fire-worshiper, did not allow his religious scruples to interfere with the safety of his valuable personal possessions. My attention, as well as admiration, was frequently directed to a number of superb India cashmere shawls which I often saw airing on his upper veranda and which, I think, were used for bed coverings.

Soon after his arrival in Foo Chow, Mr. Gouverneur was fortunate in securing the services of a Chinese interpreter named Ling Kein, a mandarin of high order, who wore the "blue button," significant of his rank. In addition to this distinction he wore on his hat the peacock feather, an official reward of merit. He was a Chinese of remarkable intelligence, well versed in English as well as in the Chinese vernacular, and was also the master of several dialects. He surprised me by his familiarity with New York, and upon inquiry I learned that he had once taken a junk into that port, which was naturally regarded with great curiosity by the Gothamites. He remembered many prominent New Yorkers, one of whom was Daniel Lord, the distinguished lawyer, whom he had met in a professional relation. He also recalled my old friend and Mr. Gouverneur's kinsman, William Kemble, who lived next door to Mr. Lord opposite St. John's Park. Ling Kein and his family lived in our house, but they led such secluded lives that I seldom saw them; indeed, we never laid eyes upon our interpreter except when his presence was required. He was not in the employ of our government, but his salary of one hundred dollars a month was paid from my husband's private means. His services were invaluable and when we first began housekeeping he secured our domestic staff for us. The butler was Ning Ping, a Christianized Chinese, who took entire charge of the establishment—going to market, regulating the servants and even handing them their wages. For his services he received four dollars a month.

I found this mode of life ideally pleasant and easy until I heard an uproar one day in the servants' quarters in which my two nurses seemed to be involved. I was entirely ignorant as to the cause of the commotion and for some time held my peace, as one of the first lessons I learned in China was not to probe too deeply into domestic affairs, since one derived but little satisfaction from the attempt. As the confusion continued, however, I summoned Ling Kein in order to ascertain the cause of it. It seems that Ning Ping had paid the women their wages in Mexican dollars which were not of the proper weight. There prevailed a crafty method of clipping or punching the coins, and this dishonest Chinaman had taken advantage of those whom he thought to be simply unsophisticated women. The trouble was finally quelled by an agreement that in future I should personally pay the nurses their wages. I gave each of these women four dollars a month for their services. Our cook, Ting Ting, who was a chef, and the four coolies, who were the chair bearers, were also paid four dollars a month each. The gatekeeper, whose duties were to open and close the front gate and to look after the chairs of visitors, received a similar sum for his services. I also employed by the month a native tailor, whose sole requirements for his work were a chair and a table. He did the entire sewing of the establishment and charged four dollars a month for his labor. At least one of my experiences with him failed to confirm the extraordinary powers of imitation possessed by the Chinese, for upon one occasion when I trusted him with a handsome garment, with strict injunctions to follow the model I gave him, he completely ignored my instructions and carried out his own designs.

Fortunately for us, this retinue of retainers provided its own food and clothing, and I was in blissful ignorance as to where they stowed themselves away for the night. A laundryman called once a week for our clothes and his charges were two dollars a hundred for articles of every description. I am almost ashamed to acknowledge that I never saw the interior of our kitchen, but our cook served our dinners in the most approved manner. We frequently had guests to dine with us and as the butler, Ning Ping, was as much an expert in his department as the cook, Ting Ting, was in his, I was delightfully irresponsible and often wondered, as I sat at my own table, what the next course would be. Our guests were principally men, usually the senior members of Hongs and officers of war-ships lying in the harbor, and it was the custom of each to bring with him his "boy," who stood behind him throughout the repast.

There was quite a number of missionaries in the city, and each religious denomination provided its ministers with comfortable quarters. The Baptists were especially well represented and also the "American Board," which was established in Boston in 1812. The English residents had a small chapel of their own which was well sustained by them. There was one missionary who commanded my especial respect and admiration. I refer to the Rev. Mr. William C. Burns, a Scotch Presbyterian clergyman. He led a life of consecrated self-denial, living exclusively with the natives and dressing in the Chinese garb which, with his Caucasian features and blond complexion, caused him to present the drollest appearance. Only those who have resided in China can understand the repugnance with which anyone accustomed to the amenities of refined society would naturally regard such a life. He gave up body and soul to the spread of Christianity in a heathen land, recalling to my mind the early Jesuits, Francis Xavier, Lucas Caballero and Cipriano Baraza, who penetrated pathless forests and crossed unknown seas in conformity with the requirements of their sacred mission. Mr. Burns died in China in the earnest pursuit of his vocation. I own a copy of his life published in New York in 1870, soon after his death.

The Roman Catholic Church was well represented in Foo Chow and was under the general direction of the order of the Dominicans. Each portion of China, in fact, even the most remote, was under the jurisdiction of some Roman Catholic Order, so that directly or indirectly almost every Chinaman in the Empire was reached. The Catholics also had a large orphan asylum in Foo Chow, over whose portals, in Chinese characters, was the verse from the Psalms: "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up." Nothing brought back to me my far-away Western home more pleasantly than the tones of the Angelus sounding from the belfry of this institution.

There was a native orphan asylum in Foo Chow, not far from the American Consulate—a fact I have never seen stated in any of the numerous books I have read relating to the "Middle Kingdom." With true Chinese insight, the largest salary was paid the nurse who successfully reared the greatest number of babies. When I lived in China, the laws for the prevention of infanticide were as stringent as our own, but they were often successfully evaded. Poverty was so grinding in the East that the slaughter of children was one of its most pitiable consequences. Infants were made way with at birth, before they were regarded with the eye of affection.

Fifty years ago slavery was prevalent among the Chinese, and one of its saddest features consisted in the fact that its victims were of their own race and color. Poverty-stricken parents sold their offspring to brokers, and in Foo Chow it was recognized as a legitimate business. Theoretically there were no slaves in Hong-Kong, which is British territory, but in reality the city was full of them. Both men and women slave-brokers infested the large cities of China, and boys and girls between the ages of ten and twelve were sent from all the neighboring villages to be sold in Foo Chow. The girls were purchased to be employed as servants, and sometimes parents would buy them for the purpose of training them until they reached the proper age and of then marrying them off to their sons. In this way, as may readily be seen, some of the young people of China were spared the vicissitudes and discouragements of courtship so keenly realized in some other countries. I have seen girl slaves sold with no other property except the clothes upon their backs. Frequently their garments were of the scantiest character and in some cases even these were claimed by the avaricious brokers. Many of the waifs were purchased upon trial as a precaution against leprosy which prevailed throughout the East. One of the tests consisted in placing the child in a dark room under a blue light; if the skin was found to be of a greenish hue, the slave passed muster; but, on the other hand, if it was of a reddish tinge it indicated the early stages of this fatal malady. Babies were not much in demand in Foo Chow and did not even command the price of fresh pork! I learned at an orphan asylum in Shanghai that they were purchased at twenty cents each. This institution was conducted by missionaries who taught the girls all kinds of domestic duties and, when they arrived at proper ages, saw that they were given to suitable men for wives.

Not far from the Consulate were the quarters of the Tartars. They seemed to live very much to themselves, and most of the men were connected with the military service of the country. It may not be generally known that ever since the commencement of the Tartar dynasty, between two and three centuries ago, the queue has been worn by the Chinese as a badge of submission to the Tartars. The feet of the women were not compressed by these early rulers and consequently the Court did not set the fashion as in European countries. I understand that even now the bandaged feet are universal.

In those days there were no railroads or telegraphs in China. The Emperor died while we were living in Foo Chow and the news did not reach us until several weeks after the event, and then only through the medium of a courier. The official announcement came to the Consulate upon a long yellow card bearing certain Chinese characters. All of the mandarins in our city, upon receiving the intelligence, gathered at the various temples to bewail in loud tones and with tearful eyes the death of their ruler.

The palace of the Viceroy was naturally the chief objective point of all foreigners and especially of officials upon their arrival in port. Occasions frequently occurred when Mr. Gouverneur was compelled to go through the formality of requesting an interview with this high official. These audiences were always promptly granted and were conducted with a great amount of pomp and ceremony very dear to the inhabitants of "far Cathay," but exceedingly tiresome to others. Some distance from us, and in another quarter of the city, was a large building called Examination Hall, used by the natives exclusively in connection with the civil service of the government. It was divided into small rooms, each of which was large enough to accommodate only one person, and in these the young men of that locality who were aspirants for governmental positions were locked each year while they wrote their test examination papers. The hall accommodated ten thousand students and the time of examination was regarded by the Chinese as a critical period in a young man's life, as his chances of future success largely depended upon the ability displayed in his papers. These were carefully read by a board of examiners, and official positions were assigned to those who excelled in the examination. Intelligence was regarded as the chief condition of executive favor and, although personal influence naturally had its weight, its exercise did not seem to be as prevalent in China as elsewhere. It may not be flattering to the pride of other nations, but the fact remains that the civil service of China was the forerunner of the reforms instituted in countries which we are accustomed to regard as much more enlightened in governmental polity.

While we were in China, the seas were infested with a formidable band of native pirates that had committed depredations for many years. One day two rival factions dropped anchor at the same time in the Min River, directly opposite Foo Chow, and opened a brisk fire upon each other. Many of the foreigners became much alarmed, as projectiles were flying around at a lively rate. One of these which had entered the house of an American missionary was brought to the Consulate, and Mr. Gouverneur was urged to take some action. The natives of China were at times a turbulent people who seemed glad for an excuse to stir up the community and, in consequence of this battle of the sea-robbers, a mob formed in Foo Chow which threatened disastrous results. The only foreign vessel in the harbor was a United States man-of-war, the Adams, under the command of James F. Schenck, subsequently a Rear Admiral in our Navy. Only a few days previous the British ships had departed for the mouth of the Peiho River, for the purpose of forcing opium upon the poor Chinese at the cannon's mouth. The city authorities were requested to use their influence in quelling the riots but seemed unequal to the emergency. This state of affairs continued for several days, when one morning the Taotai (mayor), preceded by men beating gongs and followed by a large retinue, arrived at the Consulate and requested protection for the city. Upon a similar occasion during the previous summer, when a number of British warships were in port, these belligerent pirates received summary treatment by having their anchor cables cut, thus causing them to float down the river.

Upon Mr. Gouverneur's request the Adams sent a detachment of marines on shore. It was quartered around the Consulate and its presence quickly had the desired moral effect upon all parties, and proved a source of great relief to both foreign and native residents. Later all apprehension was removed by the speedy departure of the unwelcome marauders. Meanwhile the Consulate had received many valuables, deposited there for safety. The morning following the departure of the ships we noticed a large number of boxes in our courtyard and also several sheep tied to the flag-staff. For a time we could not understand the meaning of this queer collection and were compelled to assign it to the usual incomprehensibilities of Chinese life. Mr. Gouverneur went in search of our interpreter, hoping that he could explain the situation, but to our surprise he had fled. We learned that he stood in great awe of the pirates and feared their vengeance if he told all he knew about them. Mr. Milne, the British interpreter, finally came to our rescue. It seems that the sheep and boxes were parting gifts—"Kumshaws," as the Chinese term them—from the pirates to the American and British Consuls and Mr. Milne.

At first we had no idea what the boxes contained, and Mr. Gouverneur sought the advice of William Sloane, the head of the Hong of Russell and Company, who had long been a resident of China, as to what should be done with this strange consignment. He strongly urged that, as a matter of policy, they be accepted and the British Consul, Walter H. Medhurst, agreed with him. The medley collection was accordingly divided into three groups and some coolies were engaged to convey to the English Consul and Mr. Milne their respective shares. The sheep took the lead, and it was indeed a curious procession that we watched from our windows as we breathed a sigh of relief over the departure of this "embarrassment of riches," and commenced to plan for the disposal of our own share. A few minutes later I chanced to glance out of the window when, to my utter dismay, I saw the procession so recently en route to the British Consulate reenter our courtyard. We were informed that Medhurst had weakened and refused to receive his share of the "Kumshaws." Mr. Gouverneur was much annoyed by such vacillating conduct and immediately notified the British Consul in emphatic language that if he refused to accept the piratical gifts he would regard it as a personal matter. This had the desired effect and a second time the procession wended its way to the British Consulate. The boxes proved to contain hams, rock candy, dates and other provisions which we immediately sent to the American missionaries, while the sheep were given to Mr. Sloane to do with them whatever he pleased. We found this gentleman throughout our Chinese life to be a man of superior judgment and an agreeable companion. After a long and successful career in the East, he died in China just on the eve of his embarkation for America. He never married and many years later I had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with his brother, Samuel Sloane, the railroad magnate, at Garrison's-on-the-Hudson; and, owing to our agreeable association with his brother, both Mr. and Mrs. Sloane always welcomed me with great cordiality.

I have already referred to Commander (afterwards Rear Admiral) James F. Schenck, U.S.N. Our association with him in Foo Chow was highly agreeable. He was our frequent guest at the Consulate and we soon discovered in him a man of rare wit; indeed, I have understood that fifty years ago he was considered the most clever raconteur in the Navy. Commander Schenck's Executive Officer on the Adams was Lieutenant James J. Waddell, whom we regarded as a pleasing and congenial guest. Subsequent to his life in Eastern waters, his career was unusually interesting. He was a native of North Carolina and, resigning his commission in the United States service at the opening of the Civil War, subsequently entered the Confederate Navy, where he was finally assigned to the command of the celebrated cruiser Shenandoah. This ship, formerly the British merchantman Sea King, was bought in England for L45,000 by James D. Bulloch, the Naval Agent of the Southern Confederacy in Great Britain, to take the place of the Alabama, which had been sunk by the Kearsarge in June, 1864. She left London in the fall of the same year and fitted out as an armed cruiser off Madeira. She then went to Australia and, after cruising in various parts of the Pacific, sailed for Behring Sea and the Arctic Ocean, where she met with remarkable success in her depredations upon Northern shipping. She captured thirty-eight vessels, mostly whalers, and the actual losses inflicted by her were only sixty thousand dollars less than those charged to the Alabama. Captain Waddell first heard of the downfall of the Confederacy when off the coast of Lower California on the 2d of August, 1865—between three and four months after the event—and, as he had captured in that interval about a dozen ships and realized that his acts might be regarded as piratical, he sailed for England where, early in November, he surrendered the Shenandoah to the British government. She was turned over to the United States, was subsequently sold to the Sultan of Zanzibar and was lost in 1879 in the Indian Ocean. She was the only ship that carried the flag of the Confederacy around the world. In December, 1861, Captain Waddell married a daughter of James Iglehart of Annapolis, and died in that city a number of years ago.

The American Consulate was the rendezvous of all Naval officers who came into port, and I recall with gratification Lieutenant John J. B. Walbach, a son of Colonel John DeBarth Walbach, a well-known officer of the Army, Dr. Philip Lansdale, Dr. Benjamin F. Gibbs, Lieutenant George M. Blodgett and Lieutenant (afterwards Rear Admiral) John C. Beaumont. The latter was frequently my guest in Washington after my return to America, and Doctors Lansdale and Gibbs I met again at the Capital, where we took pleasure in discussing our Chinese observations and experiences. While in China I also became acquainted with Captain and Mrs. Eliphalet Nott of Schenectady, the former of whom was a nephew of the venerable President Eliphalet Nott of Union College. He commanded his own vessel, the Don Quixote, and was usually accompanied on his voyages by his wife—a mode of life that impressed me as quite ideal.

One day as I was passing through the streets of Foo Chow my attention was directed to a gayly-dressed woman seated in a chair decked with flowers. I was informed that she was a Chinese widow who was about to sacrifice herself upon the pyre in accordance with the custom of the country. I subsequently learned that when this woman reached the place appointed for the ceremony, she found an immense assemblage, including many mandarins and her own brother, the latter of whom had agreed to apply the torch that should launch her into eternity. The crowd, however, was disappointed, for at the last moment her courage failed her and she announced that she must return home at once as she had forgotten to feed her pig! The woman's life was saved, but the disappointment of the throng found expression in a riot which, however, was speedily quelled by the authorities.

The Chinese nation was the victim of an outrageous wrong, and the perpetrators were Americans and Englishmen whose unquenchable avarice overcame their moral convictions. I refer to the iniquitous manner in which opium was introduced into the country and subsequently sold to the natives. Large fortunes were accumulated in this way, but it was nothing more nor less than "blood money" wrung from the pockets of those who had a right to expect better things from the representatives of Christian countries. China at this time was unable to cope by force with the Western nations, but she did not renounce the right to protect herself from this outrage without a struggle. When, however, she asserted this right, as she did on a certain occasion by seizing and burning the deadly drug, she made herself liable for heavy indemnities and was compelled to abandon the unequal struggle. In consequence of this act, six hundred thousand dollars passed through Mr. Gouverneur's hands as U.S. Consul. Even in recent years the Chinese Emperor has sought to protect his subjects from the evils of opium. When I lived in China, Congo tea was cultivated around Foo Chow, but in time it was abandoned and the poppy took its place. A few years ago an edict was issued prohibiting the cultivation of this flower and I understand that tea is again a product of this region. When I resided in Foo Chow, some of the most prominent business houses were involved in the smuggling of opium, and one very large and wealthy firm—that of Jardine and Matthewson—actually employed a heavily armed gunboat to assist it in the accomplishment of this colossal outrage. It will be remembered that when Li Hung Chang, then one of the richest men in the world, visited this country a few years ago he frequently asked the wealthy men whom he met where they got their money. Whether or not he had in mind at the time the manner in which certain American and English fortunes had been accumulated in his native land does not appear; but if his question had been directed to the heads of some of the business houses in Foo Chow and elsewhere in China while I was there, it certainly would have produced, to say the least, no little embarrassment.

Poor China has suffered much from the impositions and depredations of foreigners. Pillage and theft have marked the paths of foreign invaders in a manner wholly inconsistent with the code of honorable warfare, and acts have been committed that would never be tolerated in conflicts between Western nations. It was said that the title of Comte de Pelikao was conferred by Louis Napoleon upon General Charles Montauban for having presented the Empress Eugenie with some superb black pearls taken from the Imperial Summer Palace when it was looted in 1860. At the same time and in the same manner also disappeared many almost priceless gems, costly articles of vertu, treasures in gold and silver and a wealth of ancient manuscripts; while similar outrages were ruthlessly perpetrated in the same unfortunate city only a few years ago as the closing chapter in the Boxer troubles. Unhappy China! She has felt the aggressive hand of her Western "brothers" ever since the unwilling invasion of her shores.

About this time China was the resort of many adventurous Americans, some of whom doubtless "left their country for their country's good," with a view of seeking their fortunes. We became very well acquainted with a New Yorker named Augustus Joseph Francis Harrison, a master of a craft sailing in Chinese waters. His early life had been spent in Morrisania in New York, where he had become familiar with the name of my husband's relative, Gouverneur Morris, and was thus led to seek our acquaintance. One day he came to the Consulate apparently in ill health and told us he was in a serious condition. It seems that he had employed an English physician whose violent remedies had failed to benefit him and had prompted him to declare that he had been mistaken for a horse! He begged us for shelter and we accordingly gave him a room and retained him at the Consulate as our guest. We knew but little of medical remedies, but we did the best for him we could, and in due time were delighted to see that our patient was convalescing. One day my husband and my daughter Maud visited him in his room and, as a token of gratitude, he presented to the little girl the "Pirates' God," one of his most cherished treasures—a curious idol, which is still in her possession. On the back of it he wrote the following history:—"This idol, together with the whole contents of two large pirate boats, was captured after a severe fight of three hours, they having undertaken to take us by surprise; consequently thirty or forty were killed. The rest made good their escape by jumping overboard and swimming ashore. The boats and contents, too, were sold."

Foo Chow was a region frequently visited by typhoons, in consequence of which a municipal law required houses to be but one story high. During the latter part of our residence in China we experienced the terrors of a storm remarkable for its severity and in the course of which a portion of the Consulate was blown down. After spending some anxious hours in an underground passage in the middle of the night, we were finally obliged to take refuge in the Hong of Augustus Heard and Company. I shall never forget, as we sat in this lonely cellar with the elements raging above us, the imploring cries of my young children, "I want to go home." It was while this storm was raging that Mr. Gouverneur received the following note from George J. Weller, the representative of this well-known firm:—

My dear Mr. Gouverneur,

The Barometer is going up—the wind will probably abate a little soon, and perhaps then Mrs. G. and the children can come. Make the coolies carry the chair. Three can do it.

The semi-tropical climate of Foo Chow, however, did not agree with Mr. Gouverneur, in consequence of which we decided to return home. His campaign during the Mexican War had made serious inroads upon his health, from which he never entirely recovered. It was hoped that his life in the East would be beneficial, but it proved otherwise. Meanwhile, the Civil War was raging in the United States, but the news concerning it was very stale long before it reached us. We did not receive the particulars of the battle of Bull Run, for example, until three months after its occurrence. In view of the turbulent state of affairs at home, the government thought it important that Mr. Gouverneur should remain at his post of duty until the arrival of his successor, and he decided to do so. During these days of uncertainty, however, my husband deemed it wise that, if possible, I should return with the children on a ship sailing under the protection of the British flag, and I quite agreed with him. In due time the favorable opportunity presented itself, and I embarked for America in the British merchantman Mirage. The wisdom of Mr. Gouverneur's judgment was fully confirmed, as the next American vessel sailing from Foo Chow after my departure was captured by a Confederate privateer. When I went to China I took two little girls with me, and returned with three. At the birth of the last daughter we named her "Rose de Chine," in order to identify her more intimately with the land of her nativity. Soon after her birth, several Chinese asked me: "How many girls do you keep?"

We were the only passengers on the Mirage and, besides having very superior accommodations on board, we were treated with every consideration by its captain. We were three months upon the homeward voyage and the captain called it smooth sailing. We fell in with many vessels en route and, to quote our skipper, we found them "like human beings, some very friendly and others stern and curt." When in mid-ocean we passed an American vessel, the Anna Decatur, which seemed like a welcome from home as it was named after a former New York friend of mine, Anna Pine Decatur, a niece of Commodore Stephen Decatur, who married Captain William H. Parsons of the merchant service. Lieutenant Stephen Decatur, U.S.N., a brother of Anna Pine Decatur, was a constant visitor at our house in Houston Street in my young days. During one of his cruises he was stricken with a serious illness which resulted in total blindness. He subsequently married but, although he never had the pleasure of seeing his wife and children, his genial nature was not changed by his affliction. In 1869 he became a Commodore on the retired list, but some of the family connection objected to his use of this title, as in their opinion the world should recognize only one Commodore Stephen Decatur, the naval hero of 1812.

As we neared New York harbor I became decidedly impatient and was congratulating myself one morning that our long voyage was almost over, when I noticed that the usually pleasant expression on the captain's face had changed to one of extreme anxiety. I inquired: "What is wrong, Captain?" and to my dismay he replied: "Everything!" He then told me we were just outside the pilot grounds, but that in all his experience, even in Chinese waters, he had never known the barometer to fall so low; and, to add to his anxiety, there was no pilot within sight! It was a very cold February morning, the thermometer having reached the zero mark, and I went at once to my cabin to prepare for the worst. The captain meanwhile commenced to make preparations for a severe storm, but before we realized it the tempest was upon us and our vessel was blown far out to sea, where for three days we were at the mercy of the elements. The rudder was tied, the hatches battened down and there was nothing left to do but to sit with folded hands and trust to that Providence whom even the waters obey.



I remember sitting in my stateroom one of those terrible nights entirely alone and without even the comforting sound of a human voice. Our life preservers were within reach, but I fully realized that they would be of but little avail in such a raging sea. During those anxious moments, with my little children sound asleep in the adjoining cabin and quite oblivious of impending danger, I wondered whether it would be my destiny to close my earthly career on Rockaway Beach, near the spot where I had first seen the light of day; but soon after those anxious moments I was indeed grateful, as the captain told me that if the wind had been in another quarter all of us would have perished within a few hours. Gradually the winds and storm ceased and, the waters becoming calmer, we finally reached our haven without even being subjected to the annoying presence of a Custom House official, as the high seas had prevented his visit. When I reached land I learned that the awful storm had extended along the whole eastern coast and had carried death and devastation in its track. The children and I were driven to my mother's late residence, 57 West Thirty-sixth Street, but she was no longer there to greet me, as she had passed into the Great Beyond the year before my return; but my sister Charlotte and my brother Malcolm were still living there, both of whom were unmarried. I had received such kindness from the captain of the Mirage during the homeward voyage that I felt I should like to make some fitting return, and accordingly his wife and daughter became my guests.



CHAPTER XIII

THE CIVIL WAR AND LIFE IN MARYLAND

As the time passed I became somewhat anxious over the delay in Mr. Gouverneur's return to this country. It seems, however, that, with neither of us knowing it, we were upon the sea at the same time. His homeward voyage was made by the way of the Isthmus of Suez and Marseilles. For a while it seemed difficult for either of us to realize that we were in our own country once more, as the Civil War had turned everything and everybody topsy turvy. When we left the country, party animosities were pitched to a high key, but the possibility of a gigantic civil war as a solution of political problems would have been regarded as preposterous. On our return, however, the country was wild with excitement over an armed struggle, the eventual magnitude of which no one had yet dreamed of. Newly equipped regiments were constantly passing in our vicinity for the seat of war, the national ensign and other emblems of loyalty were displayed on every hand and a martial spirit pervaded the very atmosphere. The war was the one important topic of conversation at homes, in the streets and in places of business. The passions of the people were so thoroughly aroused that they were frequently expressed in severe denunciation of any who presumed to entertain conservative views of the situation of affairs and who still hoped for conciliation and peace. Suspicions were often created by trivial but well-intended acts or remarks that were susceptible of a double construction, and loyal sentiment was often so pronounced in its denunciation of the South that no word or remark could be tolerated that by any possibility could be construed as a criticism of the administration, a disapproval of the war or of any detail relating to its conduct. For example, not long after our return from China, while Mr. Gouverneur and I were visiting my sister, Mrs. Eames, in Washington, we were watching one day a newly equipped regiment from Vermont while passing her residence en route for the seat of war, when Mr. Eames remarked, "Gouverneur, isn't that a fine regiment?" My husband, who then and always thereafter was thoroughly loyal to the cause of the Union, but whose military training had made him familiar with the precise tactics and evolutions of regular troops, replied: "They need training," when Mr. Eames, with much warmth of feeling, exclaimed: "You are a secessionist, sir!"

That, however, represented but a mild state of feeling compared with that sometimes entertained between those who were loyal to the Union and others who sympathized with the South. I recall one conspicuous instance where such antagonistic views resulted in personal animosity that severed tender personal relations of long standing. When I left the country a lifelong intimacy had existed between Mrs. Charles Vanden Heuvel, a granddaughter of Robert Morris, the great financier of the Revolution, and Mrs. George Gibbs, granddaughter of the Connecticut statesman, Oliver Wolcott; but after the outbreak of the war these two elderly women differed so radically in their views concerning the conflict that, for a period, their personal relations were severed. The spirit of toleration was so utterly lacking in both the North and the South that even those allied by ties of blood were estranged, and a spirit of bitter resentment and crimination everywhere prevailed. This state of feeling, under the circumstances, was doubtless inevitable, but it emphasized better than almost anything else, except bloodshed itself, the truth of General Sherman's declaration that "War is Hell!"

The animosities engendered by the war ruptured family ties and familiar associations in Maryland much more completely than in the North. One of the Needwood families was that of Outerbridge Horsey, who was a pronounced Southern sympathizer, while not far away at Mount O'Donnell, a superb old estate, lived General Columbus O'Donnell, who ardently espoused the cause of the Union. Mr. Horsey had a son born just after a Southern victory whom he named Robert Victor Lee; but later, after a Confederate defeat, General O'Donnell suggested that the name be changed to Robert "Skedaddle" Lee, whereupon Mr. Horsey retorted that he thought the name of a grandchild of General O'Donnell might appropriately be changed to George "Retreat" McClellan. Of Charles Oliver O'Donnell, one of the General's sons, I retain the pleasantest memories. He was a gentleman of attractive personality and a genial nature. His first wife was Lucinia de Sodre, daughter of Luis Pereira de Sodre, who at the time of his daughter's marriage was the Brazilian Minister in Washington. Mr. O'Donnell's second wife was Miss Helen Sophia Carroll of Baltimore.

After remaining a few months in New York and a shorter period in Washington, we visited Mr. Gouverneur's father, who was still living at Needwood in Maryland. Here we found a radical change of scene, for we were now in close proximity to the seat of war. On our journey southward we were somewhat delayed by the rumor that General Lee was about to enter Maryland, rendering it necessary for us to procure passes, which was accomplished through the courtesy of General Edward Shriver, a native of Frederick, who held at the time an important official position in Baltimore. We had thought when we arrived in New York that public feeling ran high, but it was mild compared with our observations and experiences in Maryland, and we never dared to predict what a day would bring forth. Mr. Gouverneur's father was a pronounced Northern man, but his wife's relatives, as well as most of his neighbors, sympathized with the South. Soon after the outbreak of the war, while we were yet in China, and at the period when Maryland was wavering between the North and South, and to anxious spectators secession seemed almost inevitable, my father-in-law and ex-Governor Philip F. Thomas left one morning on a hurried trip to Frederick, where the State Legislature was convened in special session, instead of at the State Capitol in Annapolis, which was then occupied by Union troops. A report had reached them that the legislature would probably declare for secession and call a convention to take into consideration an ordinance for the accomplishment of that end, and they desired to exert whatever influence they could command to retain the State in the Union. The national administration, however, was equally alert, and a measure much more effective, in this instance, than moral suasion was employed to defeat the adherents of the Southern cause. General John A. Dix arrested ten members-elect of the State Legislature, the mayor of Baltimore, a congressman and two editors; while in Frederick, General Nathaniel P. Banks took into custody nine other members who, under the suspension of the writ of habeas corpus, were confined for a time either in Fort Lafayette in New York or in Fort Warren in Boston. I well remember that one of these was Severn Teackle Wallis of Baltimore, a lawyer of exceptional prominence and ability and a universal favorite in society.

Shortly before the battle of Gettysburg, when Frederick County was occupied by the Union troops, many of the officers dined at Needwood. A little later, although over forty miles away, we knew that a great battle was in progress, as we distinctly heard the steady firing of heavy artillery. The news of the great Union victory finally reached us and I listened in silent sympathy to the rejoicing of the Unionists and heard the lamentations of the sympathizers with the Southern cause.

After the battle of Gettysburg, the disorganized Southern army came straggling along through Maryland, their objective point being Harper's Ferry; while General George G. Meade with his troops was on South Mountain, within sight of the former locality. During the night there arose one of the most violent storms I have ever known, and we naturally supposed that it would render the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers, which meet at Harper's Ferry, absolutely impassable, as all bridges had, of course, been destroyed. The storm raged with such fury that we were actually afraid to go to bed. Mr. Gouverneur and I were elated because we believed it meant the end of hostilities and the Union restored; for in our opinion, it seemed impossible for human beings to successfully contend with the elements and at the same time to live under the fire of Meade's guns. It would therefore be difficult to describe our surprise when we learned the next morning that Lee's troops had safely crossed the Potomac and were again on the soil of Virginia.

Several days later Mr. Gouverneur and I were driving on the national turnpike, commonly called the Hagerstown pike, when we encountered the Union army. Our destination was the country seat of ex-Governor Philip F. Thomas, two miles from Frederick and within the shadow of Catoctin mountain, which we were contemplating as a future home. Our travel was not impeded except by an occasional inquiry in regard to our political sentiments, as the Northern army was prone to believe that every sojourner in Maryland at this time was an adherent of the South. This national turnpike, which has been and still is a well-traveled thoroughfare, was constructed at a cost of several million dollars and was generally regarded as an extravagance of John Adams' administration. In speaking of this road, which begins at Georgetown, D.C., and crosses the mountains into Kentucky, Henry Clay once remarked that no one need go abroad for scenery after viewing "the Valley of the Shenandoah, Harper's Ferry, and the still more beautiful Middletown valley."

We were so favorably impressed by the Thomas place that we decided to purchase it and in a short time found ourselves permanent residents of Frederick County, in Maryland. We changed the name from "Waverley" to "Po-ne-sang," which was the name of a Chinese Mission and meant "a small hill." After seeing the children and myself comfortably established in our new home, Mr. Gouverneur felt that he was now free to give his services to the country for which he had so valiantly fought during the Mexican War. As he was still in exceedingly delicate health, active service in the field with all the exposures of camp life was entirely out of the question but, desirous of rendering such services as he could, he wrote the following letter to Major General Henry W. Halleck, Commander in Chief of our Army:—

On my return from China, where I held the office of Consul of the U.S., in the early part of May last I had the honor, through the Honorable Secretary of State, to offer my services to the President of the United States in any capacity in which my military or other experience might enable me to serve my country in its present hour of peril. To my communication to this effect I have received no reply.

I have the honour now to tender to you my services on your staff in some position wherein they may prove most available.

The record of my former services in Mexico is on the files of the War Department, and I am without vanity led to believe that the historical associations which place my name in connection with that of James Monroe may give a prestige in our cause not wholly valueless. In conclusion I beg to add that the subject of compensation with me would be a matter of indifference.

General Halleck replied as follows:—

Washington, July 30, 1863.

Samuel L. Gouverneur Jr. New York.

Sir,

The law authorizing the appointment of additional aides has been repealed. Moreover, I have long since refused to nominate except for distinguished or meritorious military services. It is true that some have been put upon my staff without having rendered any service at all, but they were not nominated by me, and I do not recognize their appointment as legal.

Yours &c.,

H. W. HALLECK, Major General Commanding.

General Halleck seemed to be ignorant of the fact that the chief requisite for serving upon his staff was not wanting in the case of my husband, who, as before stated, was brevetted for gallantry and meritorious conduct at the battles of Contreras and Churubusco in the Mexican War.

Halleck's reply was a bitter disappointment to Mr. Gouverneur but a tremendous relief to me, as I knew he was not in the condition of health to serve even as a staff-officer. When he originally broached the subject to me I did not try to dissuade him, as I felt that I had no moral right to interfere with his ideas of duty to his country. The Halleck letter, therefore, brought about a state of affairs in our household much more satisfactory than my most sanguine anticipations. Mr. Gouverneur, having done his full duty, gave up his idea of re-entering the Army and, in a spirit of contentment, began to take up life in our new home.

During the month of August, 1863, we had just gotten fairly settled when the Confederate guerrilla chieftain, John S. Mosby, appeared at our door with his band of marauders. Their visit was brief and we were spared the usual depredations—why, we knew not, unless it were owing to the fact that Mr. Gouverneur's nephew, James Monroe Heiskell, a mere boy of sixteen, who ran away from home and swam across the Potomac to join Mosby's band, possibly accompanied him. Mosby's men in the East and Morgan's rangers in the West represented a species of ignoble warfare. In reality they did not benefit the cause which they professed to serve, but merely molested inoffensive farmers by carrying off their stock and thus depriving them of their means of livelihood. In recent years I discussed with a Confederate officer, the late General Beverly Robertson, Mosby's mode of warfare, and he surprised but gratified me very much by saying that in his opinion, it was a great injury to the Southern cause. It seems hardly just that, during President Grant's administration and later, official positions should have been bestowed upon Mosby while the interests of other Confederate officers who had fought a fair and honorable fight and had battled, moreover, for their country during the Mexican War, should have been neglected.

These war experiences furnished strenuous days for us in our new home and we lived in a state of constant excitement. I well recall the first morning it was announced to us by one of the colored servants, while we were at the breakfast table, that "the rebels were coming," and the feeling of timidity that nearly overpowered me. Very soon some troops under the command of General Bradley T. Johnson, a native of Frederick, marched upon our lawn and encamped all around us. General Johnson immediately came to our door and, although I was in anything but a comfortable frame of mind, I summoned all my courage and met him at the threshold. In a very courtly manner—too much so, in fact, to be expected in time of war—he remarked, "You are a stranger here, madam." I responded: "My life here has been short; my name is Gouverneur." He at once said: "I suppose you are a relative of Mr. Gouverneur of the Maryland Tract." I admitted the fact although I was not quite sure it was discreet to do so, as the Union sentiments of my father-in-law were generally well known, and I was talking to a Confederate General. He and his officers spent some time with us and we found them exceedingly friendly, and thus, at least for a time, the terrors of war were averted. Many years later I met General Johnson in my own drawing-room when he and his wife came from Baltimore to attend the wedding of my daughter, Ruth Monroe, to his cousin, Doctor William Crawford Johnson, of Frederick. We naturally discussed our first meeting when he was greeted with less cordiality than he received during his present visit.

Upon learning of the approach of the Confederates, we made rapid preparations for their advent. As we had learned from our neighbors that the South stood in great need of horses and we owned a number of them of more than usual value, Mr. Gouverneur seized upon an ingenious plan for concealing them. Under our house was a fine cellar which, unfortunately, the horses refused to enter until the steps leading into it were removed. When this had been done, they were led down one by one into a darkened room, and bags were securely tied over their eyes to prevent them from neighing. During the visit of the Confederates, which seemed to us interminably long, owing to our anxiety about the horses, General Johnson sat directly over their hiding place; but they behaved like well-bred beasts and never uttered a sound. I had serious misgivings, however, when I saw a mounted officer, riding around the house to make a survey of the premises, stop at the upturned steps. For a moment I thought all was over and my feelings were akin to those, I fancy, of a person secreting stolen goods; but the investigation happily went no further and he rode on.

When the active preparations for hiding the horses were in progress my children were running hither and thither and watching the process with much interest and excitement. I called them to me and in my sternest tones told them of the near approach of the soldiers and gave them to understand that if they said "horse" or "rebel devil" in their presence I should punish them severely. They had been taught by the negroes on the place to call the Southerners "rebel devils," and I feared for the result if they allowed their childish tongues to wag too freely. A few hours later I spoke to one of the little girls upon some topic entirely foreign to our original subject, but she was so overawed by my threat and the presence of the troops that she seemed afraid to utter a word. After a little encouragement, however, she crept up to my side and whispered: "Mamma, they have taken all of our saddles!" General Johnson was still sitting on our porch, when a soldier approached and asked for an ax. One was immediately procured, when the General, asking the man's name, said: "That ax is to be returned." This order struck me as somewhat ludicrous when a little later I learned that the ax was to be used in demolishing all of our fences! This precaution was deemed important in order to facilitate, if necessary, a more speedy retreat.

As night approached we were asked if a guard would be acceptable, and we were only too glad to avail ourselves of such protection. As we were closing the house for the night, after our strenuous day, one of the soldiers on guard duty remarked to me, in a friendly voice: "Now I am going to bed!" In my astonishment I said: "Where?" The smiling response was: "On the porch, to be sure!" In this state of unrest there was no repose for us that night and we did not even attempt to undress, as we knew not what an hour might bring forth. Just before dawn there was a knock upon the front door and, upon opening it, I found facing me a guard who, without any apology, said: "I left my boots inside!" Before I had locked the front door again and returned to my room, the Southerners had "folded up their tents like the Arabs and as silently stolen away." Only a short period had elapsed when several mounted officers dashed up our driveway and anxiously inquired: "Where are the guards?" They gave me only time enough to say, "They have gone," when they rode rapidly away. We came to the conclusion that they were young men visiting their relatives and friends in Frederick and that the retreat was so sudden that no word of warning could be sent them.

We realized the next day that the hasty departure of the Confederates was timely, as the Union Army was encamped all around us. Some of the officers came to see us and Mr. Gouverneur invited them to dine. This was a period of sudden transitions, for that night the Union Army retreated and the next day the Confederates were with us again, dining upon the remnants of the meal left by their adversaries. It was all we had to give them, as all our colored servants, having been told that they would be captured and taken further South, had fled upon hearing of the second visit of the Confederates. This was naturally a trying experience for me, as no servant except a Chinese maid was left upon the place and I was in a strange locality. But luckily I found the last set of officers pleasant and congenial and ready to make due allowance for all household deficiencies. Several of them were natives of Loudoun County, Virginia, and were familiar with our name, as they had lived near Oak Hill, the estate of Mr. Gouverneur's grandfather, where my husband had passed a portion of his early life. We soon learned that country life during war times without satisfactory servants was much more than either Mr. Gouverneur or I had sufficient courage or strength to bear. This state of affairs resulted in my husband going to New York, where he secured a family of Irish immigrants consisting of a woman and three men. The relative positions of the two armies in our general vicinity had meanwhile shifted several times and we never knew from day to day whether we were destined to greet friend or foe.

On the particular morning of which I am about to speak, the Confederates were again with us. They were apparently unacquainted with the topography of the surrounding country and were naturally desirous of securing such information as should enable them, in case of necessity, to effect a speedy and secure retreat. We received an early call from several of their officers who inquired the way to the "Alms House Road." We had been so busily engaged in trying to settle ourselves down under such adverse circumstances that we knew actually nothing of the surrounding country; and, when Mr. Gouverneur informed our visitors of this fact, they looked at one another in such a decidedly incredulous way as to convince us that they thought we were withholding information. My husband finally sent for John Demsey, one of our Irish immigrants, who had driven considerably around the adjacent country, and one of the officers in a rather offensive manner renewed his query about the "Alms House Road." To our chagrin, John's answer was, "I do not know;" and Mr. Gouverneur, realizing that affairs were assuming a rather serious aspect, said: "John, you do know; tell the officer at once." With true Irish perspicacity he exclaimed: "Oh, sir, you mean the 'Poor House road'—I know that;" and forthwith gave the desired information. In anything but pleasant tones the Irish youth was told by the officers to accompany them as guide, and the order was obeyed with both fear and alacrity. Mr. Gouverneur then exacted from the commanding officer his word of honor that the man be permitted to return, and remarked at the same time, in an ironical manner, that if they continued to tear down our fences and commit other depredations we should all of us know the location of the Alms House.

At a much later period General Jubal A. Early's Army passed our door en route, as at least he hoped, for Washington. General John B. Gordon sent an orderly to our house with his compliments to ask for a map of Frederick County, which we were unable to supply. All through the day the Southern troops continued to march by, until, towards sunset, the rear of the last column halted in front of our place. As we knew that a battle was imminent, we awaited the result with beating hearts and anxious hopes. When the firing of cannon began we know that the battle of the Monocacy had begun and were truly grateful that it was four miles away! The battle was short and decisive and the Southern Army was repulsed. The wounded soldiers were conveyed to Frederick, where hospitals were improvised, and the dead were laid to rest in Mount Olivet Cemetery, on the outskirts of the city. Both Northern and Southern sympathizers became skilled nurses and their gentle ministrations resulted in several instances in romantic attachments. Among the young physicians left in Frederick to attend the wounded soldiers was Doctor Robert S. Weir, who subsequently became distinguished as a surgeon in New York City. While stationed at the hospital in Frederick, he met a daughter of Robert G. McPherson, whom at the conclusion of the war he married. Mrs. McPherson was Miss Milicent Washington, who was a direct descendant of Colonel Samuel Washington, a younger brother of George Washington, and whose five wives are all interred in the graveyard at the old family home, Harewood, in Jefferson County, Virginia. Mrs. McPherson, one of whose ancestors was Miss Ann Steptoe, who married Willoughby Allerton, was also a niece of "Dolly" Madison.

Prior to the battle of the Monocacy I discovered that our house was again surrounded by quite a number of Northern soldiers. This was an usual occurrence, to be sure, but this time they were making such a careful scrutiny of the premises that I was led to inquire of one of them what object they had in view. To my utter dismay I was informed that as our house was upon a hill they had selected it as "a position," and that our safest place was in the cellar. We soon realized the wisdom of this retreat as shells began to fly around us from several directions and with much rapidity. We spent the greater part of the day underground, wondering all the while how long our involuntary imprisonment would last, as these dark and dismal quarters were naturally a great restraint upon the children and exceedingly depressing to Mr. Gouverneur and myself.

Although Northern in our sentiments, we sometimes preferred the visits of the Confederates to those of their adversaries, owing to the greater consideration which we received from them. Upon the arrival of our own soldiers, their first act was to search the house from garret to cellar. At first I indignantly inquired their object and was curtly informed that they were searching for "concealed rebels." I gradually tolerated this mode of procedure until one morning when we were routed up at five o'clock, and then I protested. The Union soldiers took it for granted that, owing to the locality of our home, we were Southern sympathizers, and accordingly at times seemed to do everything in their power to make us uncomfortable. During those trying days I frequently recalled the wise saying of Marechal Villars, "Defend me from my friends, I can defend myself from my enemies." We noticed, however, a great difference in the conduct of the various detachments of the Union Army with which we came in contact. We always greeted the appearance of the 6th Army Corps with much enthusiasm. It was composed of stalwart and sturdy veterans of the regular Army; and I trust its survivors will accept my humble tribute of respect and esteem. Very early in the morning of the day following the departure of some members of this corps from Po-ne-sang a private appeared at one of our rear doors and inquired when the troops had departed. He had been indulging in a sound sleep under one of the broken fences and was wholly unconscious that his comrades had moved away. He hesitated for some minutes as to the course he should pursue and then hurried off toward Hagerstown. We subsequently learned that he was shot at a point not far distant and were impressed anew by the bloody horrors attending our Civil War.

General David Hunter made frequent visits to Frederick and his approach was regarded with terror by those in sympathy with the Southern cause. It was he who performed the unpleasant duty of sending persons suspected of disloyalty further South, thereby often separating families. Many of his victims were elderly people and it is difficult for me at this late day to describe the amount of distress these orders occasioned. I remember one case particularly well, that of Dr. John Thomas McGill, a practicing physician who, together with his wife, was ordered to proceed immediately. Mrs. McGill was in very delicate health and the fright caused by such summary proceedings, which by the way were not carried out, tremendous Union influences having been brought to bear, resulted in death. Many years after the war I attended a supper party at the home of Judge and Mrs. John Ritchie, when the guests drifted into war reminiscences. Dr. McGill was present and, as the conversation progressed, he was so overcome by his emotion that an apoplectic stroke was feared.

During the numerous visits of the Confederate army to Frederick County, General "Joe" Johnston became a great favorite and for some time made his headquarters in the city of Frederick. I learned from Colonel William Richardson, a beloved citizen of that place, that the General was especially solicitous concerning the welfare of the men under his command. One day, for example, he found one of his soldiers eating raw persimmons and at once reproved him for partaking of such unsuitable food. The soldier explained that he was adapting his stomach to the character of his rations. Although we did not see Stonewall Jackson's troops pass on their march to Frederick, we were aware of their presence there. Barbara Frietchie, whom Whittier has immortalized, lived in a small house on West Patrick Street, adjoining Carroll Creek, but whether she ever waved a Union flag as Stonewall Jackson's men were passing is a question concerning which opinions differ. Southern sympathizers deny it, while persons of Northern sentiments living in Frederick assert that the verses of the Quaker poet represent the truth. At any rate, a woman with such a name "lived and moved and had her being" in that city. She was interred in the burying ground of the German Reformed Church, and frequently pilgrimages are made to her grave, over which floats a Union flag not far from where

The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

I may state, in passing, that it was during the Civil War that the word "shoddy" was coined. It was originally used to designate a class of inferior goods intended for use in the army from the sale of which many fortunes were made. Later the word was employed to designate those who used such goods; and thus, by extension, one heard not only of "shoddy people," but also of "shoddy parties," "shoddy clothes," and so on.

We heartily shared in the rejoicings of the North when General Lee surrendered. In our country home we had lived in an actual condition of camp life so long that at its conclusion I remarked to my husband in a jocular vein that I was prepared for a life with the Comanches! We restored our damaged fences, dug up our silver which had been buried many months under a tree in the garden, and Mr. Gouverneur began to turn his attention to agriculture. Our farm was among the finest in Frederick County, which is usually regarded as one of the garden spots of the country. Our social relations had been entirely suspended, as the distractions attending the war had kept us so actively employed; but that was now a past episode and we began making pleasant acquaintances from Frederick and the surrounding country. Among our first visitors were Judge and Mrs. William P. Maulsby; Richard M. Potts and his brother, George Potts; Mr. and Mrs. Charles E. Trail; the Rev. Dr. and Mrs. George Diehl and their daughter Marie, who in subsequent years endeared herself to the residents of Frederick; Mrs. John McPherson and her daughter, Mrs. Worthington Ross; Dr. and Mrs. Fairfax Schley; Judge and Mrs. John Ritchie; Mr. and Mrs. Jacob M. Kunkel; and the Rev. Marmaduke Dillon-Lee, an Englishman who had served in the British Army and at this time was the rector of All Saints Episcopal Church in Frederick. He had been selected for this pulpit on account of his neutral political views and we found in him a congenial acquaintance. He remained in Frederick, however, for only a short period after the war and was succeeded by the deservedly beloved Rev. Dr. Osborne Ingle, who, after a pastorate of nearly half a century, recently passed to his reward. I can not pass this Godly man by without an encomium to his memory. He came to Frederick as a very young man and throughout his long rectorship he was truly a leader of his flock and, like the "Good Shepherd of Old," the sheep knew him and loved him.

It did not take long for Mr. Gouverneur and me to discover that neither of us was adapted to a country life under the conditions prevailing at the close of the War—so very different from those existing in that locality at a later period. He knew nothing of practical farming and I knew nothing of practical cooking. Although I was never entirely without domestic service, as I always had with me the Chinese maid whom I had brought from the East, we were not fitted, at the best, for such a life. The result was that after one winter's experience we made Po-ne-sang only our summer home. During the trials and tribulations of that distant winter I often recalled a remark which Lord Chesterfield is said to have made to several persons whom he disliked: "I wish you were married and settled in the country." It has even been asserted that, in his absentmindedness and excitement incident to encountering an infuriated cow, he addressed the beast with the same words. This was a favorite anecdote of General Scott, and it appealed to me then as well as now, as I regard country life a forlorn fate for all women excepting possibly those who are endowed with large wealth with which to gratify every passing whim.

The primitive life we led at Po-ne-sang was full of annoyances and discouragements. For example, we had no running water in our house and were supposed to supply ourselves from a cistern in the yard which had contracted the bad habit of running dry and for inconvenient periods remaining so. We were therefore compelled to carry all our water from a neighbor's spring at least a quarter of a mile away. We tried to remedy this defect by boring an artesian well, but all our attempts were unsuccessful. Country life was distasteful to cooks as they preferred to live in a city where they could make and mingle with friends, and I soon learned that if I wanted to keep a servant I must hire one who had a baby, and that is just what I did. Although country life was distasteful to her, too, she took her dose of medicine because she could not help herself as no one else would employ her. Often these babies were a source of great care to me, as their mothers would neglect them—sometimes from ignorance but more frequently from sheer indifference. I remember one cook whose baby, owing to the lack of proper attention, was actually in danger of starving to death. She kept it in a wooden box under a tree in the garden, and I was obliged at stated intervals to see that the child was fed.