"I will take you for that if you will help us on the voyage."
The offer was gladly accepted. The little craft was about as near the
opposite of a clipper ship as one can imagine, never intended to run
in any but fair winds, and even with that her progress was very slow.
There was a constant succession of west winds, and the result was that
we were about three weeks reaching Salem. Here I met my father, who,
after the death of my mother, had come to seek his fortune in the
"States." He had reached the conclusion, on what grounds I do not
know, that the eastern part of Maryland was a most desirable region,
both in the character of its people and in the advantages which it
offered us. The result was that, at the beginning of 1854, I found
myself teacher of a country school at a place called Massey's Cross
Roads in Kent County. After teaching here one year, I got a somewhat
better school at the pleasant little village of Sudlersville, a few
miles away.
Of my abilities as a manager and teacher of youth the reader can
judge. Suffice it to say that, looking back at those two years, I
am deeply impressed with the good nature of the people in tolerating
me at all.
My most pleasant recollection is that of two of my best pupils of
Sudlersville, nearly my own age. One was Arthur E. Sudler, for
whose special benefit some chemical apparatus was obtained from
Philadelphia. He afterwards studied medicine at the University of
Pennsylvania and delighted me by writing that what I had taught him
placed him among the best in his class in chemistry. The other was
B. S. Elliott, who afterward became an engineer or surveyor.
One of my most vivid recollections at Massey's relates to a subject
which by no means forms a part of one's intellectual development,
and yet is at the bottom of all human progress, that of digestion.
The staple food of the inhabitants of a Southern farming region was
much heartier than any to which I had been accustomed. "Pork and
pone" were the staples, the latter being a rather coarse cake with
little or no seasoning, baked from cornmeal. This was varied
by a compound called "shortcake," a mixture of flour and lard,
rapidly baked in a pan, and eaten hot. Though not distasteful,
I thought it as villainous a compound as a civilized man would put
into his stomach.
Quite near my school lived a young bachelor farmer who might be
designated as William Bowler, Esq., though he was better known as
Billy Bowler. He had been educated partly at Delaware College,
Newark, and was therefore an interesting young man to know.
In describing his experiences at the college, he once informed me
that they were all very pleasant except in a single point; that was
the miserably poor food that the students got to eat. He could not,
he declared, get along without good eating. This naturally suggested
that my friend was something of a gourmand. Great, therefore,
was my delight when, a few weeks later, he expressed a desire to
have me board with him. I accepted the offer as soon as possible.
Much to my disappointment, shortcake was on the table at the first
meal and again at the second. It proved to be the principal dish
twice, and I am not sure but three times a day. The other staple
was fried meat. On the whole this was worse than pork and pone,
which, if not toothsome, was at least wholesome. As the days grew
into weeks, I wondered what Delaware College could give its students
to eat. To increase the perplexity, there were plenty of chickens
in the yard and vegetables in the garden. I asked the cook if she
could not boil some vegetables and bring them on the table.
"Mas'er Bowler don't like wegetable."
Then I found that the chickens were being consumed in the kitchen
and asked for one.
"Mas'er Bowler don't like chicken," was the reply, with an added
intimation that the chickens belonged to the denizens of the kitchen.
The mystery was now so dark and deep that I determined to fathom it.
I drew Mr. Bowler into conversation once more about Delaware College,
and asked him what the students had to eat when there.
He had evidently forgotten his former remark and described what
seemed to me a fairly well provided students' table. Now I came
down on him with my crusher.
"You told me once that the table was miserably poor, so that you
could hardly stand it. What fault had you to find with it?"
He reflected a moment, apparently recalling his impression, then
replied: "Oh, they had no shortcake there!"
In 1854 I availed myself of my summer vacation to pay my first
visit to the national capital, little dreaming that it would ever be
my home. I went as far as the gate of the observatory, and looked
wistfully in, but feared to enter, as I did not know what the rules
might be regarding visitors. I speculated upon the possible object
of a queer red sandstone building, which seemed so different from
anything else, and heard for the first time of the Smithsonian
Institution.
On the very beginning of my work at Massey's the improvement in my
position was so remarkable that I felt my rash step of a few months
before fully justified. I wrote in triumph to my favorite aunt,
Rebecca Prince, that leaving Dr. Foshay was the best thing I had
ever done. I was no longer "that boy," but a respectable young man
with a handle to my name.
Just what object I should pursue in life was still doubtful; the
avenues of the preferment I would have liked seemed to be closed
through my not being a college graduate. I had no one to advise me as
to the subjects I should pursue or the books I should study. On such
books as I could get, I passed every spare hour. My father sent me
Cobbett's English Grammar, which I found amusing and interesting,
especially the criticisms upon the grammar found here and there in
royal addresses to Parliament and other state papers. On the whole
I am not sure but that the book justified my father's good opinion,
although I cannot but think that it was rather hypercritical. I had
been taught the rudiments of French in Wallace when quite a child by
a Mr. Oldright, of whose methods and pronunciation my memory gives
me a most favorable impression. I now got Cobbett's French Grammar,
probably a much less commendable book than his English one. I had
never yet fathomed the mysteries of analytic geometry or the calculus,
and so got Davies' books on those subjects. That on the calculus
was perhaps the worst that could be put into the hands of a person
situated as I was. Two volumes of Bezout's Mathematics, in French,
about a century old, were, I think, rather better. Say's Political
Economy was the first book I read on that subject, and it was quite
a delight to see human affairs treated by scientific methods.
I finally reached the conclusion that mathematics was the study I
was best fitted to follow, though I did not clearly see in what way I
should turn the subject to account. I knew that Newton's "Principia"
was a celebrated book, so I got a copy of the English translation.
The path through it was rather thorny, but I at least caught the
spirit here and there. No teacher at the present time would think
of using it as a text-book, yet as a mental discipline, and for
the purpose of enabling one to form a mental image of the subject,
its methods at least are excellent. I got a copy of the "American
Journal of Science," hoping it might enlighten me, but was frightened
by its big words, and found nothing that I could understand.
During the year at Sudlersville I made several efforts which,
though they were insignificant so far as immediate results were
concerned, were in some respects of importance for my future work.
With no knowledge of algebra except what was derived from the meagre
text-books I could pick up,--not having heard even the name of
Abel, or knowing what view of the subject was taken by professional
mathematicians,--I made my first attempt at a scientific article, "A
New Demonstration of the Binomial Theorem." This I sent to Professor
Henry, secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, to see if he deemed
it suitable for publication. He promptly replied in the negative, but
offered to submit it to a professional mathematician for an opinion
of its merits. I gladly accepted this proposal, which was just what
I wanted. In due course a copy of the report was sent me. One part
of the work was praised for its elegance, but a lack of completeness
and rigor was pointed out. It was accompanied by a pleasant note
from Professor Henry remarking that, while not so favorable as I might
have expected, it was sufficiently so to encourage me in persevering.
The other effort to which I refer was of quite a different character.
A copy of the "National Intelligencer," intended for some subscriber
who had left Sudlersville, came to the post-office for several months,
and, there being no claimant, I frequently had an opportunity to
read it. One of its features was frequent letters from volunteer
writers on scientific subjects. Among these was a long letter
from one G. W. Eveleth, the object of which was to refute the
accepted theory of the universe, especially the view of Copernicus.
For aught I knew Mr. Eveleth held as high a position as any one else
in the world of science and letters, so I read his article carefully.
It was evidently wholly fallacious, yet so plausible that I feared
the belief of the world in the doctrine of Copernicus might suffer
a severe shock, and hastened to the rescue by writing a letter over
my own name, pointing out the fallacies. This was published in the
"National Intelligencer"--if my memory serves me right--in 1855.
My full name, printed in large capitals, in a newspaper, at the bottom
of a letter, filled me with a sense of my temerity in appearing so
prominently in print, as if I were intruding into company where I
might not be wanted.
My letter had two most unexpected and gratifying results. One was
a presentation of a copy of Lee's "Tables and Formulae," which came
to me a few days later through the mail with the compliments of
Colonel Abert. Not long afterward came a letter from Professor
J. Lawrence Smith, afterward a member of the National Academy of
Sciences, transmitting a copy of a pamphlet by him on the theory
that meteorites were masses thrown up from the volcanoes of the moon,
and asking my opinion on the subject.
I had not yet gotten into the world of light. But I felt as one who,
standing outside, could knock against the wall and hear an answering
knock from within.
The beginning of 1856 found me teaching in the family of a planter
named Bryan, residing in Prince George County, Md., some fifteen or
twenty miles from Washington. This opened up new opportunities.
I could ride into Washington whenever I wished, leave my horse
at a livery stable, and see whatever sights the city offered.
The Smithsonian Library was one of the greatest attractions.
Sometime in May, 1856, I got permission from the attendant in charge
to climb into the gallery and see the mathematical books. Here I
was delighted to find the greatest treasure that my imagination had
ever pictured,--a work that I had thought of almost as belonging
to fairyland. And here it was right before my eyes--four enormous
volumes,--"Mecanique Celeste, by the Marquis de Laplace, Peer of
France; translated by Nathaniel Bowditch, LL. D., Member of the
Royal Societies of London, Edinburg, and Dublin." I inquired as to
the possibility of my borrowing the first volume, and was told that
this could be done only by special authority of Professor Henry.
I soon got the necessary authority through Mr. Rhees, the chief
clerk, whose kindness in the matter deeply impressed me, signed a
promise to return it within one month, and carried it in triumph
to my little schoolhouse. I dipped into it here and there, but at
every step was met by formulae and methods quite beyond the power of
one who knew so little of mathematics. In due time I brought the
book back as promised.
Up to this time I think I had never looked upon a real live
professor; certainly not upon one of eminence in the scientific
world. I wondered whether there was any possibility of my making the
acquaintance of so great a man as Professor Henry. Some time previous
a little incident had occurred which caused me some uneasiness on
the subject. I had started out very early on a visit to Washington,
or possibly I had stayed there all night. At any rate, I reached
the Smithsonian Building quite early, opened the main door, stepped
cautiously into the vestibule, and looked around. Here I was met
by a short, stout, and exceedingly gruff sort of a man, who looked
upon my entrance with evident displeasure. He said scarcely a word,
but motioned me out of the door, and showed me a paper or something
in the entrance which intimated that the Institution would be open
at nine o'clock. It was some three minutes before that hour so I
was an intruder. The man looked so respectable and so commanding
in his appearance that I wondered if he could be Professor Henry,
yet sincerely hoped he was not. I afterward found that he was only
"Old Peake," the janitor. [4] When I found the real Professor Henry
he received me with characteristic urbanity, told me something of
his own studies, and suggested that I might find something to do in
the Coast Survey, but took no further steps at that time.
The question whether I was fitted for any such employment now became
of great interest. The principal question was whether one must know
celestial mechanics in order to secure such a position, so, after
leaving Professor Henry, I made my way to the Coast Survey office, and
was shown to the chief clerk, as the authority for the information.
I modestly asked him whether a knowledge of physical astronomy was
necessary to a position in that office. Instead of frankly telling
me that he did not know what physical astronomy was, he answered in
the affirmative. So I left with the impression that I must master
the "Mecanique Celeste" or some similar treatise before finding any
opening there.
I could not, of course, be satisfied with a single visit to such
a man, and so called several times during the year. One thing
I wondered about was whether he would remember me when he again
saw me. On one occasion I presented him with a plan for improving
the Cavendish method of determining the density of the earth,
which he took very kindly. I subsequently learned that he was much
interested in this problem. On another occasion he gave me a letter
to Mr. J. E. Hilgard, assistant in charge of the Coast Survey office.
My reception by the latter was as delightful as that by Professor
Henry. I found from my first interview with him that the denizens
of the world of light were up to the most sanguine conceptions I
ever could have formed.
At this time, or probably some time before, I bought a copy of the
"American Ephemeris" for 1858, and amused myself by computing on
a slate the occultations visible at San Francisco during the first
few months of the year. At this time I had learned nothing definite
from Mr. Hilgard as to employment in his office. But about December,
1856, I received a note from him stating that he had been talking
about me to Professor Winlock, superintendent of the "Nautical
Almanac," and that I might possibly get employment on that work.
When I saw him again I told him that I had not yet acquired
such a knowledge of physical astronomy as would be necessary for
the calculations in question; but he assured me that this was no
drawback, as formulae for all the computations would be supplied me.
I was far from satisfied at the prospect of doing nothing more than
making routine calculations with formulae prepared by others; indeed,
it was almost a disappointment to find that I was considered qualified
for such a place. I could only console myself by the reflection that
the ease of the work would not hinder me from working my way up.
Shortly afterward I understood that it was at least worth while to
present myself at Cambridge, and so started out on a journey thither
about the last day of the year 1856.
At that time even a railroad journey was quite different from what it
is now. The cars were drawn through Baltimore by horses. At Havre
de Grace the train had to stop and the passengers were taken across
the river in a ferryboat to another train. At Philadelphia the city
had to be traversed by transfer coaches. Looking around for this
conveyance, I met a man who said he had it. He shoved me into it
and drove off. I remarked with suspicion that no other coaches were
accompanying us. After a pretty long drive the speed of the horses
gradually began to slacken. At length it came to a complete stop in
front of a large building, and I got out. But it was only a freight
station, locked up and dark throughout. The driver mumbled something
about his fare, then rolled back on his seat, seemingly dead drunk.
The nearest sign of life was at a tavern a block or two away. There I
found that I was only a short distance from the station of departure,
and reached my train barely in time.
Landing in New York at the first glimmer of dawn, near the end of the
line of passengers I was momentarily alarmed to see a man pick up what
seemed to be a leather purse from right between my feet. It was brown
and, so far as I could see, just like my own. I immediately felt
the breast pocket of my coat and found that my own was quite safe.
The man who picked up the purse inquired in the politest tone possible
if it was mine, to which I replied in the negative. He retreated a
short distance and then a bystander came up and chided me in a whisper
for my folly in not claiming the purse. The only reply he got was,
"Oh, I'm up to all your tricks." On a repetition of this assurance
the pair sneaked away.
Arriving at Cambridge, I sought out Professor Winlock and was
informed that no immediate employment was open at his office.
It would be necessary for him to get authority from Washington.
After this was obtained some hope might be held out, so I appeared
in the office from time to time as a visitor, my first visit being
that described in the opening chapter.
[1] I may remark, for the benefit of any medical reader, that it
involved the use of two pails, one full of water, the other empty.
When he got through the ablution, one pail was empty, and the other
full. My authority for the actuality of this remarkable proceeding
was some inmate of the house at the time, and I give credence to
the story because it was not one likely to be invented.
[2] Rev. Alexander H. Monroe, who, I have understood, afterward
lived in Montreal. I have often wished to find a trace of him,
but do not know whether he is still living.
[3] Our druggist was Mr. S. L. Tilley, afterward Sir Leonard Tilley,
the well-known Canadian Minister of Finance.
[4] Peake, notwithstanding his official title, would seem to have
been more than an ordinary janitor, as he was the author of a Guide
to the Smithsonian Institution.