A PARTNER IN THE LIVERPOOL HOUSE
1850-1852
From Saratoga, I went down the Hudson to New York, and thence to Boston,
where I arrived in time to take the Parliament, Captain Brown, on the
25th of July. I had lived fast in the eight weeks of my holiday. It was
the only vacation I had had since I had begun my business life as a
grocer boy in Holmes's store, and I had worked hard during that long
period. The result was that I sprang back too far, like the released
bow, and was soon to see the effects. As my time was so limited, I had
tried to make the most of it, and had rushed from place to place, had
lived in all sorts of hotels and eaten all sorts of food. Besides, the
travel, all of which had been in a whirl of excitement, aided in
upsetting my physical system.
A few days on the boat were enough to complete the wreck. I was as badly
shaken up as Mont Pelee, and was ill for most of the voyage. When I
reached Liverpool, I had lost thirty pounds, and had to be taken off
the steamer, and was carried to the house of Mr. Thayer, the Liverpool
partner of Colonel Train. It was two or three months before I completely
recovered.
I had hardly reached England before I began to realize that the people
there use a somewhat different version of the English language than we
are accustomed to in America. My physician was Dr. Archer. He came to
see me one morning just after I had had my breakfast, and took his stand
immediately before the fire, with his back to it. "I am half starved,"
he said. I immediately rang the bell, and when the servant came turned
to the physician and asked what he would have for breakfast. He said he
had eaten breakfast and did not want anything more. "But," said I, "you
said you were half starved; surely you must be hungry." He burst into a
roar of laughter. "I meant that I was half starved with cold."
With this as a beginning, I began to pick up the vocabulary peculiar to
the modern English. My next acquisition was "nasty." I was informed that
a rather disagreeable day was a very "nasty" day, and that the weather
was simply "beastly." After mastering these three words, which were
entirely new to me, and adding such words as I could pick up from the
daily speech of the men I met, I was soon able to get along in some
fashion with the English of England.
My first British holiday was spent in Scotland, where I stayed for a
week. When I was at Balmoral the Queen happened to be there. Leaving
Balmoral, I went to Braemar, on the way to Aberdeen. A number of young
students were there at the time, and I spent some moments talking with
them. Suddenly, there was a tremendous uproar and excitement, and I saw
a four-in-hand drive up. The students informed me that it was the
Premier, Lord John Russell, who had just returned from an audience with
the Queen at Balmoral. I saw there was a chance for some sport. Turning
to the students, with a smile, I said: "I wonder how his lordship knew I
had come to Braemar! I hope to have the pleasure of speaking with him."
The students laughed satirically. One of them said: "Look heah, Mr.
Train, that sort of thing won't do heah, you know. We don't do things as
you do in America." Another suggested that I should not be treated very
civilly if I attempted to approach Lord John Russell.
For reply, I took out a card and wrote on it: "An American, in the
Highlands of Scotland, is delighted to know that he is under the same
roof with England's Premier, Lord John Russell, and, before he goes,
would ask the pleasure of speaking with his lordship for a moment." I
carefully folded the card in the letter that had been given to me by Mr.
Webster, and afterward signed by the President of the United States and
Henry Clay. I sent the two in to his lordship.
In a few minutes the door opened, and the secretary of Lord John Russell
came in and asked for "Mr. Train." I said I was Mr. Train. "Lord John
Russell," replied the secretary, "waits the pleasure of speaking with
Mr. Train of Boston." I followed him out of the room, to the amazement
of the young students, who didn't do things that way in England.
His lordship received me with that easy grace and courtesy which I have
always observed in Englishmen of high rank. I told him I would not take
up any of his time, and that I merely wanted to meet him. He made me
talk about the United States, and insisted upon introducing me to his
wife. She, also, received me graciously, saying she was "always glad to
see Americans." She asked me many questions about this country and
especially about Niagara Falls. A half hour passed by before I was aware
of the time. I begged pardon for staying so long, and left.
In my book, Young America Abroad, I have referred to this incident and
to the courteous reception I met at Braemar. When I had gone around the
world, and returned to America, and was at Newport with Colonel Hiram
Fuller, in '56, there came to me in the mail one morning a coroneted
note. It was from London, and written by Lady Russell.
"It was so kind of you," it said, "to remember us at Braemar, and to
send us your Young America Abroad, which his lordship and I have read
with a great deal of pleasure. When you come to London, come to see
us.--FANNIE RUSSELL."
Our Liverpool office was at No. 5 Water Street, George Holt's building.
As soon as I was able to look after the company's interests, I went down
to the office and took charge. Mr. Thayer returned to Boston, and later
to New York. This left me in complete control. At twenty years of age, I
was the manager of the great house of Train & Co., in Liverpool.
I at once began to reorganize things in Liverpool, and to develop our
business. I put on two ships a month between Liverpool and Boston, and
arranged the James McHenry line to Philadelphia, and sent transient
ships to New York. We also had what was known as the "triangular line,"
handling cotton and naval stores.
Liverpool I found to be a great port, but very much belated. It was too
conservative, and the old fogies there were quite content to keep up
customs that their ancestors had followed without trying to improve upon
them, or to introduce new and better ones. I set to work to improve
everything in our business that was susceptible of improvement.
I was astonished, the very first day after I reached the office, to
learn that nothing was done at night. The entire twelve hours from six
in the afternoon to six the following morning were absolutely lost, and
this in a business that requires every minute of time in the twenty-four
hours. Ships can not be delayed, held at ports for day-light, or laid up
while men sleep. The work of loading and unloading must proceed with all
despatch, if there is to be any profit in handling the business, and
ships must be sent on their voyages without loss of valuable time. I had
supposed that the English shippers thoroughly understood these simple
principles of the business in which they have led the world.
Our vessels were very expensive, and we could not afford to lose the
twelve hours of the night. That much time meant a profit to us, and I
determined to utilize it. What was my surprise, when I went to the
proper authorities, to find that we should not be allowed to light up
the Liverpool docks at night, or to have fires on them. It was feared
that we should burn the structures and destroy the shipping and docks.
These dignified gentlemen even laughed at me for suggesting such a
foolhardy undertaking.
I said to myself, there is always one way to reach men, and I will find
the way to reach these dignitaries. It occurred to me that I could reach
them most surely through a plea for the prosperity of the port. I went
at once to the representatives of all the American lines having offices
in Liverpool, to organize them into a combined attack on the Liverpool
port authorities. I saw Captain Delano of the Albert Gallatin, Captain
French of the Henry Clay, Captain West of the Cope Philadelphia line,
Captain Cropper of Charles H. Marshall's Black Ball line, Zerega of the
Blue Packet line, and others, and we decided upon asking the dock board
to give us a hearing. This the board very readily consented to do.
Prior to this meeting, I went to all the American representatives and
outlined my plan of campaign. This was to say very plainly to the dock
board that unless we could have fires and lights on the docks we would
take the shipping to other ports. The captains and others were
astonished, but they agreed to let me approach the board with this plain
threat.
I then went to the board, with all the representatives of the American
lines, and quietly told the members that we wanted fires and lights on
the docks at night, that we needed this in order to carry on our
business in our way, and that unless we could have them, we should at
once go to other ports. Abandoning a mood of amused laughter, these
gentlemen suddenly became very serious. Their hoary customs did not seem
so sacred then, and they ended by throwing a complete somersault, and
granting us full permission to light up the Liverpool docks at night.
Of course this made a tremendous difference to all of us. We could now
load our ships at night, thus saving one half of the twenty-four hours,
which we had been losing. I understand that the Morgan combination,
fifty-two years after this, has again forced concessions from the
Liverpool dock board by threatening to take the ships to Southampton.
Our principal freight from Liverpool at that time consisted of crockery
from the Staffordshire potteries, Manchester dry-goods, and iron and
steel, and what were known as "chow-chow," or miscellaneous articles. We
often had as many as 150 consignees in a single cargo. Our principal
business connections were the firms of John H. Green & Co. and Forward &
Co., who shipped pottery; Bailey Brothers & Co., Jevons & Co., A. & S.
Henry & Co., Crafts & Stell, Charles Humberston, and John Ireland. Our
passenger agent was Daniel P. Mitchell, 18 Waterloo Road.
The first blunder that I made in Liverpool--and the only serious one, I
believe--was in connection with shipping emigrants to the United States.
One day a man came into the office and said he was from the estate of
the Marquis of Lansdowne, and wanted to contract for the shipment of 300
passengers for New York. We soon came to terms, and I chartered the ship
President. We charged the Marquis from L3 15s. to L4 a head. I learned
afterward that these passengers were poor tenants of his estates. The
Marquis of that time was the grandfather of the present Marquis of
Lansdowne, Minister of War in the Salisbury cabinet.
At that time we had to pay $2 a head for all immigrants entering the
country. I had tried to get this changed, through Mr. Webster, but had
failed. We had also to give bond that the immigrants would not become a
public charge. It proved a very expensive contract for us, as we had to
bring back many of these paupers for the old Marquis to take care of.
When I left Boston, I had taken a partnership, one sixth interest, in
the house of Train & Co. In Liverpool I had twenty-five clerks under me,
and at one time had four ships in Victoria Docks. It may be inferred
that I conducted the business with some degree of success, as my
interest--one sixth--for the first year was $10,000. Next year, when in
London, I was invited to a grand reception given by Abbott Lawrence, 138
Piccadilly, who was then United States minister at the court of St.
James's. That day I dined with Lord Bishop Spencer of Jamaica, whom I
had met in Saratoga, and took Lady Harvey in. This was my acceptance of
the invitation he had extended to me in Saratoga. The bishop asked if I
was going to the reception of the American minister that night, and, on
my saying that I was, asked me to accept a place in his carriage. This I
very gladly did, as I had, by this time learned a great deal about the
value of state and ceremony in English life. The sequence will show how
this worldly wisdom served me.
At the dinner, however, I had had a very narrow escape. It was the
"closest call," as we say in the West, that my temperance Methodist
principles ever had. I was asked, as a great mark of distinction, to
taste the pet wine of the bishop. The bishop himself acted as chief
tempter of my old New England principles. He handed me a glass, saying:
"Mr. Train, this is the wine we call the 'cockroach flavor.' I want you
to drink some of it with us," and he glanced around his table, at which
were seated many titled Englishmen and women.
What was I to do? Should I, caught in so dire an emergency, drown my
principles in the cup that cheers and inebriates? Was all my Methodism
and New England temperance to go down in shipwreck? The exigency nerved
me for the task, and I found a courage sufficient to carry me through. I
had never tasted a drop of wine, and I was not going to begin now. I
glanced about the room, and slowly raised the glass to my lips. I did
not taste the wine, but the other guests thought that I did. "We all
know," I said, "that the wine at your lordship's table is the best."
This passed without challenge, and, in the ripple of applause, my
omission to drink the wine was not observed.
Later in the evening I went with the bishop to the American minister's
reception, and soon saw how well it was that I was in his lordship's
carriage. Had I been in a hired cab, I should have fared badly. I should
have had to wait in the long line of these vehicles, while flunkeys
called out, in stentorian tones as if to advertise all London of the
fact that you were in a hired concern, "Mr. Train's cab!" and other
flunkeys, down the line, would take up the cry, "Mr. Train's cab!" until
one would sink in a fever of chagrin. But as I came in the bishop's
carriage, I heard respectful voices announce, "Lord Spencer and Mr.
Train."
I observed several ladies bending over an elderly gentleman, and soon
another lady asked me if I had seen the duke. As there were two or three
dukes present, I asked which one. She looked very much surprised, as if
there could be more than one duke in the world. "Why, the Duke of
Wellington!" she exclaimed.
I now took occasion to get a good look at the venerable old man. It was
the first time, and proved to be the only time, I ever saw him. He would
not have impressed me, I think, had it not been for the light of history
which seemed, after I once knew it was he, to illuminate his face and
frame. It was the last year of his enjoyment of great renown. He died
shortly afterward.
While in England, I availed myself of every opportunity to see the
country, and study it from every possible point of view. I may add that
this has been my invariable custom in all countries. I have gone
through the world as an inquirer and an observer of men and things. As I
had visited Scotland, I was desirous of seeing another of the islands,
Wales, so I ran down into that curious country on a vacation, in 1850. I
went to Bangor, on the Menai Straits, and hardly had got into the hotel
when a tremendous commotion in the corridors told me that some guest of
unusual importance had arrived. I asked who it was, and was informed
that it was the Duke of Devonshire.
"That is exceedingly fortunate for me," I said. "There is no man that I
would rather see at this moment than the Duke of Devonshire." At this,
my companions--among whom were young Grinnell, of Grinnell, Bowman &
Co., whose father sent the Resolute to find Sir John Franklin, young
Russell, and young Jevons, an iron merchant--began laughing
immoderately. I wrote on a card that an American, who happened to be at
the George Hotel when he arrived, would like to see him, if it would not
be too great an intrusion upon his time. I added that it had been one of
the desires of my life to visit his famous estate at Chatsworth.
This note I sent to the duke by a messenger. Immediately came back a
reply that the duke would be very glad to see me, and I was ushered into
his presence. He was then an elderly man, his voice tremulous and
uncertain. To make it still more difficult to converse with him, he was
deaf, but used an ear-trumpet. I succeeded in telling him that his
palace at Chatsworth was well known throughout America by reputation,
and that I should like very much to see it, while I was in that part of
Great Britain. He replied that I must certainly see it before leaving.
He then called to his secretary to bring him a blue card, and wrote upon
it a pass to enter the grounds and buildings. This was all very kind,
and I thanked him for the courtesy.
He then completely stunned me by saying: "You must see the emperor!" I
knew that the Czar of Russia had been his guest, but it was not likely
that he was at Chatsworth at that time; so I endeavored to divine what
the duke meant. My mind ran over horses, conservatories, and dogs.
I could not, for a moment or two, imagine what "the emperor" could be,
and was about to commit myself irrevocably to a conservatory, a favorite
horse, or hound; but before making any remark gave him an appreciative
smile which seemed to please his grace. He called for the blue card
again, and wrote on it: "Let the emperor play for Mr. Train." I learned
afterward that it cost the duke $500 to have "the emperor" play, and so
much the more appreciated his courtesy. I remarked that I had heard "the
emperor" referred to as the highest fountain in all Europe.
As soon as I got back to Liverpool, I made up a little party to visit
Chatsworth. When we reached the station I was astonished to see almost a
regiment of uniformed servants waiting to meet us. I was even more
astounded when the head of this body-guard of retainers approached and
asked, in the most deferential manner: "When will your royal highness
have luncheon?" I saw, of course, that they were taking me for some one
else, and remarked that they were perhaps waiting for the arrival of the
Prince of Hesse-Cassel, whom I had just seen at the hotel. The prince
came up almost immediately afterward, and had the pleasure of seeing
"the emperor" play, by special authority, on my card from the duke.
The palace is a magnificent residence, so far exceeding anything of the
kind in England at that time, that George IV. is said to have felt
offended when invited there, because his own residence was shabby in
comparison. I made the acquaintance at Chatsworth of Sir Joseph Paxton,
who the following year modeled the entire glass system of the first
Crystal Palace at London. I was to see something of the Crystal Palace
the next year.
Six years after this, when I published my book, Young America Abroad, I
sent a marked copy to the Duke of Devonshire, and he wrote me a letter
in which he said: "I am an old man now, sixty-two, but I have not
forgotten the delightful day when I met you on the Menai Straits."
One day, in my office in Liverpool, I received a card from the
Secretary, inviting me to the exhibition in London, and Mr. Riddle of
Boston, who was then on his way to London, asked me to be present on the
day when the Queen was to come, which was the day before the opening. I
went to London, and that was the first and the only time I ever saw
Queen Victoria. She was with Prince Albert, and they were accompanied, I
remember, by a brilliant staff.
I recall an incident during my visit to London on this occasion which
aptly illustrates the want of suggestiveness on the part of Englishmen.
They are content to go along in old ruts, provided only they be old
enough. Frank Fuller was the contractor for the Crystal Palace, and a
problem arose, in the construction, as to what to do with a certain
beautiful and aged elm that had been an object of reverence and stood in
the way of the proposed building. It had finally been decided to cut it
down, in order to get it out of the way.
"What!" said I, "cut it down--this exquisite tree?" Some one remarked
that the authorities did not wish to cut it down, but it stood directly
in the way of the great palace, and would have to be sacrificed. "The
palace is here for time," I said, "and this tree may be here for
eternity. Spare the tree." "But how?" they asked. They were
bewildered--did not have a thought of what to do, except to hew down the
venerable tree. "Build your palace around it," I said. This simple
device had not occurred to them, but it saved the elm.
Mr. Fuller was so pleased by the suggestion, that he began asking me
about hotels in America, and proposed that I undertake the building of
an American hotel in London. I said that some time I should, perhaps,
try the experiment, but that for the present my shipping business would
keep me fully occupied.
I might as well mention here, although it is not in its chronological
order, my later experience in trying to establish an American hotel in
London. It was seven years after the exhibition when the question of an
American hotel came up again. I had worked up the plan very thoroughly,
and had some of the most prominent and influential men in England as
directors of the proposed company. We had, also, obtained options on
several acres of desirable land in the Strand as a site. In the board of
directors was Lord Bury, private secretary of the Queen, son of the Earl
of Albemarle; Mark Lemon, of Punch; and others. The only obstacle to our
success was the passage of a bill through Parliament authorizing us to
occupy the land. The hotel caused a great sensation in London, and there
was much talk of it as a daring and not altogether agreeable invasion of
England by Americans. On the other hand, there was much commendation,
and George Augustus Sala, the leading editorial writer of the Telegraph,
wrote a letter in which he mentioned my name as a guaranty that the
hotel would be built and would succeed, as, he said, I had succeeded in
everything.
Matters were well advanced, and it looked as if we should have the
hotel. I wanted it constructed along distinctly American lines, and sent
to Paran Stevens to get from him the plans of his three hotels, the
Revere House in Boston, the Fifth Avenue Hotel in New York, and the
Continental in Philadelphia. We had everything in readiness, when the
news came that the bill had failed in the House of Lords by sixteen
votes, although the House of Commons had passed it. I came as near as
that to building the first American hotel in London. Fifty years later,
the Hotel Cecil was built, a half century after I had suggested the idea
and perfected the plan.
My experience in Saratoga had revealed to me the want of suggestiveness
and resource in men in general. They will continue doing the same thing
in the same old way generation after generation, without taking thought
for improving methods in the interest of economy, of time, and of money.
I have, from time to time, suggested a large number of little
improvements, mechanical or other devices, for which I have never taken
out patents or received a cent of profit in any way. I shall bring
together here a few of these suggestions, made at different times and in
different countries.
I used to go to the old cider-mill at Piper's, about a half mile from
our farm. We went in an ox-cart, filled with apples. When we got to the
cider-mill, all we had to do was to pull out a peg, and the apples would
roll out into the hopper of the mill.
When I came to New York years afterward I was astonished to notice that
there were a half-dozen men around every coal-cart, unloading the coal.
I thought of the ox-cart, the peg, and the hopper, which I had used
thirty years before. I suggested the use of a device for letting the
coal run from the cart into the cellar, but could not get any one to
listen to the proposition. Now, years after my suggestion, all of these
carts in New York and other large cities of America have small scoops
running from the cart to the coal-hole, and a single man unloads the
cart by winding a windlass and lifting the front end of the wagon. In
London they still keep up the old, clumsy, and expensive method of
unloading with sacks. The English are in some things where we were a
century ago.
Once in London I was astonished to see a man, after writing something
with a lead-pencil, search through his pockets for a piece of
india-rubber with which to erase an error. He had lost it, and could
only smudge the paper by marking out what he had written. I said to him:
"Why don't you attach the rubber to the pencil? Then you couldn't lose
it." He jumped at my suggestion, took out a patent for the rubber
attachment to pencils, and made money.
When Rowland Hill, the great English postal reformer, introduced
penny-postage into England, he found it necessary to employ many girls
to clip off the stamps from great sheets. I took a sheet of paper to
him, and showed him how easy it would be by perforation to tear off the
stamps as needed. He adopted my idea; and now a single machine does the
whole work.
I noticed one day in England a lot of "flunkeys" rushing up to the
carriages of titled ladies and busying themselves adjusting steps, which
were separate from the carriage, and had been taken along with great
inconvenience. I said to myself, why not have the steps attached? and I
spoke about the idea to others. It was taken up, and carried out. Now
every carriage has steps attached as a part of the structure.
In '50, I was with James McHenry in Liverpool, and in trying to pour
some ink from a bottle into the ink-well, the bottle was upset, and the
ink spilled all over the desk. This was because too much ink came from
the mouth. "Give the bottle a nose, like a milk pitcher," I said; "then
you can pour the ink into the well easily." Holden, of Liverpool, took
up the idea, and patented it, and made a fortune out of it.