_Reminiscences (From the "Camden Courier")_. As I sat taking my evening
sail across the Delaware in the staunch ferry-boat "Beverly," a night or
two ago, I was join'd by two young reporter friends. "I have a message
for you," said one of them; "the C. folks told me to say they would like
a piece sign'd by your name, to go in their first number. Can you do
it for them?" "I guess so," said I; "what might it be about?" "Well,
anything on newspapers, or perhaps what you've done yourself, starting
them." And off the boys went, for we had reach'd the Philadelphia side.
The hour was fine and mild, the bright half-moon shining; Venus, with
excess of splendor, just setting in the west, and the great Scorpion
rearing its length more than half up in the southeast. As I cross'd
leisurely for an hour in the pleasant night-scene, my young friend's
words brought up quite a string of reminiscences.
I commenced when I was but a boy of eleven or twelve writing sentimental
bits for the old "Long Island Patriot," in Brooklyn; this was about
1832. Soon after, I had a piece or two in George P. Morris's then
celebrated and fashionable "Mirror," of New York city. I remember
with what half-suppress'd excitement I used to watch for the big, fat,
red-faced, slow-moving, very old English carrier who distributed the
"Mirror" in Brooklyn; and when I got one, opening and cutting the leaves
with trembling fingers. How it made my heart double-beat to see _my
piece_ on the pretty white paper, in nice type.
My first real venture was the "Long Islander," in my own beautiful
town of Huntington, in 1839. I was about twenty years old. I had been
teaching country school for two or three years in various parts of
Suffolk and Queens counties, but liked printing; had been at it while
a lad, learn'd the trade of compositor, and was encouraged to start a
paper in the region where I was born. I went to New York, bought a press
and types, hired some little help, but did most of the work myself,
including the press-work. Everything seem'd turning out well; (only
my own restlessness prevented me gradually establishing a permanent
property there.) I bought a good horse, and every week went all round
the country serving my papers, devoting one day and night to it. I never
had happier jaunts--going over to south side, to Babylon, down the south
road, across to Smithtown and Comac, and back home. The experiences of
those jaunts, the dear old-fashion'd farmers and their wives, the stops
by the hay-fields, the hospitality, nice dinners, occasional evenings,
the girls, the rides through the brush, come up in my memory to this
day.
I next went to the "Aurora" daily in New York city--a sort of free
lance. Also wrote regularly for the "Tattler," an evening paper. With
these and a little outside work I was occupied off and on, until I
went to edit the "Brooklyn Eagle," where for two years I had one of the
pleasantest sits of my life--a good owner, good pay, and easy work and
hours. The troubles in the Democratic party broke forth about those
times (1848-'49) and I split off with the radicals, which led to rows
with the boss and "the party," and I lost my place.
Being now out of a job, I was offer'd impromptu, (it happen'd between
the acts one night in the lobby of the old Broadway theatre near Pearl
street, New York city,) a good chance to go down to New Orleans on the
staff of the "Crescent," a daily to be started there with plenty of
capital behind it. One of the owners, who was north buying material,
met me walking in the lobby, and though that was our first acquaintance,
after fifteen minutes' talk (and a drink) we made a formal bargain, and
he paid me two hundred dollars down to bind the contract and bear my
expenses to New Orleans. I started two days afterwards; had a good
leisurely time, as the paper wasn't to be out in three weeks. I enjoy'd
my journey and Louisiana life much. Returning to Brooklyn a year or two
afterward I started the "Freeman," first as a weekly, then daily. Pretty
soon the secession war broke out, and I, too, got drawn in the current
southward, and spent the following three years there, (as memorandized
preceding.)
Besides starting them as aforementioned, I have had to do, one time or
another, during my life, with a long list of papers, at divers places,
sometimes under queer circumstances. During the war, the hospitals at
Washington, among other means of amusement, printed a little sheet among
themselves, surrounded by wounds and death, the "Armory Square Gazette,"
to which I contributed. The same long afterward, casually, to a paper--I
think it was call'd the "Jimplecute"--out in Colorado where I stopp'd at
the time. When I was in Quebec province, in Canada, in 1880, I went into
the queerest little old French printing-office near Tadousac. It was far
more primitive and ancient than my Camden friend William Kurtz's place
up on Federal street. I remember, as a youngster, several characteristic
old printers of a kind hard to be seen these days.