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_The Works of_
E . P . ROE
HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE
E. P. ROE
REMINISCENCES OF HIS LIFE
BY HIS SISTER, MARY A. ROE
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
PETER FENELON COLLIER & SON
MCM
E. P. ROE
REMINISCENCES OF HIS LIFE
_Copyright, 1899_
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
Since the death of Edward Payson Roe, in 1888, there have been
inquiries from time to time for some record of his life and work, and
it is in response to these repeated requests that this volume is
issued. While necessarily omitting much that is of too personal a
nature for publication, the editor has allowed the subject of these
Reminiscences to speak for himself as far as possible, although it has
been thought advisable to introduce here and there various papers from
outside sources that seem to throw additional light upon his character.
It is believed that in this way a clearer picture may be given than
would otherwise be obtained of the life of one who was, perhaps, the
most popular American author of his generation. The editor's own part
of the work has been confined to a simple statement of facts and to
supplying connecting links, when such seemed needed, between the
various letters and papers.
Thanks are due, and are hereby offered, to all who have kindly
contributed material or in other ways assisted in the preparation of
this volume.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS 1
II. LIFE AS CHAPLAIN 13
III. A WINTER CAMP 41
IV. MARRIAGE--THE RAID TOWARD RICHMOND 58
V. HAMPTON HOSPITAL 70
VI. THE HOSPITAL FARM AND CHAPEL 85
VII. PASTORATE AT HIGHLAND FALLS 95
VIII. RESIGNATION FROM THE MINISTRY 118
IX. FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK 124
X. HOME LIFE 137
XI. SANTA BARBARA 154
XII. RETURN TO CORNWALL--LETTERS 181
XIII. LAST BOOK--DEATH 194
XIV. AN ACCOUNT OF E. P. ROE'S BOOKS 218
XV. THE TABLET AND MEMORIAL ADDRESS 231
ILLUSTRATIONS
E. P. ROE AT THE TIME OF HIS DEATH _Frontispiece_
TO FACE PAGE
E. P. ROE AS A STUDENT 10
E. P. ROE AS CHAPLAIN, AGE 26 38
VIEW FROM THE PIAZZA AT "ROELANDS" 128
THE STUDY AT "ROELANDS" 152
TABLET ON BOULDER IN "ROE PARK" 232
[Illustration: E. P. ROE AT THE TIME OF HIS DEATH.]
E. P. ROE
REMINISCENCES OF HIS LIFE
CHAPTER I
BOYHOOD AND COLLEGE DAYS
My brother Edward and I were the youngest of six children, and as he
was my senior by but a few years we were playmates and almost
inseparable companions in our childhood.
We were born in a roomy old-fashioned house, built by my mother's
father for his oldest son, but purchased by my father when he retired
from business in New York. A more ideal home for a happy childhood
could not easily be found. It stood near the entrance of a beautiful
valley through which flowed a clear stream, and was wind-sheltered by
high bluffs, yet commanded fine views of the mountains with glimpses of
the Hudson showing like lakes between them.
What we called the "side-hill," back of the house, was our chief
playground. My brother delighted in climbing the hickory and chestnut
trees that grew upon it, and it was here in spring that we searched for
wild flowers, from the little hepaticas just peeping above the snow, to
the laurel in its full glory. In after years Edward never visited the
old home without a tramp to the top of that side-hill or along the
wood-road at its base.
Our mother was always an invalid, and the housekeeper, Betsey Williams,
who was a member of our family for many years, became like a second
mother to us in her care and devotion. But she was no disciplinarian,
and I have heard that when Edward was in a childish passion and she
felt unable to cope with the situation she would pick him up bodily and
carry him to my mother's couch. There he would sit beside her, not
daring to move until he could promise obedience, held spellbound by the
authority in her keen black eyes, though she was too weak to raise her
hand to her head.
Edward's love of nature was inherited from both father and mother.
Often, on lovely June days, he would draw mother's wheeled chair
through the broad walks of our large square garden, where the borders
on either side were gorgeous with flowers, while I gathered and piled
the fragrant blossoms on her lap until she was fairly embowered. Yet
one scarcely missed those that were plucked.
Back of the garden ran a clear brook, the overflow from a spring of
soft, cool water at the base of the side-hill, and in it we often
played and tumbled, soaking and soiling many a fresh clean suit.
As is usually the case with younger sisters, I always followed my
brother's lead, and one summer day's adventure in particular stands
clearly in my memory. We little children had started off with the
avowed intention of looking for wild strawberries. We had secretly
planned to visit the old house where my mother was born, which was some
distance farther up the valley and at that time was unoccupied, but we
thought it best not to make any announcement of this project in
advance.
Edward had heard that in the cellar there was a stone vault in which
our Grandfather Williams kept the money that General Washington had
entrusted to his care until it was required to pay off the soldiers of
the Revolution while they were encamped near Newburgh. Edward was eager
to visit the cellar, thinking that possibly there might still be a few
coins left. We entered the empty house by a back door and wandered
through the rooms, he entertaining me the while with stories mother had
told him of her childhood there.
Then we timidly groped our way down into the large cellar and found the
stone vault--but it was filled only with cobwebs and dust!
When we came out and stood in the great kitchen Edward told me another
Revolutionary story connected with the spot in our great-grandmother's
day.
A company of British soldiers had been quartered upon the family, and
the old kitchen swarmed with redcoats and negro servants, for those
were still days of slavery in the North. Grandmother Brewster, who was
a notable cook, had just placed in the heated brick oven a large baking
of bread, pies, and cake. One of the soldiers asked her if they could
have these good things provided they could take them away without her
knowledge, but while she was in the kitchen. She, believing this
impossible, said yes. He waited until everything was removed from the
oven and placed upon a large table to cool. Suddenly a quarrel arose
between several of the soldiers and one of her favorite colored boys.
Fearing the lad would be killed she rushed into the midst of the crowd
and at length succeeded in stopping the fight. When at last peace and
quiet were restored, she turned round to find her morning's baking
gone--and in a moment she understood the ruse they had practised upon
her.
As Edward talked the whole story seemed very real to us, but when he
had finished we walked up to the old oven, and looking into its
cavernous depths he said: "_That's_ here and the stone vault down
cellar, but all those people are dead and gone. How strange and lonely
it seems! Let's go."
Then we hurried off to a field near by which we called "the
rose-patch." Not far from this spot stood formerly an old mill where
snuff was manufactured, and the rose-bushes that in bygone days had
yielded their blossoms to scent the snuff were still living and
flowering. But among the roses was an abundance of wild strawberries,
and the two children soon lost all thoughts of the past in their
enjoyment of the luscious fruit. But the old deserted house with its
Revolutionary associations never ceased to have great attractions for
us. Across the road from it, and nearer the creek, was a mound of
cinders marking the spot where once stood the forge upon which our
grandfather wrought the great iron chain which was stretched across the
Hudson for the purpose of keeping British ships from sailing beyond it.
Some links of this chain are now kept as relics in the Washington
"Headquarters" at Newburgh.
In later years Edward planned to write a story entitled "The Fair
Captives of Brooklyn Heights," embodying some incidents in the lives of
our Grandfather Williams' sisters, who lived there with their widowed
mother. During the Revolution a number of British officers installed
themselves at her house, and the old lady promptly locked up her
daughters in order to prevent any possible love-making. One of the
girls eluded her vigilance, however, married an officer, and fled with
him to Canada. She returned after the war was over, but her mother, who
had never forgiven the deception, refused to receive her, and she and
her husband went to England to live.
In our home at Moodna was always to be found a generous hospitality.
Among our most loved and honored guests was Dr. Samuel Cox, who was for
many years a prominent clergyman in New York and Brooklyn. My father
had been a member of his church and they were lifelong friends. Often,
in summer, he and his family spent weeks at a time with us, and we
children, as well as our elders, were always charmed listeners to his
conversation. He had a fine memory, and it was remarkably well stored
with classic poetry. Sometimes he would entertain us with selections
from the "Iliad," but more often, when other guests were present and
Edward and I were seated on the piazza steps, on warm moonlight
evenings, he would repeat whole cantos from "Marmion" or "Lady of the
Lake," or perhaps some fine passages from "Paradise Lost."
At times the conversation would turn upon ancient history, and I
remember on one occasion he asked Edward and me if we could give him
the names of the first Roman triumvirate. At this period of our
existence the name "Caesar" was associated exclusively with an old
colored man whom we often visited and who lived upon a lonely road
which is still called "Caesar's Lane." We were vastly astonished,
therefore, to learn that the name had ever been borne by any more
illustrious personage than our dusky friend. But we listened,
entranced, while the doctor told of the rivalries and conflicts of
those two great generals, Caesar and Pompey, for the empire of the
world. He could not remember the name of the third triumvir, and it
troubled him greatly. That night, about two o'clock, I was startled by
a loud knock at my bedroom door, and Dr. Cox called out, "Mary, are you
awake?" I replied that I was--as, indeed, was every one else in the
house by that time. "It's Crassus," he said, then returned to his room
greatly relieved that he had finally recalled the name. Edward and I
never forgot our first lesson in Roman History.
This learned clergyman was often very absent-minded. During one of his
visits to us he had been for a drive with his wife and our mother. On
their return he stopped at the horse-block, near where Edward and I
were playing, threw down the reins, and, engrossed in some train of
thought, walked into the house, utterly forgetful of the ladies on the
back seat. They, very much amused, continued their conversation and
waited to see if he would remember them. Finally, however, as he did
not reappear, Edward was called to assist them from the carriage and
unharness the horse. Some time afterward the doctor rushed out of the
front door and around the house, having just remembered where he left
the companions of his drive.
The first school Edward and I attended was a private one for boys and
girls kept by our eldest brother Alfred, in the village of Canterbury,
two miles distant from our home. We trudged over the hills together on
pleasant days and drove over when the weather was stormy. I well
remember the abnormal interest we felt in the health of an aunt of ours
who lived near the school and who had some fine fruit trees on her
place. After our inquiries in regard to her welfare had been answered
she was sure to invite us to examine the ground beneath those trees,
while the merry twinkle in her eyes showed appreciation of the fact
that our devotion to her was not altogether disinterested.
Of my brother's later school and college days, the Rev. A. Moss Merwin,
now of Pasadena, California, writes:--
"It was at Cornwall-on-the-Hudson I first met Edward, a fellow student
in his brother Alfred's classical school. His face and manners were
attractive, and intellectually he ranked high among his companions.
Well informed as to current events, with a wider knowledge of books
than is usual with young men of his years, and with great facility in
expressing his thoughts orally and in writing, he commanded our respect
from the first. And when we saw from time to time articles from his pen
in the New York _Evangelist_ descriptive of stirring events, our
respect grew into admiration for him who was _facile princeps_ in our
small literary world. Then as we came to know something of his kindness
of heart and enthusiasm for the good and true we loved him.
"His particular friends among the boarding pupils enjoyed the privilege
of being invited occasionally to the hospitable home of his parents.
What a home it was! Abundant comfort without ostentation or luxury. The
father a retired business man, kindly, philanthropic, and an ardent
lover of plants and flowers. The mother an invalid in her wheeled
chair, a woman with sunshine in eye and voice, of unusual intelligence,
highly cultivated, with charming conversational powers.
"In the little Presbyterian church near the school, planted mainly
through the exertions of his father and elder brothers, there came a
time of special religious interest when Edward was deeply impressed.
With loving purpose he sought out two of his most intimate companions,
and through his instrumentality they then began the Christian life. One
became a successful business man in Chicago, and to the day of his
death remembered with gratitude the helping hand and earnest words of
E. P. Roe. The other friend remembers that soon after that decision,
when he and Edward were walking through the grounds of the Friends'
meeting-house, they covenanted together to study for the ministry.
"We were together again preparing for college at Burr and Burton
Seminary, Manchester, Vermont. How enthusiastic he was over the
beautiful scenery of that now far-famed summer resort in the Green
Mountains! How delighted to send his father a present through his own
earnings by sawing several cords of wood!"
About this time our father's property in New York City was destroyed by
fire, and owing to the expense of rebuilding he was obliged for a time
to practise close economy. But fortunately it was not found necessary
to take any of his children from school or college. To quote Mr. Merwin
further:--
"At Williams College we saw much of each other. Roe was a fair scholar,
more intent at getting at the meaning of the text, and its mythological
and historical relations, than in making what is called a fair
recitation. His ability as a writer and speaker was recognized early in
his college course when elected speaker of his class at a Washington's
Birthday banquet. Friends he easily made, and with many remained in
pleasant relations to the close of his life. Trouble with his eyes
caused him to shorten his course at college, but the authorities, in
view of his subsequent success as a writer, gave him his diploma."
My brother excelled in athletic sports in his youth, particularly in
swimming and skating. On one occasion when he was home on vacation, he
and a young companion were skating on the river. His friend, who was
skimming along in advance of him, suddenly fell into an air-hole and
sank out of sight. Edward instantly realized that if he went to the
spot to rescue him, he also would break through. With quick presence of
mind, therefore, he unwound a long worsted muffler from his neck and
threw one end of it into the opening. As soon as the struggling boy
rose to the surface, Edward shouted, "Take hold of that tippet and I'll
pull you out!" His friend did as he was directed and Edward, by
exerting all his strength, succeeded in drawing him out of the water
and upon the solid ice, fortunately not much the worse for his
immersion.
Adjoining our father's property was that of Mr. Nathaniel Sands, a
"Friend" and a gentleman in all that the words imply, who was loved and
respected by the whole community. His residence commanded an extended
view of the river and mountains and especially of the narrow Gap of the
Highlands. At his death the old homestead became the summer residence
of his eldest son, Dr. David Sands, the head of a well-known firm of
druggists in New York.
While my brother was at the theological seminary, and just about the
beginning of the Civil War, he became engaged to Dr. Sands' second
daughter, Anna. The young people had known each other from childhood,
and this happy culmination of their long friendship was not unexpected
by either family.