the entire line of march when the regiment paraded, and his spirits were
of the best.
His Peekskill home was his earthly paradise, and every laborer upon it,
every animal, almost every insect, had its place in his heart; for that
was the wonder of his greatness, that the smallest and the least shared
his love and sympathy.
His delight in nature was deep, continuous, and sometimes rapturous.
He kept a farm diary, which was picked up from among the rubbish after
the family had moved away. It contained entries at different periods
each summer from the time he went to Peekskill until the autumn before
his death. There were two books, bound in calf, full of entries in his
own hand. It was a complete directory of the farm. Here are a few of the
many hundred entries:
“June 12, 1867.--Some pale maple leaves are already letting go. A few
descended before my window this morning. One of them stuck into the
grass stem first, and quivered in a way that would make you think it
was a bird. This is the very beginning of summer, and before trees have
fairly got on their summer robes they begin contribution to death.
“July 5.--Bobolink sang to-day. Bluebirds, none. Robins, larks, wren,
yet songful. Woodrobin, some.
“July 18, 1867.--Woodthrush still vocal last night; heard it when on
compound road; also in Killendgrass Wood. First new potatoes yesterday.
“July 26.--Woodrobin still sings. Second brood on corner robins coming
off. Rain thus far abundant.
“August 3.--Vireo, song-sparrow, meadow-lark, house-wren. For two days
robin song ceased. Woodthrush have not heard for two days. On
twenty-ninth of July the last hay cut.
“August 6, 1867.--Heard to-day the first yellow-hammer of the season,
and also half a song of the robins, and only in snatches. Sparrow still
sings. Wren silent. Sparrow yet quite vocal, and bluebirds flying in air
give their soft and tender song.
“October 3, 1867.--Yesterday was particularly full of birds that seem to
be travelling through on their way south. Bluebirds lisped their gentle
and most ladylike notes, robins flew in threes and fives, high in the
air. Heard a yellow-hammer and meadow-lark sing. To-night no sound but
the melodious cricket, whose gurgle is far more agreeable than the hard
and grating sounds of katydid and locust.
“August 2, 1872.--Robin silent for a week. Occasional note yet from
woodthrush. Finches, sparrows, and linnets vocal. Young brood of
thrushes hatched and now flying near hickory trees. The robin is the
most powerful of all singers; his voice leads all, and constitutes
four-fifths of the sound in summer mornings.
“1881.--After a faithful service of twenty-three years Thomas James
Turner departed this life Wednesday, January 5, 1881, and was buried
from my house, with service also in the Episcopal Church in Peekskill,
where he had long been a communicant, and with Masonic honors, Saturday,
January 8, 1881. He was, according to the measure of his gifts, an
upright, faithful, and trustworthy man, who served not for lucre. I
should be glad to have his name associated with this place, upon which
he lived from about the time I bought it, and who has had a hand in
every step in improvements which made it what it is this day.”
In 1863 Mr. Beecher made a single speech in Great Britain, as Oliver
Wendell Holmes wrote, but it was delivered in piecemeal in different
places. Its exordium was on the 9th of October, in Manchester; its
peroration was pronounced on the 20th of the same month in Exeter Hall,
London. The public is more or less familiar with the result of that
mission.
After a few months’ absence he returned to America, having finished a
more remarkable embassy than any envoy who has represented us in Europe
since Franklin pleaded the cause of the young Republic at the court of
Versailles. He had no official existence; but through the heart of the
people he reached nobles, ministers, courtiers, and the throne itself.
He whom _The Times_ attacked, he whom _Punch_ caricatured, was a power
in the land. The change of the ruling classes in England, who were
strong for the South, was at once manifest. As Mr. Scott, who introduced
him in Exeter Hall, told me years later: “You should have been here to
witness the effect of that speech as he swayed his enthusiastic audience
hither and thither by his convincing arguments and appeal.”
I was a soldier at that time, commanding a battalion of cavalry on the
frontier of southwestern Missouri, Kansas, and the Indian country, but I
read with eagerness of the great achievements of Mr. Beecher in England.
We soldiers looked upon Beecher at home as Beecher in the field. He
sharpened the swords, ran the bullets, and forged the cannon. His
speeches read by the soldiers made Spartans out of the most timid. He
inspired, encouraged, and electrified as no one else could.
During all our travels and associations together in this country my
anxiety and determination to have Mr. Beecher heard again in England
became more and more intense. I never could get much encouragement
until the spring of 1886, when, after much deliberation and urging by
friends, he told me to go ahead. I immediately engaged passage from New
York on Saturday morning, June 19. At that eventful Friday evening
prayer-meeting, the evening before Mr. and Mrs. Beecher sailed, both the
lecture-room and the auditorium were crowded. When the great overflow
asked Mr. Beecher if they could not go into the auditorium, he replied:
“No; this is our prayer-meeting room, where we have met on Friday
evenings for forty years, and I do not feel like making this evening an
exception.” The overflow filled the main auditorium with members and
friends waiting to say good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Beecher.
The ship left the wharf at 6 o’clock on the morning of the 19th, her
decks crowded with passengers not yet aware of Mr. Beecher’s presence;
but as he stood almost alone on the forecastle deck, leaning on the
rail, his well-known form attracted attention of people on the
ferry-boats, and simultaneously the whistles of tugboats and other
neighboring craft were sounded in salute.
Over a thousand Plymouth Church people had risen before the sun to pay a
farewell tribute to Mr. and Mrs. Beecher by an excursion down the harbor
on the steamer _Grand Republic_.
Before we reached Liberty Island and slowed down, the _Grand Republic_
came alongside, her throng of passengers crowded to the nearer guards,
and sent up cheer after cheer.
We passed Sandy Hook at 10:30, and were soon out at sea, bound for
England. We found on board baskets, bouquets, and banks of flowers. Many
friends had sent letters of farewell, and one had provided a basket of
homing pigeons with instructions how to send the messages, what birds to
fly first, and what others at 2 and 3 o’clock. Mr. Beecher wrote
messages to his sons and to his friends in various parts of the country,
fastened them to the birds according to directions, took the birds in
his hands, playfully gave them parting instructions, and let them fly.
They reached their destination in due time.
On the next Saturday morning at daybreak we awoke off the Irish coast.
There was a heavy fog, and the fog-whistle was making a horrible din. We
could hear voices in the distance, noises of life and commerce; soon the
fog lifted, and we saw land. At 6 o’clock we reached Queenstown. Here
many of our passengers disembarked, and here, with the Dublin morning
papers, we got letters and telegrams, and countless invitations for Mr.
Beecher to dine and to speak and lecture. We saw that Gladstone was
announced to speak in Liverpool the following Monday, and decided to
remain and hear him. We received letters from Dr. and Mrs. Joseph
Parker, Dr. Henry Allon, and a host of others of Mr. Beecher’s clerical
friends, inviting him to preach, and scores of applications from all
parts of the kingdom for lectures.
We landed in Liverpool at 7:30 in the evening, and were met by
delegations from Bradford, Leeds, York, Carnarvon, Manchester,
Edinburgh, Belfast, Dublin, and other cities. Reporters from the London
papers were also in waiting. My fondest dream was realized. I want to
tell something of that experience, because, under some strange
journalistic influence, the American newspaper accounts of the trip
rather left it to be inferred that there was lack of success. But let us
see.
We spent Sunday, the 27th, in Liverpool. Mr. Beecher had several
invitations to preach, but was obliged to decline all since he had not
regained his vigor lost in seasickness. He found his way to some church
alone, and sat in a large congregation unrecognized for the first time
since he was ordained a minister. In the afternoon many clergymen and
many men active in politics called to pay their respects.
The first lecture in England took place in Exeter Hall, London, July 19.
It was in the same hall that Mr. Beecher had spoken when last in
England, during our American Civil War. I believe there was scarcely a
clergyman or minister in the city of London who would have declined the
honor of introducing Mr. Beecher on this occasion, but Mr. Beecher said
to me on the morning of the lecture: “Pond, when I spoke here in 1863,
having hard work to find some one to preside, Mr. Benjamin Scott,
chamberlain of the city of London, volunteered his services. See if you
can find him; I want him to take the chair to-night.”
I did find him, still chamberlain of the city. He very modestly referred
me to others who, he said, would gladly preside, and would lend more
honor to the occasion than he could. That would not do. I told him that
he was Mr. Beecher’s choice. He seemed highly complimented, and kindly
consented to serve for the second time. The great hall was packed, and
when Mr. Scott appeared, the memory of his earlier action still green,
the burst of applause which greeted him grew as it continued, the
audience finally rising, waving handkerchiefs, and cheering.
Mr. Scott referred to the meeting in the hall twenty-three years before.
He had never regretted occupying the position filled on that occasion;
now Mr. Beecher had honored him by asking him to be present again.
Mr. Scott sat down, and Mr. Beecher arose and was greeted with deafening
applause. He stood silent and impassive, his face seemingly untouched by
emotion, as he looked around upon the vast audience. As the applause
died away he began to speak, but before he could make himself heard the
applause was again repeated, with additional emphasis, if possible, and
Mr. Beecher was obliged to wait for it to cease. Then, in a strong voice
that reverberated around the hall, he recalled the previous meeting. “A
long lapse of time in a man’s life,” he said, “and such lapses give
solidity to a man’s opinion; they also give sagacity.”
He was not surprised at the view some people took of America; they did
not know the facts. “America is the younger tree, but the acorn from
which it sprang fell from the English oak. Americans are of English
lineage and blood. If England is not proud of America, why, then the
latter will make her so”--a remark which aroused much applause. The
lecture--that one on the “Reign of the Common People,” which so many
thousands of Americans have heard with pleasure (and no two audiences
ever heard alike)--occupied nearly two hours in delivery, and was
frequently interrupted by applause and cheers.
Mr. Beecher preached his first sermon in London on Sunday, July 4, 1886,
in City Temple, whose pastor was the Rev. Dr. Joseph Parker. The
congregation were admitted by ticket, church members first, then the
public, to the capacity of the auditorium. Hundreds, and I may say
thousands, came who had to be turned away. That week the religious and
secular press teemed with praise for the great American preacher. Every
daily paper in London had some kindly notice of him. It is not usual in
England for the secular press to notice religious doings, especially
those of dissenters, so called. Every denomination has its
well-supported organ.
More generous criticism could not have been written than Mr. Beecher
received at the hands of the secular and religious press. His sermon was
published verbatim, with extended editorial comment.
Sunday, July 11, was an interesting day. Mr. Beecher preached in Union
Chapel, Islington, London, for his old friend, the Rev. Dr. Henry Allon,
the scholarly representative of the highest class of cultivated,
well-educated Congregationalists. There was as great a congregation of
intelligent people as I have ever seen. The usual system of first
admitting members of the society by ticket was adopted exclusively up to
a certain hour. Then the doors were thrown open to the public, and the
large auditorium was immediately packed to its utmost capacity. As great
a throng outside was unable to get in.
After service, and dinner with Dr. and Mrs. Allon, Mr. Beecher and I, by
invitation of Dean Bradley, visited Westminster Abbey, where a number of
clergymen of the Church of England were gathered to meet him in the
parlors of the deanery. Tea was served, and the Dean invited Mr. Beecher
through the various historical private rooms about the Abbey. Dean
Stanley’s library and desk were just as when he died. Incidents and
anecdotes of their late friend were exchanged between the Dean and Mr.
Beecher. The clergymen listened to the dialogue as though fearing to
lose a word. As Mr. Beecher entered the Jerusalem Chamber he said:
“I am struck with awe. No room has greater interest to me, unless it be
the ‘Upper Room.’”
He recalled with remarkable rapidity and correctness the many religious
events that had taken place there--the Westminster Assembly and
Confession of Faith, the two revisions of the Bible, etc.--and the
eminent and scholarly men brought up within the very gates of that
sanctuary listened with intense interest to his eloquent exposition of
what must have seemed their own peculiar province of history.
The affection and respect with which Mr. Beecher was greeted by English
clergymen--those of the Establishment as well as Non-Conformists--was
very marked.
The Dean of Canterbury said to Mr. Beecher himself:
“There is one thing, Mr. Beecher, for which we must all thank you, and
that is for what you have taught us of the Fatherhood of God.”
When Mr. Beecher went (in 1886) through England and Scotland, he was
hailed on every side by ministers who bore the most grateful testimony
to the happy influence which his ministry had exercised upon their
spiritual lives. Many of these men, too, had seen and heard him in
America.
Dr. Howson, the dean of Chester, and joint author with Conybeare of the
scholarly and famous “Life of St. Paul,” came to Plymouth Church to see
the man and hear the voice whose printed words had been so much to him.
I accompanied him to Plymouth Church. We went home with Mr. Beecher, and
they had a delightful time together; and on his return to England he
sent one of his books in return for one Mr. Beecher had given him,
inscribed, “For gold I give thee brass.”
I must make a special reference to the meeting with the theological
students in City Temple on Friday morning, October 15. There were about
six hundred of the students to whom Mr. Beecher was to talk. The
remaining seats in the Temple were set aside for ministers and
clergymen of all denominations, college professors, and visitors, who
were admitted on presentation of their personal cards. These were taken
up at the door at my request, and I now have the cards of six hundred
and eighteen ministers, who, in addition to the students and professors,
thronged the meeting, notwithstanding that the rain descended in
torrents.
It was estimated by the pastor, Dr. Parker, that nearly three thousand
people were present.
Never was Mr. Beecher more elevated in thought, more eloquent in
expression, more tender in feeling; and never did I witness a multitude
of earnest men more thoroughly filled with Christian joy than on this
occasion.
That was a never-to-be-forgotten morning. The address was one of great
power, suggestive, reminiscent, witty, full of wisdom and experience;
but the great intellectual display came afterward, when he said he would
try to answer any question put to him.
I imagine that of all people to ask uncomfortable and insoluble
questions, the young theological student, freshly familiar with all the
dogmatic niceties and doubts of the books, is the most troublesome, and
Mr. Beecher, who always freely laid himself open by great breadth of
statement, was an ideal target for their ingenuity. The first question
keyed him up to the keenest enjoyment of the situation. For over half an
hour he stood there, alert, excited, but never a more complete master of
all his powers, and replied to the questions thrust at him from every
side in rapid succession--questions of every conceivable sort, in
theory, practice, and speculation. His replies were invariably brief,
and they came as quickly as a flash of lightning. It seemed as if you
could see his mind flash. He was witty, sarcastic, subtle, and humorous.
His replies, commonly the very essence of common-sense, went to the mark
like a bullet. Here is one question from the balcony that turned the
laugh on the interlocutor very suddenly: “Mr. Beecher, I am a clergyman.
May I beg to ask one question? I have simply to say how very grateful we
should be if, as many of us are unable to hear you on Sunday morning,
you could preach anywhere within our reach on Sunday evening.”
Mr. Beecher, quick as a flash: “I shall be perfectly willing to preach
in St. Paul’s, or at Westminster, at any hour.”
“I mean in any chapel in London.”
Mr. Beecher replied: “I am afraid I shall have to carry out my original
purpose in that regard. I have been preaching in the chapels in London
some time, and should like to try some of the larger buildings.”
CLOSE OF THE SUMMER IN ENGLAND--TOUR IN DUBLIN.
I have often wondered to myself if the Dublin lecture was truly a
success. Mr. Frederick Windee had agreed to pay me £80 for the lecture.
Who Mr. Windee was I didn’t know, except that his references were good.
He wrote me, when I made the engagement, that the “Reign of the Common
People” would not do for Ireland. The subject smacked of politics, and
it would not do to advertise it in Dublin. The “Institution” would risk
“Wastes and Burdens of Society,” to which I knew Mr. Beecher would not
object.
On our arrival at the station a little weasel-faced Irishman met us and
introduced himself as Mr. Windee. He was very polite, but seemed
nervous. On reaching the hotel he called me aside and told me he feared
Mr. Beecher was a dangerous man for Dublin, but hoped he would not make
a mistake. I assured him that there was not the slightest cause for
fear.
He placed £80 in Irish bills in my hand. I asked him who was to preside.
He told me that the Rev. Mr. Morrison would preside if he could be
assured that the speaker would not in any way refer to religion or
politics in his lecture. I had to tell Mr. Beecher what the feeling was.
He smiled and said nothing. That night at Metropolitan Hall we found a
large audience waiting. Mr. Beecher was introduced to the chairman, the
Rev. S. G. Morrison, a somewhat patriarchal divine, who without ceremony
and with great uncertainty conducted the lecturer to the platform, where
he sat down to as cold a reception as I ever knew a man to receive. All
was still as death. The chairman rose, stepped forward, and said:
“Ladies and gentlemen: I have the honor to introduce a distinguished
orator from Yankee-land. Mr. Beecher is not on this platform in his
clerical character, so we are not to be treated to any exposition of his
theological sentiments. Mr. Beecher is not here as a politician, and
therefore we will not hear from him any exposition of his political
principles (Applause: Hear! Hear!), but Mr. Beecher is here to deliver
an address of more than ordinary social importance. As a well-known
philanthropist, from his own experience, from the wonderful abilities
the great Master has gifted him with, and from his well-known character
as one of the most distinguished orators, you may anticipate, I think, a
lecture that shall not only be instructive, but delightful. I have great
pleasure in introducing Mr. Beecher to your notice this evening.”
(Applause.)
Mr. Beecher, on coming forward, was received with courteous but not
cordial applause. He said:
“I have been very kindly introduced by the distinguished and honorable
gentleman who has accompanied me. Therefore, I accept the position
assigned me. I have not come to speak on theology, and you shall never
know how much you have missed. (Laughter.) I have not come to speak on
politics; I have enough of that in my own country. (Laughter.) And even
if I knew about your politics, I should think it very inexpedient, ‘as
one born abroad,’ to meddle with local affairs and local questions. I
know that it is not necessary for one to know much about politics in
order to make a good speaker, but nevertheless I accept the
delimitation. There is nothing left of me but this--that I am a man.
That is enough. ‘A man’s a man for a’ that,’ and as to other things, I
give them the go-by in the hope that some twenty or thirty years hence I
may revisit you and that then you may be very glad to hear my opinions
about those other subjects.” (Laughter.)
Mr Beecher gave his lecture in one of his characteristic moods, caused
by an attempt to confine him within certain bounds. The audience soon
had reason to believe that he had in some way, perhaps unconsciously,
woven a great deal of religion and politics into the lecture; at least
the chairman told me after the lecture that he could see and feel it all
through. The Dublin papers published the lecture entire the next
morning.
The last lecture of the tour had been delivered; there was much
handshaking; the people had got as thoroughly warmed as they dared. Mr.
Beecher was jolly and happy as he extended his hand to the hesitating
people gathered around him, seemingly wishing and hoping, but scarcely
venturing, to approach him. “Come right along,” he said; “this is my
good-by shake. I am glad to see you.”
We rode back to our hotel. To-morrow we would be on our way to America.
Mrs. Beecher had supper waiting, and we had our small jokes and enjoyed
ourselves. Never were three people more happy. Mr. Beecher reminded me
that this was not the first time we had knocked off, a day at a time, a
long lecture tour.
Between the 4th of July and the 21st of October, fifteen and a half
weeks, Mr. Beecher had preached seventeen times, delivered nine public
addresses and fifty-eight lectures. For the fifty-eight lectures he
cleared the sum of $11,600 net of all expenses for himself and Mrs.
Beecher from the day they sailed from New York, June 19, to the day they
arrived at their home in Brooklyn, October 31. This was his summer
vacation.
His health was always a wonder to me. He never knew what illness meant
excepting at sea. He seldom, if ever, showed anger. When attacked in
open debate or argument, or when aroused, his eyes twinkled, and then
look out--a murderous broadside was about to sink the enemy’s ship.
LAST DAYS AND DEATH.
I find the following entries in my diary of 1887:
Saturday, March 5--In Washington, for Mr. Beecher. In the afternoon
received telegram from Col. H. B. Beecher: “Father very ill; apoplexy;
suffering no pain. Come home.”
Left my business and started for Brooklyn 10 P.M. The Associated Press
publishes the sad news. It is the talk on the cars, and by everybody.
Henry Ward Beecher’s name on everybody’s lips.