$1,498.50. It was the social event of the season. Had luncheon there
with Dr. and Mrs. Watson, Professor Fisher of Yale, and Mrs. Pond. Then
we rode in Andrew Carnegie’s carriage to Brooklyn, where Oscar Murray
had a $2,200 house waiting for us in the Academy of Music. Mrs. Howard,
eighty-four years old--the only surviving charter member of Plymouth
Church--came back on the stage to congratulate and thank Dr. Watson.
Refreshments at the Hamilton Club, then Doctor and I went to Jersey
City, where we all dined previous to the lecture, with the Rev. Dr.
Brett, in whose church the lecture was given. The gross receipts were
$560. Everybody was very much pleased, and the Doctor never spoke
better. Gross business to-day, $4,269.50.
“To-day we have travelled on the trolley from Kingston to Rondout, by
boat to Rhinecliff, cars to New York, cab to the Waldorf, carriage to
Brooklyn, hack to the Annex Ferry, Annex boat to Jersey City, trolley
to lecture hall, and the Doctor back by trolley, ferry, and elevated
road to his hotel in New York. _I am tired_, but Dr. Watson is
apparently as fresh as a morning lark. ‘Major, the people are not
unfriendly,’ he remarked. ‘I think the boys will get their bicycles.’”
* * * * *
“FRIDAY, Dec. 11th.
“Three more speeches to-day! Up at seven, at the office at half-past
eight, and at the Waldorf by ten. Lecture on Burns attracted a full
house. Dr. Watson and I donated the net proceeds to the poor fund of St.
Andrew’s Society. After lunch at the Waldorf, we drove to the Amphion
Theatre, Brooklyn, where he gave ‘Annals of Drumtochty.’ Then back to
New York, and to Stamford, in the evening, where he gave a reading. The
house was packed.
“Through the kindness of George L. Connor, the Boston express stopped at
Stamford at 10:09 and took us back to New York. The Doctor in good form.
Got home at 12:30 A.M. As he returned he said to me: ‘People are not
unfriendly, Major; those bicycles are pretty certain.’”
* * * * *
“SATURDAY, Dec. 12th.
“Another three-timer, and the last day of the pleasantest, most
vigorous, and most satisfactory short lecture tour I ever had the honor
to manage. Dr. Watson addressed the students of the Union Theological
Seminary in New York at ten, luncheon at 12:30, lectured in Paterson at
three, and Englewood at eight. He is happy and jolly, and gives no sign
of being tired in body or voice. Hundreds of thousands of people have
been made happier and benefited by coming in contact with him. He has
been the centre of loving hearts wherever he went. I love him, and
almost envy him the abundance of love people show him, and am thankful
that I have been so favored. I have worked hard; he has worked hard,
too. It has paid us both, and him a thousandfold more than the thousands
of dollars he has cleared in the two short months. It is hard to part
with him. How I shall miss him!”
* * * * *
“SUNDAY, Dec. 13th.
“Went to Plymouth Church. Dr. Watson was the preacher--his last public
utterance in America. It was a great sermon. Thousands thronged the
neighboring thoroughfares leading to the church, and long before the
doors were thrown open to the public the line of anxious people extended
from the church to Fulton Street on one side and past Hicks Street on
the other. Never did I see such a crowd excepting when the body of Mr.
Beecher was lying in state.”
* * * * *
“MONDAY, Dec. 14th.
“Dr. Watson spent an hour with me in the office signing books and
photographs, and telling us about his receptions and entertainments. He
christened a Scotch child in Gaelic at eleven, signed a lot of books at
Dodd, Mead & Co.’s, signed fifty more books and lithographs for me,
attended a big lunch in his honor at the Union League Club, at four went
to a reception given by Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Carnegie, and to evening
dinner at the house of John Sloane. Everybody seems to want him, and the
pressure is very great. His time is all filled between sunrise and
midnight.”
* * * * *
“WEDNESDAY, Dec. 16th.
“It is very stormy. Snow-ploughs are at work in every street. Dr. and
Mrs. Watson sailed at twelve on the _Majestic_. The Doctor made me a
handsome present and wrote me a letter which is one of my most precious
treasures. Here it is:
* * * * *
“‘5 WEST 51ST STREET, NEW YORK,
“‘Dec. 16, 1896.
“‘DEAR MAJOR POND:
“‘The day has come when we leave America and return home, and as I look
back on our campaign I am much impressed by the ability with which you
conducted the operations from beginning to end, and your unfailing
courage, good temper, and kindness.
“‘You will forgive me if at times I was depressed or irritable. It is a
Celt’s infirmity; but I have never failed to note your care for our
comfort and your sacrifices on our behalf.
“‘Accept with this note a little case for your expeditions, and as often
as you use it--out with some greater star--give a thought to Drumtochty
and its story-teller.
“‘Accept for Mrs. Pond and yourself this sincere assurance of our
regard, and believe me ever,
“‘Yours faithfully,
“‘JOHN WATSON.’
* * * * *
“Dr. Watson’s copy of ‘The Bonnie Briar Bush’ from which he read on the
tour he inscribed to me as follows:
* * * * *
“‘With grateful thoughts for his best-natured friend, from a fiery
Celt.--IAN MACLAREN.’
* * * * *
“He is a noble man. My heart is too full for utterance. Our tour has
been a great success. In ten weeks we have cleared $35,795.91. This
beats all records except Stanley’s, and I think I have seen more smiling
and happy faces during the last ten weeks than any man has ever before
seen in that length of time.”
* * * * *
On his return to Liverpool he wrote me the following letter:
* * * * *
“SEFTON PARK CHURCH, LIVERPOOL.
“REV. JOHN WATSON, 18 SEFTON DRIVE.
“Jan. 1, 1897.
“MY DEAR MAJOR:
“First of all let me wish you both a very Happy New Year, in which wish
Mrs. Watson desires to join. May the ‘Stars’ all be bright and shining
this year! We had rather a rough passage home, but after the first two
days suffered nothing, and arrived home at 3 A.M. on the Thursday
morning in good health, to get a warm welcome here.
“A reception was held in the church that day, and an address was
presented, with a bouquet of flowers to Mrs. Watson. Letters from all
kinds of people poured in to welcome us. I send two papers.
“We have suffered nothing from our journeys; in fact people declare that
we never looked better--so there is a feather in your cap, Major; you
did send us home as well as we came.
“My heart is warm to America, and I hope some day to see her good people
again under your care; but I fear the day is far off. With kindest
regards,
“Yours faithfully,
“JOHN WATSON.”
* * * * *
Hall Caine is one of the most remarkable of personalities. A man of not
over forty years, of slender frame, middle height, and having a slight
stoop, he carries in all his movements the evidence of the intense
nervous organization with which he is endowed. He is refined and gentle
in speech and manner, low-voiced, with simple ways, giving at every turn
evidences of kindliness of feeling and sensitiveness to all emotion. He
is never fretful, though of so remarkable a nervous temperament. He
dresses very quietly.
[Illustration]
As a speaker he would be very effective if he left his manuscript alone
entirely. His voice is low but clear, with a vibrant note of personal
appeal in it. Toward the close of a reading or lecture it would grow a
little husky, and under the strain of feeling at times a trifle
indistinct. Occasionally he would put his notes or manuscript aside and
appeal directly to the audience, pouring out for a few minutes an
electric, eloquent flood of sentences which would bring enthusiastic
response. He is original, though not sensational, in manner. As an
author-reader he followed Sir Edwin Arnold in originality by having
specially prepared for reading an unpublished story--in substance a
condensed novel. His handwriting is an index of his temperament, small,
fine, and nervous in style.
The play of “The Christian” was entirely written on fine white note
paper not over six by four inches in size. The writing is so small as
almost to require a magnifying glass to read it, and it did not occupy
more than two-thirds of the page, with the names of the characters,
etc., set on separate lines and running to the farther edge of the
paper.
I had been in correspondence with him for a number of years with the
view of making him a star lyceum attraction. I never could get his
consent, although I had very encouraging symptoms. We became great
friends. While in Europe, Mrs. Pond and I visited him at Greba Castle on
the Isle of Man, and declared it the most interesting part of our
English journey that summer. I came home, however, with very little
encouragement. He had just finished “The Christian,” and the last page
of copy had gone to the printer’s. He was cleaning out his library and
workshop, and there were thousands of manuscript pages that he had
rewritten and cross-written which he was throwing away. I asked the
privilege of saving a few, and am now sorry that I didn’t take the whole
barrel. I disliked to see them swept out.
A year later Mr. Caine came to this country to produce the play “The
Christian.” While that was being rehearsed there was hardly a day that
he did not come to my office, as many of his letters were addressed
there and he stayed at the Everett House. He advised with me a good deal
concerning many things, which I considered a very high honor. After the
play had got thoroughly established, I persuaded him to consent to give
a few readings in Boston, Albany, Rochester, Buffalo, Toronto, Detroit,
Chicago, Cincinnati, Baltimore, and Washington.
The overwhelming success of the play of “The Christian” had in some way
led Mr. Caine to believe that there would be the same sort of rush of
people to hear the author of “The Christian.” While there were
good-paying audiences and of the most select people, of course there
were not galleries and big crowds such as Mr. Caine had been accustomed
to see at performances of the play. The disappointment affected him very
much. I had all I could do to keep him cheered up.
At Albany and Troy the houses were very small. The play of “The
Christian” had its first production in Albany, turning people away, and
with thirty curtain calls. There Mr. Caine had banked upon a great
reception. The receipts were small, but he was making $500 a day on “The
Christian.” then running in New York. Why, I said, should he let a
little thing like that worry him. I tried to convince him that so far as
money was concerned he did not need it, and that it just happened to be
an inopportune time that we visited Albany; in other cities it would be
all right. We had fair business in Rochester, a large house in Toronto,
an overflowing house in Cleveland, and a matinee in Detroit before a
crowded house.
Wherever Mr. Caine went, there were invitations for all sorts of social
affairs, which he accepted and enjoyed very much. I learned, while on
this trip, that to have him at his best was at a dinner or social club
after his performance. There could not be a more delightful, brilliant,
entertaining man in conversation.
In Chicago he reserved an evening for the Manxmen residents of that
city, who gave him a dinner. They were all from the Isle of Man, his
native land. They talked Manx, ate Manx, and drank Manx (principally
water). It was a strange crowd, and Mr. Hall Caine towered above
everybody else in it. His was the only speech, as no one else there
could talk. It was an interesting occasion.
[Illustration: F. MARION CRAWFORD]
F. Marion Crawford is a man I love very much. I have the honor to call
him friend. Had this popular author adopted a career of politics rather
than the vocation of letters, he would have secured for himself a
position in the councils of the republic almost equal in influence to
that which he occupies as a writer of healthy and invigorating novels.
Fortunate in possessing a commanding presence, he has added to this an
uninterrupted flow of choice and vivid language, and natural gestures
which emphasize his magnificent word-pictures and carry conviction to
those who listen to his appeals to manliness and universal tolerance.
He is a man who at all times has spoken his mind on religious subjects,
with pride of strong conviction unmixed with defiance; a lecturer who
handles his subject in a manner that is at once captivating, judicious,
and wisely moderate. He breathes the very spirit of his novels--the
spirit of human brotherhood, with hatred for all things petty and mean.
F. Marion Crawford carries his own stationery and pen and ink, and never
writes with any other. He uses a “Falcon” pen, and has written every
word of every novel with the same penholder. He was always writing. His
“Ave Roma Immortalis” was written during this lecture tour. In a copy
that he signed and presented to me he wrote,
* * * * *
“TO THE MAJOR:
“From his friend and old lecturer,
“F. MARION CRAWFORD.
“The chapter on Julius Cæsar in this book was written chiefly on the
train while we were travelling together in the West in 1898.”
* * * * *
The first thing upon entering his room at a hotel, Mr. Crawford arranges
his writing materials, always in the same manner. The table is placed so
that the light will fall from his left. He sits with his side to the
table, his right arm resting on it, and the paper parallel with its
length. He writes a very fine hand, and very rapidly, punctuating as he
goes along. When a page is finished it is finished, and a work of art.
He arranges his bath and toilet articles, also, in a uniform way
invariably. He never patronizes a local laundry. He has two leather
trunks, made to order, that hold two dozen shirts; when one trunkful of
shirts has been used he sends them to New York to be laundered, and the
other trunk of fresh shirts arrives by express in time for his need.
The novelist carries a hand valise that he had made to order, with very
long handles, so that it barely clears the pavement when carried. This
enables him to get through a crowd without annoying others with his
valise, for it is never in the way. His silver monogram is on every
article of his toilet and writing equipment and his travelling-bags.
He wants his room at a temperature of sixty degrees, and so has it. He
is very kind and polite to servants, and sees to it that each one who
serves him is justly rewarded, not only pecuniarily, but with kind
words.
Mr. Crawford asks the name of every servant or waiter who attends him,
and addresses him by his name; and if he has occasion to refer to any
hotel where he has been, he can recall the name of the one who served
him.
He always has a drawing-room in the sleeping-car, and I know of only one
instance, in a journey of seven thousand miles, where he failed to
secure one. He arranges his drawing-room in exactly the same methodical
way as his hotel room. He has a hanging alarm clock that is always in
sight.
He sees the bright side of everything, and never says an ill-natured
word. He is not fond of company, and receptions are especially irksome
to him; but under such conditions he is always the perfect gentleman.
It was a long time before I could persuade him to prepare a lecture and
devote a season to the platform. In the spring of 1898 he called at my
office and asked me what my proposition was. I told him that I would do
the same with him that I did with Stanley and others: make it a
partnership arrangement, he taking two-thirds of the profit and I
one-third, and I personally conducting the tour.
So we began early in October of that season. He had prepared four
lectures: “The Early Italian Artists,” “Italian Home Life in the Middle
Ages,” “The Italy of Horace,” and “Leo XIII. in the Vatican,” and
returned to Italy for the summer to fit himself for his platform tour.
He began on the 28th of October in Bridgeport, Conn., before one of the
most select literary clubs in the country. I received a letter from the
committee in Bridgeport which had engaged him, thanking me for the most
delightful, scholarly lecture that club had ever offered to its members.
I saw that Mr. Crawford was a success. His time was booked six nights a
week, from November 1st to the following April. It was one of the most
extensive and successful tours I have ever made with a star.
He lectured before the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences, one of
the most intelligent audiences in the country. The house was closely
packed, and on the platform were a number of the leading citizens of
Brooklyn, including St. Clair McKelway, Mayor Schieren, the Rev. Dr.
Lyman Abbott, and Dr. Richard S. Storrs. Dr. Abbott said such nice
things of the lecture at its close that I asked him if I might have the
privilege of publicly quoting his words. In reply, he sent me the
following letter:
* * * * *
“BROOKLYN, N. Y., Jan. 19, 1898.
“MY DEAR MAJOR POND:
“I heard with great interest Mr. Crawford’s lecture on ‘Leo XIII. and
the Vatican,’ and am glad to be quoted anywhere as saying what I said at
the close of that lecture, that I am sure wherever it is delivered it
will help to remove prejudice of Protestants against Romanists and of
Romanists against Protestants.
“Mr. Crawford’s literary skill needs no indorsement from me, and his
ability in analysis of character and in portrait painting is seen to
great advantage in his graphic picture of Leo XIII.
Yours sincerely,
“LYMAN ABBOTT.”
* * * * *
He lectured in the Northern cities until the 30th of January,
and then made a tour through the principal cities of the South,
and up through Texas and Kansas City, Mo., where I met him
on the 12th of March and accompanied him across the continent
to San Francisco and Southern California, back up the coast
to Seattle, Victoria, B. C., Portland, Ore., Helena, Mont.,
and several other towns in Montana, closing in Fargo, N.
Dak., on the 27th of April.
In our travel across the plains from Kansas City to Denver,
I pointed out to Mr. Crawford where I had shot my first buffalo
and many scenes of Indian fights and adventure, all of
which he seemed to enjoy just as much as I did. In all, we
spent twenty-two weeks and travelled twenty-six thousand
miles. Our journey across the continent, through California,
and up the coast was a succession of pleasurable events.
With the exception of Mr. Beecher, I never had been associated
with a man who interested himself so much in everything
in which I was interested. We were inseparable, and there
were many incidents of our journey which were really memorable
in the cities where we visited.
In the Brigham Young Normal College, Provo, Utah, where
over six hundred young men and women were being taught as
missionaries to go all over the world and make converts to the
Mormon faith, Mr. Crawford gave his lecture on “Leo XIII.
in the Vatican” to as attentive an audience as I have ever
known, and what was remarkable to Mr. Crawford and me
were the characteristic interruptions of the audience. These
people are accustomed to being addressed constantly, as all
Mormons are preachers or speakers. Mr. Crawford said that
he had some of the keenest questions put to him in regard to
characters in his book and religious arguments that he had
ever encountered. He was so pleased that he gave the college
library a complete set of his books, which he signed and forwarded
to that institution on his return from the journey.
Mr. Crawford’s lecture in Salt City was largely attended
by a most remarkable audience. The Roman Catholic
bishop, four Mormon bishops, and clergymen of all the different
denominations residing there, were present. In the Methodist
Church the lecturer was introduced by the Methodist
pastor, and sixty per cent of the audience were Mormons,
among whom were several of Brigham Young’s daughters,
sons, and daughters-in-law.
The reception to the lecturer by the Ladies’ Press Club was
held in the historic Bee-hive House, the former home of
Brigham Young, where Mary Ann Angel, his first, and, as he
claimed in his will, his legitimate wife, and a number of other
wives had lived. Mormons and Gentiles were about equally
represented. Among those present were some of the prophet’s
daughters and many of his grandchildren and other former
polygamous wives. There were army officers from Fort
Douglas, with their wives, the Presbyterian and Episcopalian
ministers and their wives, all mingling with one another without
prejudice. From all appearances they were mutually enjoying
the occasion. To me it seemed strange.
The Mormon religion is as firmly founded and progressive
as any. The Mormon people, trained in industry and fealty,
are as sincere as ever. Many “Gentiles” of former days have
married Mormon women and joined the church. They had to
do it if they got the wives, for one of their religious tenets is
to marry young and increase the church, and the women have
never known any other religion. There are now over three
thousand missionaries in various parts of the world preaching
the Mormon faith and sending converts by thousands every year
to Utah. All the valleys and mountain cañons are becoming
closely settled with homes made for these immigrant converts.
They are spreading all over Nevada, Arizona, Idaho, Montana,
Colorado, Northern Mexico, and Manitoba. Industrious, honest,
frugal, patiently toiling, they are enriching the great
mountain country, and doing it quietly while they work unceasingly.
What is to be the result? The Mormon religion
is surely growing.
The attendance was very great in Southern California, where
Mr. Crawford met a large number of his readers and friends.
What was particularly interesting on the tour was the great interest
taken in him by all the Catholic priests. Invariably the
leading priest called on him wherever he visited. Whenever
we arrived at a city where there was a bishop, he would secure
a carriage and his first call was on the bishop. He claimed
that that was his duty. I had an opportunity to observe that
among the best-educated men in the land are the Catholic
priests. At Riverside, Cal., Father Sherman, the son of Gen.
William T. Sherman, took great pains to entertain us in that
interesting city. I would not have missed the opportunity of
meeting Father Sherman for a good deal, as his father had been
one of my dearest friends.
One night in San Francisco, after having returned from Oakland,
we were seated in the grill-room of the Palace Hotel, our
supper partly finished, engaged in conversation, when I suddenly
said:
“Mr. Crawford, are we in the dining-car? See how these
dishes are dancing.”
Mr. Crawford pulled out his watch and said:
“It’s an earthquake, Major. Don’t be frightened. I’ve
been in fifty of them. It will only last twenty seconds.”
Then I saw chandeliers swinging, heard glass falling, and
saw sober people staggering; meanwhile we were being shaken
with vibrations like a milk shake, beginning slowly for, say
ten seconds, then coming to the hardest part of the shock.
Our table and chairs, and we in them, were being carried along
the floor. Suddenly there was a great noise like a tremendous
explosion, and then an atmospheric depression indescribable.
All who could had rushed out into the streets. Had it not been
for Mr. Crawford’s apparent indifference there’s no knowing
where the writer would have been. It lasted only forty seconds,
so all records agree, but, ah, it seemed a lifetime to
most of those who got the benefit of it; for there never could
have been a more remarkably exciting scene than the court and
corridors of the Palace Hotel presented from the time of the
earthquake until daylight. In the grill room were a number of
men gathered in groups, with expressions on their faces that
showed they were prepared for the worst. None of them
smiled or attempted to show unconcern except Mr. Crawford,
who kept continually assuring everybody that the whole thing
was over--that if a return shock did not come within three
minutes there would be none. Every man and woman that I
saw was yawning. Whether it was because yawning is catching,
or an atmospheric condition caused by the disturbance, it is
not easy to tell, but such opening of mouths and such sallow,
yellow and green countenances I never witnessed. The elevators
began bringing guests to the ground floor, men, women,
and children scrambling for the open--in all kinds of costumes
that people sleep in, and some badly mixed up; one lady was
barefooted, in a man’s overcoat; there were men in pajamas,
trousers, and slippers, in overcoats. One man in a simple
undershirt tried to jump from the first balcony. He was a
short, fat man, weighing, I should say, 350. I thought I recognized
him as one of the staff of a certain New York magazine,
and called Mr. Crawford’s attention to the fact. He said: