It is sometimes said that no man, in passing away, leaves a place
which cannot be equally well filled by another. This is doubtless
true in all ordinary cases. But scientific research, and scientific
affairs generally at the national capital, form an exception to many
of the rules drawn from experience in other fields.
Professor Joseph Henry, first secretary of the Smithsonian
Institution, was a man of whom it may be said, without any reflection
on men of our generation, that he held a place which has never
been filled. I do not mean his official place, but his position
as the recognized leader and exponent of scientific interests at
the national capital. A world-wide reputation as a scientific
investigator, exalted character and inspiring presence, broad views
of men and things, the love and esteem of all, combined to make him
the man to whom all who knew him looked for counsel and guidance
in matters affecting the interests of science. Whether any one
could since have assumed this position, I will not venture to say;
but the fact seems to be that no one has been at the same time able
and willing to assume it.
On coming to Washington I soon became very intimate with Professor
Henry, and I do not think there was any one here to whom he set
forth his personal wishes and convictions respecting the policy
of the Smithsonian Institution and its relations to the government
more freely than he did to me. As every point connected with the
history and policy of this establishment is of world-wide interest,
and as Professor Henry used to put some things in a different light
from that shed upon the subject by current publications, I shall
mention a few points that might otherwise be overlooked.
It has always seemed to me that a deep mystery enshrouded the act
of Smithson in devising his fortune as he did. That an Englishman,
whose connections and associations were entirely with the intellectual
classes,--who had never, so far as is known, a single American
connection, or the slightest inclination toward democracy,--should,
in the intellectual condition of our country during the early
years of the century, have chosen its government as his trustee
for the foundation of a scientific institution, does of itself seem
singular enough. What seems yet more singular is that no instructions
whatever were given in his will or found in his papers beyond the
comprehensive one "to found an institution at Washington to be
called the Smithsonian Institution for the increase and diffusion
of knowledge among men." No plan of the institution, no scrap
of paper which might assist in the interpretation of the mandate,
was ever discovered. Not a word respecting his intention was ever
known to have been uttered. Only a single remark was ever recorded
which indicated that he had anything unusual in view. He did at one
time say, "My name shall live in the memory of men when the titles
of the Northumberlands and the Percys are extinct and forgotten."
One result of this failure to indicate a plan for the institution was
that, when the government received the money, Congress was at a loss
what to do with it. Some ten years were spent in discussing schemes
of various kinds, among them that of declining the gift altogether.
Then it was decided that the institution should be governed by a
Board of Regents, who should elect a secretary as their executive
officer and the administrator of the institution. The latter was to
include a library, a museum, and a gallery of art. The plans for
the fine structure, so well known to every visitor to the capital,
were prepared, the building was started, the regents organized,
and Professor Henry made secretary.
We might almost say that Henry was opposed to every special function
assigned to the institution by the organic law. He did not agree
with me as to any mystery surrounding the intentions of the founder.
To him they were perfectly clear. Smithson was a scientific
investigator; and the increase and diffusion of knowledge among men
could be best promoted on the lines that he desired, by scientific
investigation and the publication of scientific researches. For this
purpose a great building was not necessary, and he regretted all the
money spent on it. The library, museum, and gallery of art would
be of only local advantage, whereas "diffusion among men" implied
all men, whether they could visit Washington or not. It was clearly
the business of the government to supply purely local facilities for
study and research, and the endowment of Smithson should not be used
for such a purpose.
His opposition to the building tinged the whole course of his thought.
I doubt whether he was ever called upon by founders of institutions
of any sort for counsel without his warning them to beware of spending
their money in bricks and mortar. The building being already started
before he took charge, and the three other objects being sanctioned
by law, he was, of course, hampered in carrying out his views.
But he did his utmost to reduce to a minimum the amount of the fund
that should be devoted to the objects specified.
This policy brought on the most animated contest in the history
of the institution. It was essential that his most influential
assistants should share his views or at least not thwart them. This,
he found, was not the case. The librarian, Mr. C. C. Jewett, an able
and accomplished man in the line of his profession, was desirous of
collecting one of the finest scientific libraries. A contest arose,
to which Professor Henry put an end by the bold course of removing
the librarian from office. Mr. Jewett denied his power to do this,
and the question came before the board of regents. The majority of
these voted that the secretary had the power to remove his assistants.
Among the minority was Rufus Choate, who was so strongly opposed to
the action that he emphasized his protest against it by resigning
from the board.
A question of legal interpretation came in to make the situation
yet more difficult. The regents had resolved that, after the
completion of the building, one half the income should be devoted
to those objects which Professor Henry considered most appropriate.
Meanwhile there was no limit to the amount that might be appropriated
to these objects, but Mr. Jewett and other heads of departments
wished to apply the rule from the beginning. Henry refused to do so,
and looked with entire satisfaction on the slowness of completion
of what was, in his eyes, an undesirable building.
It must be admitted that there was one point which Professor
Henry either failed to appreciate, or perhaps thought unworthy
of consideration. This is, the strong hold on the minds of men
which an institution is able to secure through the agency of an
imposing building. Saying nothing of the artistic and educational
value of a beautiful piece of architecture, it would seem that such
a structure has a peculiar power of impressing the minds of men with
the importance of the object to which it is devoted, or of the work
going on within it. Had Professor Henry been allowed to perform
all the functions of the Smithsonian Institution in a moderate-sized
hired house, as he felt himself abundantly able to do, I have very
serious doubts whether it would have acquired its present celebrity
and gained its present high place in the estimation of the public.
In the winter of 1865 the institution suffered an irreparable
loss by a conflagration which destroyed the central portion of
the building. At that time the gallery of art had been confined to
a collection of portraits of Indians by Stanley. This collection
was entirely destroyed. The library, being at one end, remained
intact. The lecture room, where courses of scientific lectures
had been delivered by eminent men of science, was also destroyed.
This event gave Professor Henry an opportunity of taking a long
step in the direction he desired. He induced Congress to take the
Smithsonian library on deposit as a part of its own, and thus relieve
the institution of the cost of supporting this branch.
The Corcoran Art Gallery had been founded in the mean time, and
relieved the institution of all necessity for supporting a gallery
of art. He would gladly have seen the National Museum made a separate
institution, and the Smithsonian building purchased by the government
for its use, but he found no chance of carrying this out.
After the death of Professor Henry the Institution grew rapidly
into a position in which it might almost claim to be a scientific
department of the government. The National Museum, remaining under
its administration, was greatly enlarged, and one of its ramifications
was extended into the National Zoological Park. The studies of
Indian ethnology, begun by Major J. W. Powell, grew into the Bureau
of Ethnology. The Astrophysical Observatory was established, in
which Professor Langley has continued his epoch-making work on the
sun's radiant heat with his wonderful bolometer, an instrument of
his own invention.
Before he was appointed to succeed Professor Henry, Professor Baird
was serving as United States Fish Commissioner, and continued to fill
this office, without other salary than that paid by the Smithsonian
Institution. The economic importance of the work done and still
carried on by this commission is too well known to need a statement.
About the time of Baird's death, the work of the commission was
separated from that of the Institution by providing a salary for
the commissioner.
We have here a great extension of the idea of an institution for
scientific publications and research. I recall once suggesting
to Professor Baird the question whether the utilization of the
institution founded by Smithson for carrying on and promoting such
government work as that of the National Museum was really the right
thing to do. He replied, "It is not a case of using the Smithsonian
fund for government work, but of the government making appropriations
for the work of the Smithsonian Institution." Between the two sides
of the question thus presented,--one emphasizing the honor done to
Smithson by expanding the institution which bears his name, and the
other aiming solely at the best administration of the fund which we
hold in trust for him,--I do not pretend to decide.
On the academic side of social life in Washington, the numerous
associations of alumni of colleges and universities hold a prominent
place. One of the earliest of these was that of Yale, which has held
an annual banquet every year, at least since 1877, when I first became
a member. Its membership at this time included Mr. W. M. Evarts, then
Secretary of State, Chief Justice Waite, Senator Dawes, and a number
of other men prominent in political life. The most attractive speaker
was Mr. Evarts, and the fact that his views of education were somewhat
conservative added much to the interest of his speeches. He generally
had something to say in favor of the system of a prescribed curriculum
in liberal education, which was then considered as quite antiquated.
When President Dwight, shortly after his accession to office, visited
the capital to explain the modernizing of the Yale educational system,
he told the alumni that the college now offered ninety-five courses to
undergraduates. Evarts congratulated the coming students on sitting
at a banquet table where they had their choice of ninety-five courses
of intellectual aliment.
Perhaps the strongest testimonial of the interest attached to these
reunions was unconsciously given by President Hayes. He had received
an honorary degree from Yale, and I chanced to be on the committee
which called to invite him to the next banquet. He pleaded, as I
suppose Presidents always do, the multiplicity of his engagements,
but finally said,--
"Well, gentlemen, I will come, but it must be on two well-understood
conditions. In the first place, I must not be called to my feet.
You must not expect a speech of me. The second condition is, I must
be allowed to leave punctually at ten o'clock."
"We regret your conditions, Mr. President," was the reply, "but must,
of course, accede to them, if you insist."
He came to the banquet, he made a speech,--a very good, and not a
very short one,--and he remained, an interested hearer, until nearly
two o'clock in the morning.
In recent years I cannot avoid a feeling that a change has come over
the spirit of such associations. One might gather the impression
that the apothegm of Sir William Hamilton needed a slight amendment.
On earth is nothing great but Man,
In Man is nothing great but Mind.
Strike out the last word, and insert "Muscle." The reader will
please not misinterpret this remark. I admire the physically
perfect man, loving everything out of doors, and animated by the
spirit that takes him through polar snows and over mountain tops.
But I do not feel that mere muscular practice during a few years of
college life really fosters this spirit.
Among the former institutions of Washington of which the memory is
worth preserving, was the Scientific Club. This was one of those
small groups, more common in other cities than in Washington, of men
interested in some field of thought, who meet at brief intervals at
one another's houses, perhaps listen to a paper, and wind up with
a supper. When or how the Washington Club originated, I do not know,
but it was probably sometime during the fifties. Its membership seems
to have been rather ill defined, for, although I have always been
regarded as a member, and am mentioned in McCulloch's book as such,
[1] I do not think I ever received any formal notice of election.
The club was not exclusively scientific, but included in its list the
leading men who were supposed to be interested in scientific matters,
and whose company was pleasant to the others. Mr. McCulloch himself,
General Sherman, and Chief Justice Chase are examples of the members
of the club who were of this class.
It was at the club meetings that I made the acquaintance of General
Sherman. His strong characteristics were as clearly seen at these
evening gatherings as in a military campaign. His restlessness
was such that he found it hard to sit still, especially in his
own house, two minutes at a time. His terse sentences, leaving
no doubt in the mind of the hearer as to what he meant, always
had the same snap. One of his military letters is worth reviving.
When he was carrying on his campaign in Georgia against Hood, the
latter was anxious that the war should damage general commercial
interests as little as possible; so he sent General Sherman a letter
setting forth the terms and conditions on which he, Hood, would
refrain from burning the cotton in his line of march, but leave it
behind,--at as great length and with as much detail as if it were
a treaty of peace between two nations. Sherman's reply was couched
in a single sentence: "I hope you will burn all the cotton you can,
for all you don't burn I will." When he introduced two people,
he did not simply mention their names, but told who each one was.
In introducing the adjutant-general to another officer who had just
come into Washington, he added, "You know his signature."
Mr. McCulloch, who succeeded Mr. Chase as Secretary of the Treasury,
was my beau ideal of an administrator. In his personal make-up,
he was as completely the opposite of General Sherman as a man
well could be. Deliberate, impassive, heavy of build, slow in
physical movement, he would have been supposed, at first sight,
a man who would take life easy, and concern himself as little
as possible about public affairs. But, after all, there is a
quality in the head of a great department which is quite distinct
from sprightliness, and that is wisdom. This he possessed in the
highest degree. The impress which he made on our fiscal system was
not the product of what looked like energetic personal action, but
of a careful study of the prevailing conditions of public opinion,
and of the means at his disposal for keeping the movement of things
in the right direction. His policy was what is sometimes claimed,
and correctly, I believe, to embody the highest administrative wisdom:
that of doing nothing himself that he could get others to do for him.
In this way all his energies could be devoted to his proper work,
that of getting the best men in office, and of devising measures
from time to time calculated to carry the government along the lines
which he judged to be best for the public interests.
The name of another attendant at the meetings of the club has from
time to time excited interest because of its connection with a
fundamental principle of evolutionary astronomy. This principle,
which looks paradoxical enough, is that up to a certain stage,
as a star loses heat by radiation into space, its temperature
becomes higher. It is now known as Lane's Law. Some curiosity
as to its origin, as well as the personality of its author, has
sometimes been expressed. As the story has never been printed,
I ask leave to tell it.
Among the attendants at the meetings of the Scientific Club was
an odd-looking and odd-mannered little man, rather intellectual in
appearance, who listened attentively to what others said, but who,
so far as I noticed, never said a word himself. Up to the time
of which I am speaking, I did not even know his name, as there was
nothing but his oddity to excite any interest in him.
One evening about the year 1867, the club met, as it not
infrequently did, at the home of Mr. McCulloch. After the
meeting Mr. W. B. Taylor, afterward connected with the Smithsonian
Institution in an editorial capacity, accompanied by the little man,
set out to walk to his home, which I believe was somewhere near the
Smithsonian grounds. At any rate, I joined them in their walk,
which led through these grounds. A few days previous there had
appeared in the "Reader," an English weekly periodical having a
scientific character, an article describing a new theory of the sun.
The view maintained was that the sun was not a molten liquid, as had
generally been supposed up to that time, but a mass of incandescent
gas, perhaps condensed at its outer surface, so as to form a sort of
immense bubble. I had never before heard of the theory, but it was
so plausible that there could be no difficulty in accepting it. So,
as we wended our way through the Smithsonian grounds, I explained the
theory to my companions in that _ex cathedra_ style which one is apt
to assume in setting forth a new idea to people who know little or
nothing of the subject. My talk was mainly designed for Mr. Taylor,
because I did not suppose the little man would take any interest
in it. I was, therefore, much astonished when, at a certain point,
he challenged, in quite a decisive tone, the correctness of one of
my propositions. In a rather more modest way, I tried to maintain
my ground, but was quite silenced by the little man informing us that
he had investigated the whole subject, and found so and so--different
from what I had been laying down.
I immediately stepped down from the pontifical chair, and asked the
little man to occupy it and tell us more about the matter, which
he did. Whether the theorem to which I have alluded was included
in his statement, I do not recall. If it was not, he told me about
it subsequently, and spoke of a paper he had published, or was about
to publish, in the "American Journal of Science." I find that this
paper appeared in Volume L. in 1870.
Naturally I cultivated the acquaintance of such a man. His name
was J. Homer Lane. He was quite alone in the world, having neither
family nor near relative, so far as any one knew. He had formerly
been an examiner or something similar in the Patent Office, but
under the system which prevailed in those days, a man with no more
political influence than he had was very liable to lose his position,
as he actually did. He lived in a good deal such a habitation and
surroundings as men like Johnson and Goldsmith lived in in their time.
If his home was not exactly a garret, it came as near it as a lodging
of the present day ever does.
After the paper in question appeared, I called Mr. Lane's attention
to the fact that I did not find any statement of the theorem which
he had mentioned to me to be contained in it. He admitted that it
was contained in it only impliedly, and proceeded to give me a very
brief and simple demonstration.
So the matter stood, until the centennial year, 1876, when Sir
William Thomson paid a visit to this country. I passed a very
pleasant evening with him at the Smithsonian Institution, engaged
in a discussion, some points of which he afterwards mentioned in
an address to the British Association. Among other matters, I
mentioned this law, originating with Mr. J. Homer Lane. He did not
think it could be well founded, and when I attempted to reproduce
Mr. Lane's verbal demonstration, I found myself unable to do so.
I told him I felt quite sure about the matter, and would write to
him on the subject. When I again met Mr. Lane, I told him of my
difficulty and asked him to repeat the demonstration. He did so
at once, and I sent it off to Sir William. The latter immediately
accepted the result, and published a paper on the subject, in which
the theorem was made public for the first time.
It is very singular that a man of such acuteness never achieved
anything else of significance. He was at my station on one occasion
when a total eclipse of the sun was to be observed, and made a report
on what he saw. At the same time he called my attention to a slight
source of error with which photographs of the transit of Venus might
be affected. The idea was a very ingenious one, and was published
in due course.
Altogether, the picture of his life and death remains in my memory
as a sad one, the brightest gleam being the fact that he was elected
a member of the National Academy of Sciences, which must have been
to him a very grateful recognition of his work on the part of his
scientific associates. When he died, his funeral was attended only
by a few of his fellow members of the academy. Altogether, I feel
it eminently appropriate that his name should be perpetuated by the
theorem of which I have spoken.
If the National Academy of Sciences has not proved as influential a
body as such an academy should, it has still taken such a place in
science, and rendered services of such importance to the government,
that the circumstances connected with its origin are of permanent
historic interest. As the writer was not a charter member, he cannot
claim to have been "in at the birth," though he became, from time to
time, a repository of desultory information on the subject. There is
abundant internal and circumstantial evidence that Dr. B. A. Gould,
although his name has, so far as I am aware, never been mentioned
in this connection, was a leading spirit in the first organization.
On the other hand, curiously enough, Professor Henry was not. I was
quite satisfied that Bache took an active part, but Henry assured me
that he could not believe this, because he was so intimate with Bache
that, had the latter known anything of the matter, he would surely
have consulted him. Some recent light is thrown on the subject
by letters of Rear-Admiral Charles H. Davis, found in his "Life,"
as published by his son. Everything was carried on in the greatest
secrecy, until the bill chartering the body was introduced by Senator
Henry Wilson of Massachusetts. Fifty charter members were named,
and this number was fixed as the permanent limit to the membership.
The list did not include either George P. Bond, director of the
Harvard Observatory, perhaps the foremost American astronomer of the
time in charge of an observatory, nor Dr. John W. Draper. Yet the
total membership in the section of astronomy and kindred sciences was
very large. A story to which I give credence was that the original
list, as handed to Senator Wilson, did not include the name of
William B. Rogers, who was then founding the Institute of Technology.
The senator made it a condition that room for Rogers should be found,
and his wish was acceded to. It is of interest that the man thus
added to the academy by a senator afterward became its President,
and proved as able and popular a presiding officer as it ever had.
The governmental importance of the academy arose from the fact
that its charter made it the scientific adviser of the government,
by providing that it should "investigate, examine, experiment,
and report upon any subject of science or art" whenever called
upon by any department of the government. In this respect it was
intended to perform the same valuable functions for the government
that are expected of the national scientific academies or societies
of foreign countries.
The academy was empowered to make its own constitution. That first
adopted was sufficiently rigid and complex. Following the example of
European bodies of the same sort, it was divided into two classes,
one of mathematical and physical, the other of natural science.
Each of these classes was divided into sections. A very elaborate
system of procedure for the choice of new members was provided.
Any member absent from four consecutive stated meetings of the
academy had his name stricken from the roll unless he communicated
a valid reason for his absence. Notwithstanding this requirement,
the academy had no funds to defray the traveling expenses of members,
nor did the government ever appropriate money for this purpose.
For seven years it became increasingly doubtful whether the
organization would not be abandoned. Several of the most eminent
members took no interest whatever in the academy,--did not attend
the meetings, but did tender their resignations, which, however,
were not accepted. This went on at such a rate that, in 1870,
to avoid a threatened dissolution, a radical change was made in
the constitution. Congress was asked to remove the restriction upon
the number of members, which it promptly did. Classes and sections
were entirely abandoned. The members formed but a single body.
The method of election was simplified,--too much simplified, in fact.
The election of new members is, perhaps, the most difficult and
delicate function of such an organization. It is one which cannot be
performed to public satisfaction, nor without making many mistakes;
and the avoidance of the latter is vastly more difficult when the
members are so widely separated and have little opportunity to discuss
in advance the merits of the men from whom a selection is to be made.
An ideal selection cannot be made until after a man is dead, so that
his work can be summed up; but I think it may fairly be said that,
on the whole, the selections have been as good as could be expected
under the conditions.
Notwithstanding the indifference of the government to the possible
benefits that the academy might render it, it has--in addition to
numerous reports on minor subjects--made two of capital importance
to the public welfare. One of these was the planning of the United
States Geological Survey, the other the organization of a forestry
system for the United States.
During the years 1870-77, besides several temporary surveys or
expeditions which had from time to time been conducted under the
auspices of the government, there were growing up two permanent
surveys of the territories. One of these was the Geographical
Survey of territories west of the 100th meridian, under the Chief
of Engineers of the Army; the other was the Geological Survey of
the territories under the Interior Department, of which the chief
was Professor F. V. Hayden.
The methods adopted by the two chiefs to gain the approval of the
public and the favoring smiles of Congress were certainly very
different. Wheeler's efforts were made altogether by official
methods and through official channels. Hayden considered it his
duty to give the public every possible opportunity to see what he
was doing and to judge his work. His efforts were chronicled at
length in the public prints. His summers were spent in the field,
and his winters were devoted to working up results and making every
effort to secure influence. An attractive personality and extreme
readiness to show every visitor all that there was to be seen in his
collections, facilitated his success. One day a friend introduced
a number of children with an expression of doubt as to the little
visitors being welcome. "Oh, I always like to have the children
come here," he replied, "they influence their parents." He was so
successful in his efforts that his organization grew apace, and soon
developed into the Geological Survey of the Territories.
Ostensibly the objects of the two organizations were different.
One had military requirements mainly in view, especially the mapping
of routes. Hayden's survey was mainly in the interests of geology.
Practically, however, the two covered the same field in all points.
The military survey extended its scope by including everything
necessary for a complete geographical and geological atlas.
The geological survey was necessarily a complete topographical and
geological survey from the beginning. Between 1870 and 1877, both
were engaged in making an atlas of Colorado, on the maps of which
were given the same topographical features and the same lines of
communication. Parties of the two surveys mounted their theodolites
on the same mountains, and triangulated the same regions. The Hayden
survey published a complete atlas of Colorado, probably more finely
gotten up than any atlas of a State in the Union, while the Wheeler
survey was vigorously engaged in issuing maps of the same territory.
No effort to prevent this duplication of work by making an arrangement
between the two organizations led to any result. Neither had any
official knowledge of the work of the other. Unofficially, the one
was dissatisfied with the political methods of the other, and claimed
that the maps which it produced were not fit for military purposes.
Hayden retorted with unofficial reflections on the geological
expertness of the engineers, and maintained that their work was
not of the best. He got up by far the best maps; Wheeler, in the
interests of economy, was willing to sacrifice artistic appearance
to economy of production. We thus had the curious spectacle of the
government supporting two independent surveys of the same region.
Various compromises were attempted, but they all came to nothing.
The state of things was clear enough to Congress, but the repugnance
of our national legislature to the adoption of decisive measures of
any sort for the settlement of a disputed administrative question
prevented any effective action. Infant bureaus may quarrel with each
other and eat up the paternal substance, but the parent cannot make
up his mind to starve them outright, or even to chastise them into
a spirit of conciliation. Unable to decide between them, Congress
for some years pursued the policy of supporting both surveys.
The credit for introducing a measure which would certainly lead to
unification is due to Mr. A. S. Hewitt, of New York, then a member
of the Committee on Appropriations. He proposed to refer the whole
subject to the National Academy of Sciences. His committee accepted
his view, and a clause was inserted in the Sundry Civil Bill of June
30, 1878, requiring the academy at its next meeting to take the matter
into consideration and report to Congress "as soon thereafter as may
be practicable, a plan for surveying and mapping the territory of
the United States on such general system as will, in their judgment,
secure the best results at the least possible cost."
Several of the older and more conservative members of the academy
objected that this question was not one of science or art, with
which alone the academy was competent to deal, but was a purely
administrative question which Congress should settle for itself.
They feared that the academy would be drawn into the arena of
political discussion to an extent detrimental to its future and
welfare and usefulness. Whether the exception was or was not well
taken, it was felt that the academy, the creature of Congress, could
not join issue with the latter as to its functions, nor should an
opportunity of rendering a great service to the government be lost
for such a reason as this.
The plan reported by the academy was radical and comprehensive.
It proposed to abolish all the existing surveys of the territories
except those which, being temporary, were completing their work,
and to substitute for them a single organization which would include
the surveys of the public lands in its scope. The interior work
of the Coast and Geodetic Survey was included in the plan, it being
proposed to transfer this bureau to the Interior Department, with its
functions so extended as to include the entire work of triangulation.
When the proposition came up in Congress at the following session,
it was vigorously fought by the Chief of Engineers of the army,
and by the General Land Office, of which the surveying functions
were practically abolished. The Land Office carried its point,
and was eliminated from the scheme. General Humphreys, the Chief of
Engineers, was a member of the academy, but resigned on the ground
that he could not properly remain a member while contesting the
recommendations of the body. But the academy refused to accept the
resignation, on the very proper ground that no obligation was imposed
on the members to support the views of the academy, besides which,
the work of the latter in the whole matter was terminated when its
report was presented to Congress.
Although this was true of the academy, it was not true of the
individual members who had taken part in constructing the scheme.
They were naturally desirous of seeing the plan made a success, and,
in the face of such vigorous opposition, this required constant
attention. A dexterous movement was that of getting the measure
transferred from one appropriation bill to another when it passed
over to the Senate. The measure at length became a law, and thus
was established the Geological Survey of the United States, which
was to be governed by a Director, appointed by the President, by
and with the advice and consent of the Senate.
Then, on March 4, 1879, an important question arose. The right man
must be placed at the head of the new bureau. Who is he? At first
there seemed to be but one voice on the subject, Professor Hayden had
taken the greatest pains to make known the work of his survey, not
only to Congress, but to every scientific society, small and great,
the world over. Many of these had bestowed their approbation upon it
by electing its director to honorary membership. It has been said,
I do not know how truly, that the number of these testimonials
exceeded that received by any other scientific man in America.
If this were so, they would have to be counted, not weighed. It was,
therefore, not surprising that two thirds of the members of Congress
were said to have sent a recommendation to the President for the
appointment of so able and successful a man to the new position.
The powerful backing of so respectable a citizen as Hon. J. D. Cox,
formerly Secretary of the Interior, was also heartily proffered.
To these forces were added that of a certain number of geologists,
though few or none of them were leaders in the science. Had it not
been for a private intimation conveyed to Secretary Schurz that the
scientific men interested might have something to say on the subject,
Hayden might have been appointed at the very moment the bill was
signed by the President.
Notwithstanding all of Hayden's merits as the energetic head of a
survey, the leaders in the movement considered that Mr. Clarence King
was the better qualified for the duties of the new position. It is
not unlikely that a preference for a different method of influencing
Congress than that which I have described, was one of the reasons in
favor of Mr. King. He was a man of charming personality and great
literary ability. Some one said of him that he could make a more
interesting story out of what he saw during a ride in a street car
than most men could with the best material at their disposal. His
"Mountaineering in the Sierra Nevadas" was as interesting an account
of Western exploration as has ever been published. I understand it
was suppressed by the author because some of the characters described
in it were much hurt by finding themselves painted in the book.
Hopeless though the contest might have seemed, an effort was made
by three or four of the men most interested to secure Mr. King's
appointment. If I wanted to show the fallacy of the common impression
that scientific men are not fitted for practical politics, I could
not do it better than by giving the internal history of the movement.
This I shall attempt only in the briefest way. The movers in the
matter divided up the work, did what they could in the daytime,
and met at night at Wormley's Hotel to compare notes, ascertain the
effect of every shot, and decide where the next one should be fired.
As all the parties concerned in the matter have now passed off the
stage, I shall venture to mention one of these shots. One eminent
geologist, whose support was known to be available, had not been
called in, because an impression had been formed that President
Hayes would not be willing to consider favorably what he might say.
After the matter had been discussed at one or two meetings, one
of the party proposed to sound the President on the subject at his
next interview. So, when the occasion arose, he gently introduced
the name of the gentleman.
"What view does he take?" inquired the President.
"I think he will be favorable to Mr. King," was the reply; "but
would you give great weight to his opinion?"
"I would give great weight to it, very great weight, indeed," was
the reply.
This expression was too decided in its tone to leave any doubt,
and the geologist in question was on his way to Washington as soon
as electricity could tell him that he was wanted. When the time
finally came for a decision, the President asked Secretary Schurz
for his opinion. Both agreed that King was the man, and he was
duly appointed.
The new administration was eminently successful. But King was
not fond of administrative work, and resigned the position at the
end of a year or so. He was succeeded by John W. Powell, under
whom the survey grew with a rapidity which no one had anticipated.
As originally organized, the survey was one of the territories only,
but the question whether it should not be extended to the States as
well, and prepare a topographical atlas of the whole country, was
soon mooted, and decided by Congress in the affirmative. For this
extension, however, the original organizers of the survey were in
no way responsible. It was the act of Congress, pure and simple.
If the success of an organization is to be measured by the public
support which it has commanded, by the extension of its work and
influence, and by the gradual dying out of all opposition, it must be
admitted that the plan of the academy was a brilliant success. It is
true that a serious crisis had once to be met. While Mr. Cleveland
was governor of New York, his experience with the survey of that
State had led him to distrust the methods on which the surveys
of the United States were being conducted. This distrust seems
to have pervaded the various heads of the departments under his
administration, and led to serious charges against the conduct of
both the Coast and Geological surveys. An unfavorable report upon
the administration of the former was made by a committee especially
appointed by the Secretary of the Treasury, and led to the resignation
of its superintendent. But, in the case of the Geological Survey,
the attacks were mostly conducted by the newspapers. At length,
Director Powell asked permission of Secretary Lamar to write him a
letter in reply. His answers were so sweeping, and so conclusive
on every point, that nothing more was heard of the criticisms.
The second great work of the academy for the government was that
of devising a forestry system for the United States. The immediate
occasion for action in this direction was stated by Secretary Hoke
Smith to be the "inadequacy and confusion of existing laws relating
to the public timber lands and consequent absence of an intelligent
policy in their administration, resulting in such conditions as may,
if not speedily stopped, prevent the proper development of a large
part of our country."
Even more than in the case of the Geological Survey might this
work seem to be one of administration rather than of science.
But granting that such was the case, the academy commanded great
advantages in taking up the subject. The commission which it formed
devoted more than a year to the study, not only of the conditions
in our own country, but of the various policies adopted by foreign
countries, especially Germany, and their results. As in the case
of the Geological Survey, a radically new and very complete system
of forestry administration was proposed. Interests having other
objects than the public good were as completely ignored as they had
been before.
The soundness of the conclusions reached by the Academy Commission
were challenged by men wielding great political power in their
respective States. For a time it was feared that the academy would
suffer rather than gain in public opinion by the report it had made.
But the moral force behind it was such that, in the long run, some of
the severest critics saw their error, and a plan was adopted which,
though differing in many details from that proposed, was, in the main,
based on the conclusion of the commission. The Interior department,
the Geological Survey, and the Department of Agriculture all have
their part in the work.
Notwithstanding these signal demonstrations of the valuable service
which the academy may render to the government, the latter has done
nothing for it. The immediate influence of the leading scientific men
in public affairs has perhaps been diminished as much in one direction
as it has been increased in another by the official character of
the organization. The very fact that the members of the academy
belong to a body which is, officially, the scientific adviser of
the government, prevents them from coming forward to exercise that
individual influence which they might exercise were no such body
in existence.
The academy has not even a place of meeting, nor is a repository
for its property and records provided for it. Although it holds
in trust large sums which have been bequeathed from time to time by
its members for promoting scientific investigation, and is, in this
way, rendering an important service to the progress of knowledge,
it has practically no income of its own except the contributions of
its own members, nearly all of whom are in the position described
by the elder Agassiz, of having "no time to make money."
Among the men who have filled the office of president of the academy,
Professor O. C. Marsh was perhaps the one whose activity covered the
widest field. Though long well known in scientific circles, he first
came into public prominence by his exposure of the frauds practiced
by contractors in furnishing supplies for the Indians. This business
had fallen into the hands of a small ring of contractors known as the
"Indian ring," who knew the ropes so well that they could bid below
any competitor and yet manage things so as to gain a handsome profit
out of the contracts. In the course of his explorations Marsh took
pains to investigate the whole matter, and published his conclusions
first in the New York "Tribune," and then more fully in pamphlet
form, taking care to have public attention called to the subject so
widely that the authorities would have to notice it. In doing so,
Mr. Delano, Secretary of the Interior, spoke of them as charges made
by "a Mr. Marsh." This method of designating such a man was made
effective use of by Mr. Delano's opponents in the case.
Although the investigation which followed did not elicit all the
facts, it had the result of calling the attention of succeeding
Secretaries of the Interior to the necessity of keeping the best
outlook on the administration of Indian affairs. What I believe to
have been the final downfall of the ring was not brought about until
Cleveland's first administration. Then it happened in this way.
Mr. Lamar, the Secretary of the Interior, was sharply on the lookout
for frauds of every kind. As usual, the lowest bid for a certain
kind of blanket had been accepted, and the Secretary was determined
to see whether the articles furnished actually corresponded with
the requirements of the contract. It chanced that he had as his
appointment clerk Mr. J. J. S. Hassler, a former manufacturer of
woolen goods. Mr. Hassler was put on the board to inspect the
supplies, and found that the blankets, although to all ordinary
appearance of the kind and quality required, were really of a much
inferior and cheaper material. The result was the enforced failure
of the contractor, and, I believe, the end of the Indian ring.
Marsh's explorations in search of fossil remains of the animals which
once roamed over the western parts of our continent were attended
by adventures of great interest, which he long had the intention of
collecting and publishing in book form. Unfortunately, he never did
it, nor, so far as I am aware, has any connected narrative of his
adventures ever appeared in print. This is more to be regretted,
because they belong to a state of things which is rapidly passing
away, leaving few records of that lifelike sort which make the most
impressive picture.
His guide during his early explorations was a character who
has since become celebrated in America and Europe by the vivid
representations of the "Wild West" with which he has amused and
instructed the dwellers on two continents. Marsh was on his way to
explore the region in the Rocky Mountains where he was to find the
fossils which have since made his work most celebrated. The guide
was burning with curiosity as to the object of the expedition.
One night over the campfire he drew his chief into a conversation on
the subject. The latter told him that there was once a time when the
Rocky Mountains did not exist, and that part of the continent was a
level plain. In the course of long ages mountains rose, and animals
ran over them. Then the mountains split open; the animals died and
left their bones in the clefts. The object of his expedition was
now to search for some of these bones.
The bones were duly discovered, and it was not many years thereafter
before the Wild West Exhibition was seen in the principal Eastern
cities. When it visited New Haven, its conductor naturally renewed
the acquaintance of his former patron and supporter.
"Do you remember, professor," said he, "our talk as we were going on
your expedition to the Rockies,--how you told me about the mountains
rising up and being split open and the bones of animals being lost
in there, and how you were going to get them?"
"Oh, yes," said the other, "I remember it very well."
"Well, professor, do you know, when you told me all that I r'ally
thought you was puttin' up a job on me."
The result was a friendship between the two men, which continued
during Marsh's whole life. When the one felt that he ought no longer
to spend all the money he earned, he consulted Marsh on the subject of
"salting it down," and doubtless got good advice.
As an exposer of humbugs Marsh took a prominent place. One of these
related to the so-called "Cardiff Giant." Sometime in 1869 the
newspapers announced the discovery in northern New York, near the
Canadian border, of an extraordinary fossil man, or colossal statue,
people were not sure which, eight or ten feet high. It was found
several feet below the ground while digging a well. Men of some
scientific repute, including even one so eminent as Professor James
Hall, had endorsed the genuineness of the find, and, on the strength
of this, it was taken around to show the public. In the course of
a journey through New York State, Marsh happened to pass through
the town where the object was on exhibition. His train stopped
forty minutes for dinner, which would give him time to drive to the
place and back, and leave a margin of about fifteen minutes for an
examination of the statue. Hardly more than a glance was necessary
to show its fraudulent character. Inside the ears the marks of a
chisel were still plainly visible, showing that the statue had been
newly cut. One of the most curious features was that the stone
had not been large enough to make the complete statue, so that
the surface was, in one place, still in the rough. The object had
been found in wet ground. Its material was sulphate of lime, the
slight solubility of which would have been sufficient to make it
dissolve entirely away in the course of centuries. The absence of
any degradation showed that the thing was comparatively new. On the
strength of this, Marsh promptly denounced the affair as a humbug.
Only a feeble defense was made for it, and, a year or two later, the
whole story came out. It had been designed and executed somewhere in
the Northwest, transported to the place where discovered, and buried,
to be afterward dug up and reported as a prehistoric wonder.
Only a few years ago the writer had an opportunity of seeing
with what wonderful ease intelligent men can be imposed upon by
these artificial antiquities. The would-be exhibitor of a fossil
woman, found I know not where, appeared in Washington. He had not
discovered the fossil himself, but had purchased it for some such
sum as $100, on the assurance of its genuine character. He seems,
however, to have had some misgivings on the subject, and, being an
honest fellow, invited some Washington scientific men to examine it
in advance of a public exhibition. The first feature to strike the
critical observer was that the arms of the fossil were crossed over
the breast in the most approved undertaker's fashion, showing that
if the woman had ever existed, she had devoted her dying moments to
arranging a pose for the approval of posterity. Little more than a
glance was necessary to show that the fossil was simply baked clay.
Yet the limbs were hard and stiff. One of the spectators therefore
asked permission of the owner to bore with an auger into the leg and
see what was inside. A few moments' work showed that the bone of the
leg was a bar of iron, around which clay had been moulded and baked.
I must do the crestfallen owner the justice to say that his anxiety
to convince the spectators of his own good faith in the matter far
exceeded his regret at the pecuniary loss which he had suffered.
Another amusing experience that Marsh had with a would-be fossil
arose out of the discovery here and there in Connecticut of the
fossil footprints of birds. Shortly after a find of this kind had
been announced, a farmer drove his wagon up in front of the Peabody
Museum, called on the professor, and told him he had dug up something
curious on his farm, and he wished the professor would tell him what
it was. He thought it looked like the footprints of a bird in a
stone, but he was not quite sure.
Marsh went out and looked at the stone. A single glance was enough.
"Oh, I see what they are. They are the footprints of the domestic
turkey. And the oddest part of it is, they are all made with the
right foot."
The simple-minded countryman, in making the prints with the turkey's
foot, had overlooked the difference between the right and left foot,
and the consequent necessity of having the tracks which pertained
to the two feet alternate.
Washington is naturally a centre of information on all subjects
relating to the aboriginal tribes of America and to life on the plains
generally. Besides the Geological Survey, the Bureau of Ethnology
has been an active factor in this line. An official report cannot
properly illustrate life in all its aspects, and therefore should
be supplemented by the experiences of leading explorers. This is
all the more necessary if, as seems to be the case, the peculiar
characteristics of the life in question are being replaced by those
more appropriate to civilization. Yet the researches of the bureau in
question are not carried on in any narrow spirit, and will supply the
future student of humanity with valuable pictures of the most heroic
of all races, and yet doomed, apparently, to ultimate extinction.
I do not think I ever saw a more impressive human figure and face
than those of Chief Joseph as he stood tall, erect, and impassive,
at a President's reception in the winter of 1903. He was attired
in all the brilliancy of his official costume; but not a muscle of
his strongly marked face betrayed the sentiments with which he must
have gazed on the shining uniforms passing before him.
[1] _Men and Measures of Half a Century_, by Hugh McCulloch.
New York: Chas. Scribner's Sons, 1889.
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