I closed up my affairs in Petersburg just as the week was drawing
to an end, and decided to go to Mechlenburg on Monday morning;
but I could not make up my mind to go off without running over to
Richmond to bid the Tylers and other friends there good-bye. When I
went into Mr. Tyler’s house, where, as ever, my reception was most
hearty, Dr. C. W. Brock, Mr. Tyler’s son-in-law, asked me whether
I had received a telegram he had sent me. I told him that I had
not, and he then informed me, to my astonishment, that Mr. H. Rives
Pollard, who had been one of the editors of the _Examiner_ during
the war, was about to resume the publication of that paper, and
wanted me to take a place on the staff, as local reporter. I was
in much the same mood that I was in when I received my commission
as Ordnance Officer, in 1862, and told Brock that I knew nothing
about local reporting. But he insisted that it was too good an
opportunity to lose, and that I must close with Pollard at once,
and trust to work and luck for the rest. Pollard was quite cordial,
and told me that he would give me $20 a week. This change from $40
a month to $80 a month gave me a feeling of wealth that I am sure
I have never had since. It seemed to me that there were no bounds
to the results that might be accomplished with so vast a sum.
Pollard had issued a flaming prospectus, in which he described the
different members of the staff. As I was unknown to journalistic
fame I did not appear on the roll. One of the conspicuous
figures, however, was Mr. B. R. Riordan, who, in the words of the
prospectus, was an “experienced and accomplished young journalist,
who had been for a number of years one of the editors of the New
Orleans _Delta_, and who, during the war, had been the managing
editor of the Charleston _Mercury_.” Those were the words, or very
nearly so, and I was profoundly impressed, I remember, with the
journalistic grandeur of the forthcoming journalist from the South.
Pollard was busily engaged in his room, and had refused to see any
one, when a rather slender and exceedingly quiet looking man came
in, and told me that he wanted to see Mr. Pollard. I told him that
Pollard was engaged, and could not be disturbed, whereupon he told
me, very composedly, that he expected that Mr. Pollard would see
him, and, without more ado, passed by me and walked into Pollard’s
room. This was my first introduction to Mr. B. R. Riordan.
Pollard was a queer character: not without ability, but lazy, vain
and dissolute, and it was not very easy, therefore, to make the
_Examiner_ what he wanted it to be. Under the editorial management
of Mr. John Daniel during the war, the _Examiner_ was known
everywhere for its great ability and its caustic criticisms of the
conduct of the war by Mr. Davis and his Cabinet. It was a brilliant
newspaper, but disfigured by the whim of Mr. Daniel that the old
English form of spelling words ending in “c” should be retained,
so that in the _Examiner_ such words as “antic,” “critic,” and
“music,” were spelled with a final k. Pollard insisted upon
retaining this peculiarity. But this did not make up for the loss
of the brain and vigor of Mr. Daniel. Professor Gildersleeve, of
the University of Virginia, and other erudite men, were engaged as
editorial writers, but they did not live in Richmond, and their
work was often stale. Pollard hacked and cooked their articles to
suit himself, and, when the supply of new material failed, had
no hesitation in revamping and republishing articles which had
appeared in the _Examiner_ during the war. However, I had no reason
to complain of Pollard’s treatment of me. Amongst other things, he
was always exceedingly anxious to resent any affront that might
be put upon him, and this weakness, if such it should be called,
enabled me to make myself indispensable. I occupied the unpleasant
position, as I should now consider it, of adviser and best man for
Pollard in his principal rencontres.
The first of these grew out of an article in the Richmond
_Enquirer_ which reflected on the _Examiner_, and caused Pollard
to determine to cowhide the editor of the _Enquirer_ as soon as
he could find him. When we ran the _Enquirer_ man to earth, he
was in the hall of the House of Representatives at the Capitol,
and Pollard waited for him in the rotunda. When the _Enquirer_
man came out, Pollard attempted to strike him and was resisted.
Both the _Enquirer_ man and Pollard drew pistols, and several
shots were exchanged. Only one shot, however, took effect, and
it unfortunately carried away the tassel of the cane on Houdon’s
statue of George Washington, which is in the centre of the rotunda.
The combatants were arrested, and for a few days there was peace.
The next offender was E. P. Brooks, of the New York _Times_. In
a letter from Richmond he spoke rather abusively of Pollard, and
Pollard decided to give him a beating. It was not very easy to find
him at first, as neither Pollard nor I had ever seen him. After
a long hunt I was told that he was in the billiard room at the
Spotswood Hotel, and I succeeded in getting a good look at him.
Pollard came down immediately, armed to the teeth and flourishing
a big cowhide, and, when Brooks came into the lobby of the hotel,
accosted him and asked whether he was the Richmond correspondent of
the New York _Times_. Brooks told him that he was, and thereupon
Pollard seized him by the collar and began to thrash him soundly.
Several persons attempted to interfere, but I kept them off with my
pistol until the affair was at an end. Brooks had pulled a handful
of hair out of Pollard’s long beard, and Pollard had jammed Brooks’
head through the glass partition in front of the desk, and had
given him some hard blows besides. Pollard was not in good society
in Richmond, but the Brooks affair was much enjoyed. When I told a
drawing-room full of ladies about it, they clapped their hands with
joy that the “miserable Yankee” should have been so well thrashed
by the Southerner.
The next cloud of war was on account of Mrs. Henningsen, wife
of General Henningsen, whom the _Examiner_ had spoken of as a
“notorious” character. This was not to be a street fight, but a
regular duel according to the “Code.” Pollard placed himself in
my hands, and I had a mischievous pleasure in telling him that
General Henningsen, who had demanded an apology for the insult
offered his wife, was a crack shot, and could hit the spots on a
card at fifteen paces with a duelling pistol, nine times out of
ten. Pollard told me, in some little trepidation, that he did not
believe he could hit a barn door at ten paces, and I warned him
that it was high time that he was practicing. Pollard evidently did
not hanker after a fight this time, and I succeeded in arranging
the matter amicably.
A little later somebody else trod on Pollard’s toes, and he
determined to “post” him. Preceded by a negro boy bearing a paste
pot and brush and a number of hand bills or posters, denouncing
the person to be posted as a liar, coward, and a variety of other
things, Pollard marched down Main Street with a double-barrelled
shotgun on his shoulder and a huge revolver and bowie-knife in a
belt around his waist. There was no fight, and I am not sure that
the man who was posted was in Richmond.
I have said that Pollard was a man of loose character, and he
was very careless in the statements he made affecting anyone’s
reputation if he could, by the publication, make a hit for his
paper. Yet, strange to say, he was killed for an offence which
he did not commit himself, although he was responsible for it.
In 1867, the paper he was managing (the _Examiner_ having died
previously) published a flaming account of the elopement of a Miss
Grant, of Richmond. It was written up very elaborately, and highly
spiced. It was expected that trouble would come of it, but it was
not supposed that Pollard would be denied the chance to defend
himself. James Grant, the brother of the lady who was the subject
of the article in the _Examiner_, ensconced himself in a room in
a house which Pollard passed regularly every morning. It was near
his office. As Pollard passed by the window of the room, Grant, who
was hidden from sight, shot Pollard down with a double-barrelled
gun. He died instantly, and without knowing who killed him. Grant
was tried for murder, and was acquitted. The feeling in Richmond
was very strong against Grant: not because he had killed Pollard,
but because he had not confronted him like a man, and given him a
chance for his life. All this was long after I left Richmond.
Mr. Riordan and I were now on very good terms. We slept in one of
the rooms at the _Examiner_ office, in which we worked, and took
our meals together at Zetelle’s restaurant. I suppose I must
have made a good impression upon him, as I find the following in
a letter to my mother, dated January 11, 1866: “Our news editor,
a gentleman of ten or fifteen years experience in the newspaper
business, says that it is impossible that a man of my talent
can remain unemployed, and Pollard says he is delighted with my
fluency, style and indefatigable energy. Of course, I do not
place one particle of reliance in such remarks as these. They are
sincere, and I am grateful for them, but these gentlemen cannot
make me think so highly of myself as they seem to think of me.”
About this time Mr. Riordan, the news editor just mentioned,
broached to me a plan for starting a cheap and popular newspaper in
Charleston, South Carolina. He said that the Charleston newspapers
were very slow and old fashioned, and that there was a fine field
for a new and bright paper. This he had thought for a long time,
but had not taken any steps to give the project shape, because he
had not found the right sort of man to go into it with him. He was
pleased to say that I was just the man he was looking for, and that
he was quite sure that he and I could make the paper successful.
The whole of the details of the prospective newspaper were
carefully discussed. It is rather amusing to recall now Riordan’s
remark that the local reporting in Charleston need not give us much
trouble, as the policemen would drop in and tell us about anything
that happened. Another remark of his was about in these words: “Of
course you know, Dawson, you could not do the editorial writing,
but we could engage a man to do that for us.” Riordan, like myself,
had no money, but thought that he had friends who would lend us
some; and this was the position of affairs when my connection with
the _Examiner_ was suddenly suspended.