My Life in Many States and in Foreign Lands, Dictated in My Seventy-Fourth Year

George Francis Train dictating his autobiography in his room in the Mills Hotel.

This trip I very willingly made, as I wanted to see everything of China that was possible; but it was more adventurous than I had expected. As we were sailing down the China coast, a typhoon struck us, and over went sails and masts. Our pilot from Shanghai was immediately in difficulties, as the pilot from Fu-chow, whom we had just picked up, did not understand the pilot we had brought from Shanghai. I had the utmost difficulty, owing to my inadequate mastery of pidgin-English, in establishing communication between these essential elements of our little crew. We had, finally, to get into a boat and make our way up the River Min for forty miles in the dark. It was a very trying experience, as the river was absolutely unknown to me; the darkness was "unpierceable by power of any star," and the river was treacherous in itself for small boats. To make matters worse, it was infested by junk pirates. This latter danger I had got somewhat accustomed to, as almost every inch of Chinese water was, in those days, the field of operations for these pirates. The other nations of the world had not yet adopted effective means for getting rid of them as the United States got rid of the Algerian and Tripolitan plunderers.

We arrived at Fu-chow, after a harassing night on the river. Almost the first thing to greet my curious eyes, as they were sweeping the horizon for wonders in that land of wonders, was the old suspension bridge, which the Chinese assert was built in the fourteenth century. It proved to be as much of a curiosity as the Chinese wall in the north. At Fu-chow I was a guest in the house of the Russells. Immediately upon landing, Gray, Heard, and myself took sedan chairs for a tour through the city.

On this occasion I had my first opportunity to appeal to the American flag for protection. As we were passing through a very narrow, but important street, our coolies were suddenly set upon and overturned. We scrambled out of the chairs, and asked what was the matter. We learned that the viceroy was also passing through the thoroughfare, and that everything and everybody had to give way for his retinue. My companions at once stepped out of the way, but my blood was up. I resented being upset in the street, like so much refuse, in order to have the filthy thoroughfare cleared for the passage of a mere Chinese viceroy.

I had a small American flag in my pocket, carefully wrapped about its little staff, and I took it out with a great deal of display and waved the tiny emblem around my head. I dared the Chinese servants of the viceroy to touch me or to interfere with my right to pass through the streets of Fu-chow. This had its effect. I noticed at once that the Chinese in the street, who recognized the colors of the United States, fell back from me, our coolies got up out of the dirt, and once more took hold of the poles of the chairs. The viceroy passed on, pretending not to have noticed the incident, and in a few minutes the way was clear again.

Fu-chow was the black-tea port of China at that time, and it had been opened just two years before. It was astonishing at what a rapid pace business of a certain kind swung along in the coast cities of the Far East. In two years several of the Canton houses, representatives of the great shipping and other business concerns of the world, had opened branch offices in Fu-chow. Commercial life there was intensely active and very prosperous.

From Fu-chow I went on down the coast to Hongkong, this being my second visit there. I noticed at Swatow several ships loaded with Chinese slaves destined for the Chincha guano islands of Peru. My destination was Calcutta, so we did not have much time to explore the Chinese coast, much as I should have liked to do so.

CHAPTER XV

I had a letter of introduction from Robert Sturgis to George Ashburner, at Calcutta, and the moment I arrived Mr. Ashburner insisted upon my becoming his guest. I spent three days with him, and have never partaken of such luxurious hospitality elsewhere. It is only man in the Orient who knows how to live fast and furious and get every enjoyment out of his little span of life. I was surrounded by a retinue of servants, who stood ready to answer every beck and call. Service in India being highly specialized, there was a servant for everything. I had a little army of fourteen serving men, four of whom carried my chair, or palanquin, with a relay, a man to serve me specially at table, a punka man, and a man for every other detail of living.

There was something to do and to see every moment of the time. I was taken to all the show-places of the city. The first sight shown to me was the famous Black Hole, where John Z. Holwell and one hundred and forty-six men were incarcerated in a dungeon twelve feet square. One can not escape being told the horrible story, if he visits Calcutta, and I suppose that every one hears the narrative with added adornment, after the true Hindu style. The special point of the story that was thrust at me was the orgy and heavy sleep of the rajah, while his servitors were trying to arouse him to answer the screams of the dying men in the Hole. In the morning, after the rajah had had his beauty sleep, he was told of the little difficulty the English had in breathing in the foul and heavy air of the dungeon, and he ordered them released; but death, lingering, and as heavy-handed and heavy-hearted as the brutal prince, had already released most of them.

One is glad to be told for the ten thousandth time, after hearing this ghastly tale, of the clerk Clive leaving his ledgers and pens and leading an army to crush the wretches at Plassy. But, like most things of the kind, the horrors of the Black Hole have been exaggerated, until sympathy, palled, refuses longer to be torn and bled over imaginary as well as real terrors. There have been many worse catastrophes, and of a nature that should appeal more strongly to the heart. Men, women, and children have gone down in flood and pestilence, free from any stain of wrong, which can not be said of the victims of the Black Hole. We can not forget altogether that they were in India not of right, but as conquerors, and that they were originally, at least, in the wrong. But the sufferers in the Johnstown flood, the thousands who died in the Lisbon, Krakatoa, and Martinique disasters, and other thousands that go down in ships at sea—these innocent victims demand sympathy much more.

It seemed that most of my sight-seeing in Calcutta was to be limited to horrible things. Indeed, the visitor is often hurried from horror to horror, as if he were in some "chamber of horrors" in a museum. I was taken to the burning ghaut, where dead bodies are cremated. I saw some five hundred little fires, which were so many pyres for the dead. I had heard much of the burning of live women in order that they should accompany their dead masters, and out of sheer curiosity asked the guard if there were men only in the fires. For answer, he took a long hook, thrust it into one of the fires, pulled it back and on its prongs brought the charred leg of a man. Immediately birds of prey (adjutants) pounced down upon the smoking flesh and bore it away. These birds are the scavengers of Calcutta, and the special guardians of the ghaut. Cremation is a great economy in India. It costs only half a cent to burn a body.

Another horror shall complete this gruesome part of my story. Being very fond of shrimps, one day I inquired, in a moment of forgetfulness—for it is a safe rule not to ask the source of anything in the East—where and how they got these shrimps. I was taken to the fishing grounds in the mouth of the river, and there saw millions of these prawns flocking, like petty scavengers, about the dead bodies that continually float down the Ganges. Human flesh was their favorite food. This was enough for me. I stopped eating shrimps in India, as I had stopped eating Canton ginger preserves in China.

On the second day of my stay in Calcutta I received cards to the reception given by Lord Dalhousie to Lord Canning, the new Governor-General. Lord Dalhousie, the retiring Governor-General, was dying. In fact he had been dying for months. I shall not go into any description of the exceedingly brilliant reception. It made an ineffaceable impression upon me because of the grouping on that occasion of some of the most splendid of the British administrators and of some of the most daring of their enemies, who were even then plotting revolution and bloodshed. I was introduced to both the passing and the coming Governor-General and to General Havelock, afterwards the gallant fighter at Lucknow. I had the rare privilege of seeing these three men talking amicably with the great Nana Sahib, the leader of the Hindus at Cawnpore.

The voyage from Calcutta to Suez was almost devoid of incident. We put into Madras, a barren, flat, and dismal place, to take on passengers, and then sailed for Point de Galle, Ceylon. At this place I saw, for the first time, elephants employed in carrying and piling heavy timbers. They go about their task with an intelligence that is nearly human, lifting heavy teak timbers and placing them in regular order in great piles. I had not before supposed that any animals possessed so much sense.

Coming down to Aden, two thousand miles from Galle, sleeping with the bulkhead open opposite my berth, one night I felt something slap me in the face. As I was all alone, I did not know what to make of it. There was no light, and I could not see. As soon as I fell asleep another slap came. I had heard about the insects of the tropics, but had no idea they were of such size as to cause these slaps. In the morning, I found out what had been the matter. Nine flying-fish lay dead in my berth.

At Aden, the most barren and gloomy place I have ever seen, we went out to the cantonments, which must have been built thousands of years ago. We hurried up the Red Sea to Suez, and then crossed over by land from Suez, eighty-four miles, to Cairo, with six hundred camels in the caravan. We had coaches carrying six passengers. I have a good idea of what the Sahara Desert is from having seen this desert between Suez and Cairo. Just before we reached Cairo, there was a cry from one of the coaches for us to look up at the sky. There were masts, minarets, and the whole city, in fact, painted on the sky. It was my first sight of the mirage I had heard so much about. We were then half-way from Suez to Cairo.

I put up at Shepheard's Hotel, and immediately arranged to go out to the pyramids, ten miles from Cairo. Fifty donkey boys rivaled one another to get my custom. My donkey started off, and the first thing I knew he was rolling over me in the sand. He had stepped in a gopher-hole, and down he went. Travelers now go out in trolley-cars, eat ice-cream and drink champagne under the shade of the pyramids, and a splendid hotel stands alongside the Sphinx.

In going up the pyramids it took three Arabs, two to push and one to pull, to get me to the top. When we got half-way up, an Arab wanted more bakshish. I talked to him pretty loud in something he didn't understand, and he consented to take me farther. The top of the pyramid of Ghizeh has been taken away, and the pyramid is now about fifteen feet square at the summit. I made up my mind, the moment I saw the pyramids, that these gigantic blocks were not stone, but had been produced by one of the lost arts in preparing concrete. It occurred to me, as the pyramids were hollow to the base, that they had been storehouses for grain, and were not built as tombs for the Rameses and Ptolemies. Humane kings had built them, I thought, in order to employ labor in time of dearth.

As all travelers are told, it was said that a man would go down one pyramid and come up on another in so many minutes. I had seen such a number of "fakes" in my travels that, as I could not tell one Chinaman from another, how should I be able to tell one Arab from another? When this trick was done for me I thought it did not follow that the man on the other pyramid was the man who had been with me.

I was surprised when I left Cairo to find a modern railway, that had been built by Said Pasha. We took the train for Alexandria. At Alexandria we took passage for the Holy Land. The Rev. J. R. MacFarlane, chaplain of Madras, wanted to see Jerusalem and landed at Joppa, or Jaffa, which has become famous for Napoleon's massacre.

In going through the Valley of Sharon, we saw orange and lemon groves, and fruits of all kinds. It was a lovely valley, but all of a sudden we struck into the most desolate country I had ever seen—a mountain, a desert, a wilderness of rocks, ravines and cañons. There were rocks to the right, rocks to the left, and rocks everywhere. My dragoman had a mule and I a donkey. One of these mules had irreverently been named Christ and the other Jesus. To the perfect horror of the clergyman—until he understood that the men could say nothing else in English—the names of the donkeys were spoken with every crack of the whip all the way to Jerusalem. The lashing of those donkeys became a medley of seeming profanity.

A few weeks before, several people had been killed by the Bedouins on the desert. Every one was talking about the dangers of the journey. After we got over this wild district, through the Valley of Jehoshaphat, we came upon a plateau and saw Jerusalem in the distance. Beautiful is that city for situation. Said my companions, at the same instant, "There are the Bedouins!" A half dozen horsemen were coming from the direction of Jerusalem. We feared danger, but Abram the dragoman showed no fear. These men were really not dangerous, being only "barkers" for the hotels of Jerusalem. Neither my companion nor myself had any idea that they were employes of that kind.

One asked if we would go to "Smith's" near Mount Calvary, to "Jones's" near the Via della Rosa, or to another house on the site of Solomon's Temple. MacFarlane said, "Don't notice these people. Leave it to the dragoman." He decided that we should go to Smith's. From that time, until we left, for three days, I saw nothing but humbug and tinsel, lying and cheating, ugly women, sand-fleas and dogs, from Joppa through Ramlah. The one lovely place was an oasis where we stopped for luncheon. Of course this was a long time before Mark Twain went there and wept over the tomb of Adam.

In going through the Valley of Jehoshaphat, up the Mount of Olives, of course I was impressed with what survived of my Biblical education. New England training was still strong in me. The women of Bethlehem, carrying baskets on their heads, with flowing robes of calico, were very beautiful and healthy-looking; but when I got to Bethlehem, and with my farm and cattle experience looked for stalls and mangers, I was, of course, disgusted at being taken down two flights and shown an old wet cave as the place where the Saviour was said to have been born. I have kept the morals of the old Methodists, I hope, but my superstitious notions were disappearing every minute I spent in Jerusalem.

Being in the Holy Land, all the stories I had heard in boyhood came back to me. I thought of Moses's life. I had been taught to obey his commandments, but as a child I saw that he had broken in his own life those which say, thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not commit adultery—had told Aaron, his brother-in-law, to make a golden image, and had got up a trust by means of which he might get all the gold. "Thou shalt do no murder," says the law—but he killed an Egyptian and hid him in the sand. "Thou shalt not commit adultery "—but he committed that sin.

And so on to the end. These commandments were taught by the man who had broken every one of them himself. Aaron, who wished to be included in the gold-corner into which Moses had refused him admittance, sought to make money in some other way, and said, "If we are going for forty years into the wilderness, we shall want salt provisions," and so bought up all the hogs he could find, without letting Moses into the corner. Then Moses spoiled the whole game by the law that no Jews should eat pork! In the Holy Land these things all came into my mind. You can imagine how I felt sixteen years after, when arrested and detained for six months in the Tombs for quoting three columns of the Bible (about which I shall speak later).

At night I wanted my clergyman companion to gain an idea of night scenes in the East. To make sure that we should not be disturbed, I went to the chief of police for a guide to show us Jerusalem by candle-light. We went into a dark alley, back of Mount Calvary and the Via della Rosa, when the man's movements became suspicious. I could not see why a policeman should be so careful where he went. My object had been to see the demi-monde of Syria.

When we got to the door, the policeman tried to shut the door, but I put my foot in the way. I asked MacFarlane if he was armed. He said he had a Madras dagger. MacFarlane was already in the room and I drew him out. "Those are Bedouins," said I; "I could see their pistols and swords." Intuition told me they were murderers. Sixteen persons had been killed in Nablus in '55-'56. The chief of police was the head of the gang. I immediately saw our consul, and there was a meeting of representatives of the foreign powers, and the whole traffic was exposed. In our case they found the men, and after we left they were executed.

CHAPTER XVI

When we got to Smyrna we entered a beautiful bay, somewhat like that of Rio Janeiro, and I went out on the fortified hill that overlooks the city. I saw from the hill that troops were marching on parade, and went off alone to see them. I was told to let my donkey go his own way. He brought me to a place where were about one hundred stone steps, almost perpendicular. I had a little hesitation about going down these steps, but he seemed to know what he was about, and I could do nothing with him but hang on his back. I expected him to tumble, and that would have been the last of me. He didn't miss a step, however, but took me safely to the bottom. I thought of General Putnam's stone-step ride. If he had only had a Turkish donkey he would have missed being a hero.

My donkey seemed to know more than I about the streets of Smyrna, and I gave him the rein. He took me past the sentinels to the parade ground, as he appeared to know the password, and across the parade, which was against regulations. When we arrived at the center of the ground, he began very peculiar operations, as if he had been with Barnum. Here was a donkey that would have made a fortune for a circus. The soldiers were coming up in platoons, when the donkey began to stand on his hind feet, and then on his fore feet. The roar of the advancing regiment convinced me that I was in a tight place. I got off his back and walked alone on the opposite side, and then escaped through a gate. I have never heard of the obstinate animal since.

From Smyrna to Constantinople we passed among famous Greek islands—Rhodes, and Chios, where twenty-two thousand Greeks were killed by the Turks—but we had not time to stop at any of them. At Constantinople I preferred to take passage in a transient steamer, instead of waiting for the Government boat. I stopped here only to see our minister, Carroll Spence, of Baltimore, and then hurried on through the Marmoro Strait and the Bosporus, and into the Black Sea, and there found an immense fleet of transports, from the port of Sebastopol. I was delighted to see alongside of one another three of our Boston clippers, built by Donald Mackay in East Boston, that had brought French troops from France: the Great Republic, Captain Limeburner, the Monarch of the Seas, Captain Gardner, and the Ocean Queen of clippers, Captain Zerega. Ships filled the little bay, bows and sterns touching the shore on one side and the other. Not one could have got out in case of fire.

We immediately got horses to go out to Balaklava, and there I was glad to meet my old friend, Captain Furber, of the Black Ball Line and the Ocean Clipper, who gave me a state-room and all the courtesies of his ship. He had come for the French. Kennard went with the British. Horses and attendants were furnished me by the French generals free of cost.

My object in going to the Crimea was to speculate in munitions of war, which I supposed would be sold for a mere bagatelle. But the armies took their material away with them—English, Russian, Turkish, French, Sardinian—so there was no chance for business there. The British troops were in rags and tatters. Their new uniforms had not arrived, and their shoes were worn out. I went on board one of the clippers and spoke about the shoes not having arrived. "What!" exclaimed the captain; "I am loaded with shoes! I have been here six months." "Have you notified the commissary?" "Yes." What could I do? All this was afterward described by "Bull Run" Russell. He was then the correspondent of the London Times, and so exposed the mismanagement of the war that ships were sent with provisions, uniforms, and everything, after the war was over.

Through the courtesy of French officers, I visited the city of Sebastopol, a ten-mile journey from Balaklava, and saw the twenty-one-gun battery, the Redan, and the Malakoff, and, of course, the ruin of the famous city. I could see the masts of the ships at the entrance of the bay, the fleet that had been sunk by the Russians to block the channel. Here they had crossed in the night to the Star Fort on the opposite side, which was strongly fortified. It would have been almost impossible for the allied armies to interfere with the Russians. They had made up their minds to fight it out to the end.

The French zouave commander got up a banquet for me with twenty of the officers of all the armies—Turkish, French, English, Sardinian, and Russian. I did something to stir up the battle spirit again, and several times almost got them fighting over the table, especially when I asked some question that brought a reply from the zouave general of the Ninety-sixth regiment of Algiers. He rose and said to the Englishmen who had disputed his word: "You were asleep at the Alma, you were late at Inkerman, late at Balaklava, ran from the Redan and at Chernaya." This of course roused the English officers, and we had to pour oil on troubled waters.

There were two princes among the Russians, and of course they were delighted to see the allies fighting among themselves. They helped me in stirring up the quarrel. I made them admit that Todleben's earthworks were a new feature in war—baskets of earth used for forts on the inside of Sebastopol, put up impromptu, and holding these armies so long at bay. In the Redan it was complete slaughter, two thousand persons being killed. MacMahon in the Malakoff saw at once that it was not a close fort, and said, "J'y suis, j'y reste." Speaking of MacMahon, a very singular thing has been suggested. Put together a half dozen faces of French notables—MacMahon, de Lesseps, Alexandre Dumas (père et fils), Victor Hugo, President Faure, and add my portrait, and you could hardly tell which was which.

Tennyson has given to the charge of the Light Brigade at Balaklava the power of his name and genius, but that fight has been a terribly exaggerated affair, so far as massacre was concerned. Only one third was killed, with nearly one half the horses. In our civil war, where a million men were killed, at the cost of a billion dollars, from the firing into Sumter to Appomattox, on both sides, there were many charges where the slaughter was proportionately greater than that. Take Pickett's charge at Gettysburg, where a whole division was mowed down—or Custer's command (with Sitting Bull, in the Black Hills), all massacred, with the exception of one man.

CHAPTER XVII

The day after my arrival in New York, in July, '56—I had been away since February, '53—the Herald had sixteen columns, about three pages, from me in one issue, an amount of space I think that no correspondent before or since has had—either from India, China, or Japan. I had arrived ahead of my own mail. The members of the present staff of the Herald have no idea that the man whom they have looked upon as a lunatic was sufficiently sane to make a big sensation in their paper in July, '56. The present James Gordon Bennett was then only fifteen years old. Frederick Hudson had entire charge of the paper under the elder Bennett. Mr. Bennett, wishing to put his son ahead, pensioned Mr. Hudson, who went into the country to live, and, in crossing a railway track, was killed. Mr. Bennett gave me a very kind reception. He asked if I desired to go to Congress. "No," I said. "Don't you want to publish books?" "Yes, but I am going abroad now, as I am not through with my business in Australia."

Here, at twenty-seven years of age, I had traveled over the world, and had had these great business experiences. I had been called, as a sneering term, "Young America." I kept the name, and used it afterward in all my newspaper work. But Freeman Hunt, of the Merchants' Magazine, who edited my books, changed it to An American Merchant in Europe, Asia, and Australia, thinking the title Young America not dignified enough. This book was a series of letters from Java, Singapore, China, Bengal, Egypt, the Holy Land, the Crimea, England, Melbourne, Sydney, etc. It was published in '57 in New York and London.

From New York I went to Boston, and escaped my first opportunity of going to jail by giving bail bond for $80,000. George B. Upton represented my house in Boston and was in Europe. He was traveling at the time, and his people instructed him to have me arrested for any interest the Barings might have, through open credits, in our firm. Colonel Enoch Train and Donald Mackay signed the bond. The claim was that I had made a lot of money, and had not given to others what was their due. I had never used the Barings' credit out in Australia, and returned to them $50,000. So far as Upton was concerned, I had paid my partner, Captain Caldwell, $8,000 in cash, when he went home in the Red Jacket only a few months after his arrival in Melbourne. This was my first false arrest and legal prosecution. From this time for many years I kept getting into jail, for no crime whatever.

After looking over the accounts in the books for '57, Upton came the next year to me in New York, just as I was going abroad, and said, "We are in a tight place in Boston." Imagine my astonishment when he asked if I was willing that any little account coming to me should be placed to my credit, and used to help him out. Considering that I had been arrested for $80,000, I thought this peculiar. He gave me a credit for £500 on the Barings, however; it seems that $6,000 had been sent to me by the house in Melbourne while I was away. Inasmuch as I have never since inquired how my account stood with Upton, I should like to have his son look at the books, and see what may be due me.

In '56 I took my wife and baby Sue to Paris. I had observed in Europe that the Germans were more far-sighted than we in learning many languages. The bright German boy in a country town is taught French and English, and then sent to Bremen or Hamburg to get the practical education of merchants in great shipping houses. Afterward, he is sent to England to find out other modes of doing business. Then perhaps he establishes a house in New York. I found that German merchants, all over the world, were far ahead of ours, because of their practical training and mastery of languages. Seeing, in my travels around the world, that the German was everywhere, I determined to learn languages, and went to Paris for that purpose.

We took rooms at the Grand Hôtel de Louvre, in the Rue de Rivoli, and I at once went to Galignani, of "The Messenger," to find teachers. Under a Catholic priest, I studied Italian and French at the same time, which may account for my having a little of the Italian accent in my French. I have never known an Italian who was able to master the French accent. I also learned Portuguese and Spanish. This gave me the four Latin languages. I had, in '48, studied German under Gasper Bütts, who came to America during the Revolution of '48 with Carl Schurz. German texts and pronunciation I had to practise every day, but as I have never had a fancy for that language, I have not kept it up. I sent my sons to Frankfort-on-the-Main to learn German, and afterward to Seelig's College in Vevey, Switzerland, in '71, to learn Italian and French. My daughter Sue was sent to Stuttgart, and she is thoroughly acquainted with both German and French.

CHAPTER XVIII

My life in Paris seems now like a romance to my memory. I was twenty-seven, and thought I had seen all the world, but discovered how little I knew, compared with others whom I met. I found, as in all these foreign cities, that notables in society and in public life often did not know one another. At Count Arthur De La More's, of the Orleanist staff, I found the greatest hostility toward the Emperor. One day we were sitting in the entresol, at his rooms on the Rue de Rivoli, opposite the Tuileries, and he asked me whether I could see that man walking on the veranda of the Tuileries. I said I could, to which he replied: "Could one of your sharpshooters pick him off from here?" I looked up with surprise, and thought I saw the future assassin of the Emperor, but said nothing. I told him some of our men like Daniel Boone and David Crockett could have picked off a squirrel as far as they could see it. It was a little while after this that the Orsini bomb was fired at the Emperor. This was because Napoleon, though a member of the Carbonari, had "gone back on" the order; but his life was spared.

Prince Galitzen of Russia gave me a dinner at the Café Philippe, where I met some of the Russian nobility. These men were the cleverest I have ever seen. All were good linguists, artists, statesmen, soldiers, men of the world. At Prince Czartoryski's I met leading Poles, who were still revolutionists, plotting against Russia. One of these, a man of about eighty, said to me: "In my teens I went to St. Petersburg, saw Alexander and told him the condition of Poland. I asked him what he was going to do. He asked me what I should recommend. 'There are two ways of governing Poland,' I said; 'through interest or through fear.' Fear was the policy adopted. When I was forty, I again went to St. Petersburg. Nicholas was Czar, and he repeated the same question. I again answered, 'through interest or through fear.' When I was sixty I met another Emperor, and the same question was put to me, and I made the same reply. Poland is partitioned," he added; "and we are now only a memory."

At Leon Lillo's I met many Spaniards of the nobility and the ruling family. I still think that Lillo was the son of Queen Cristina, by her husband the Duke of Rianzares, a common soldier, of physical beauty, whom she had taken from the ranks and made a Duke. I used to meet him at Lillo's. Cristina, who was then probably the richest woman in the world, had bought Malmaison, the palace of Josephine. It was through this connection that I met Salamanca, the Spanish Rothschild, her banker. I shall speak later of how I got the funds to build the Atlantic and Great Western Railway, connecting the Erie Railway with the Ohio and Mississippi Railway.

At the Marquis del Grillo's I met his wife, the great Italian tragedienne, Ristori, whom I had seen on the stage in "Elizabeth." I met leading men of the Second Empire at the house of the Count de Rouville, including Persigny, the Foreign Minister, Count de Morny, the Minister of War, Walewski, Prince "Plon-Plon," and Mocquard, private secretary to the Emperor. At Triat's Gymnase I met the men who afterward organized the, Commune. At the house of Mrs. Winfield Scott, who was then living in Paris, I met many Americans, and at Castle's I saw "Bohemia."

Meeting all these different persons, distinguished in the great world of Paris, I was gaining the knowledge that would make me a walking library of political affairs in Europe. This made up for the loss of a college career. Practical experience and observation were my university.

That year, '56-'57, was a very important time in my life in many ways. I received an invitation to a ball at the Tuileries, engraved in the usual style, on a card a foot square, and bearing the enormous seal of the Second Empire. For the first time in my life I appeared in borrowed plumes. I hired what I call a "flunkey" suit, and paid forty-five francs for it. In this I was presented. It was not a civil nor a military suit, but a sort of mongrel affair, that served me as a court costume. Of course, my wife appeared in proper evening dress. There were four thousand persons present, the highest in the society of Paris, military and civil—ambassadors in their regalia, regimental officers in their different uniforms, and the aristocracy in their robes. There were also Algerian officers. Although the Tuileries was very large, the four thousand guests found themselves in much crowded rooms.

During this reception and ball I suddenly felt some cold substance going down my back. Putting my hand to my neck, I found there a cupful of ice-cream that an Algerian officer had dropped, with the usual "Pardon, monsieur." I assured him it was all right, but the ice-cream gave me a decidedly boreal feeling.

The ball was in the usual court style, and I shall not undertake to describe it. After some time had passed, all at once there was silence, instead of the terrible hum. It was the presage of something important, I felt sure. The wax candles in the chandeliers burned brilliantly, and we were all on the qui vive to know what was coming. Looking toward the great folding doors at the end of the hall, a lady appeared. It was the age of crinoline, and she must have had a circumference of eight feet. She was the Emperor's favorite, the Countess Castiglione. The sensation she made was tremendous.

I should mention that before this happened I had been presented to the Empress. We were all ranged in diplomatic order for presentation, and when it came my turn she seemed particularly courteous, saying in English to me: "You speak French very fluently." To this I replied: "When I am able to speak French, your Majesty, as well as you speak English, I shall be willing to trust myself in that language. In the meanwhile let me ask you to talk as you prefer." All those presented seemed surprised to see me talking with the Empress, as it was, I believe, unusual for a foreigner and a newcomer to be thus honored. She was very gracious, and made me feel as much at home as if I had been in my own family. The introduction of the crinoline had been made by the Empress before the birth of the Prince Imperial. Anti-Imperialists had been busy gossiping about the coming event, and intimated that it was impossible the Emperor could become the father of a child.

After the Countess Castiglione appeared in such dare-devil fashion, in the presence of the whole court, the Empress appeared in much different mood. The next day she went to England, and became the guest of the Queen for three weeks.

The Italian war was then going on, and I was desirous of mastering the Italian language, in order to carry out certain contracts I had made with the Emperor. McHenry was my partner, and I had written to him that the Emperor wanted a half dozen steamers immediately. The French needed the boats for the transport of provisions. McHenry was in London, and in my letter I told him there was no doubt that the war would eventually be won by France and Italy. This was just after the great battles of Magenta and Solferino. He sent me back this despatch: "La paix est signé." You can imagine my surprise. It shows that the most careful of men sometimes make mistakes.

Mr. Seward, afterward Secretary of State, was in Paris in '56-'57, and I showed him as much of Paris as I dared. There were certain places to which I did not feel authorized to take him, but I managed to make him see a great deal of Paris that would have been sealed to him had he undertaken to go about this microcosmic city without a guide.

Mr. Seward astonished me very much one day by a remark showing his detachment from the great world of European thought and power. I said to him: "Mr. Seward, how would you like to see M. Lamartine?" "Which Lamartine?" he coolly asked, as if there could be more than one. "Why, Alphonse de Lamartine," said I. "There is only one Lamartine in France or in the world." He asked if I knew him. I replied that Lamartine gave receptions twice a week, and that I had attended them during the winter. As there was a reception that day, I asked Mr. Seward if he cared to go. He very gladly accepted the invitation, and we went together.

Lamartine, it will be remembered, married an English lady, a most charming, lovely woman; but he had never learned to speak English. He was like Hugo in this respect, and thought it was not worth while to struggle through the intricacies and difficulties of the spelling and pronunciation. But Madame Lamartine spoke French very fluently and accurately.

I have observed as an invariable rule, from one end of the world to the other, that if one person addresses another in a language the second person does not understand, the talker thinks he can make himself understood by simply bawling out his sentences like a town-crier. Mr. Seward was no exception to this common frailty among mankind. When he saw that Lamartine did not understand his English, he placed his hand over his mouth, and shouted into M. Lamartine's ear. The great Frenchman smiled at each discharge, but could not reply. At last I said, "Mr. Seward, M. Lamartine is not deaf, but he does not understand English. If you will permit either Madame Lamartine or myself to interpret for you, there will be no difficulty." Mr. Seward continued to shout for some time, but finally broke down. Madame Lamartine and I then translated his remarks to Lamartine. After this we got along finely, and a most delightful conversation followed between the two men.

It had been my intention, when I came to Paris, to go on to Australia; but as I passed through the various countries of Europe I saw that the shadow of panic and failure rested upon all. I had, indeed, completed many arrangements for going back to Melbourne, and I had got a letter of credit from the representative in London of the Bank of New South Wales for £20,000; but the project fell through, because of the panics and disasters of the year '57.

In '58—I may mention at this place—I had a few months' leisure on my hands, and decided to give my wife and her stepmother, Mrs. George T. M. Davis, a trip about Europe. We traveled through France, Italy, Austria, and Germany. At Leghorn we went to witness a spectacular exhibition of the storming of Sebastopol. It was a magnificent spectacle, realistic in the extreme. No one was astonished, when, at the very point where the city was taken and the fort blown up, a terrific burst of light appeared. Instantly thereafter we discovered that the explosion had been too real. The theater was ablaze. Of course there was a wild rush for the doors. Panic followed, and while we were crushed and trampled in the press, we got off finally with only severe bruises. The official report next morning gave the casualties as forty killed and one hundred injured; but the Government suppressed the facts. The dead and injured far outnumbered these figures.

We had an experience in Naples which illustrated the every-day use of words by the English that to us are offensive. We were aboard one of the dirty little steamboats that were found in that part of the Mediterranean, and, as the weather was somewhat rough, the bilge water had been shaken about in the night, and a terrible odor pervaded every nook of the vessel. An English nobleman was aboard, and in the morning, wishing to say something agreeable to my wife's stepmother, he said: "Madam, didn't you observe a dreadful stink in your state-room last night?" The blood of all the Pomeroys was fired by this supposed indelicacy. "Sir!" Mrs. Davis retorted, stepping back with great hauteur. I immediately advanced and said, "My dear madam, the gentleman meant no harm. The English prefer that 'nasty' word to something more refined and less shocking. He meant no insult." The Englishman explained; but the lady was not appeased.

At Rome I was astonished to find a delegation awaiting me. I could not make out what it meant, when I was hailed as a "liberator." There were many "liberators" in the Italy of those days; and I supposed they mistook me for Mazzini, or Garibaldi, or Orsini, or some other leader of the people. "Whom do you think I am?" I asked. "Citizen George Francis Train," they said. This was too much for my credulity. What was worse still, they asked me to go with them. I did not know just where they expected me to go, or what they would expect me to do when I got there. Things were pretty black in Italy just then, and I did not desire to be mixed up in "revolutions," or liberty movements, or conspiracies. However, they assured me that it would be all right, and I consented to go. I went through a dark alley, to their meeting place, and was told more things about the revolution than I cared to know or to remember. It was not a healthful kind of knowledge to carry about Italy with one.

But the curious thing about the affair was that here, as everywhere, these people regarded me as a leader of revolts—Carbonari, La Commune, Chartists, Fenians, Internationals—as if I were ready for every species of deviltry. For fifteen years five or six governments kept their spies shadowing me in Europe and America.

From Italy we passed into Austria. At Vienna we had the opportunity, through the courtesy of some friends near the court, of witnessing a splendid celebration by the Order of Maria Teresa, which was the most gorgeous and most beautiful spectacle I think I have ever seen. We soon returned to London, and then came to America, where I was to resume work on projects and enterprises here.

CHAPTER XIX

The Queen had had a large quantity of funds in the old United States Bank that President Jackson smashed, and James McHenry, who was connected with me in many enterprises, learned that she had taken as securities some coal lands in Pennsylvania. I saw the Duke of Rianzares, the guardsman Fernando Muñoz, whom Maria Cristina had fallen in love with and made a grandee of her kingdom, and finally married in '44. He had his headquarters at Lillo's in the Square Clary, and he introduced me to the Queen's secretary, Salerno. I suggested to the Spaniards the advisability of hunting up these coal lands of the Queen. McHenry had already made arrangements for me to go to America with her assistant secretary, Don Rodrigo de Questa, who did not know a word of English. The preliminaries were arranged, and we set out for Liverpool and America.

One of the first of many difficulties into which poor de Questa fell because of his ignorance of English occurred the first day out from Liverpool. The Spaniard, with a fatuous assumption common to Europeans, thought that whenever he failed to find the exact word he wanted in another tongue than his own, all that was necessary was to use French. The Spaniard asked the steward to get him some fish for breakfast. He knew the Spanish word would not answer, and could not think of the English word, though he had tried to master it for some time. He then fell back upon the French, and asked for "poisson." Of course, the steward thought he wanted poison, and reported the matter to headquarters, thinking suicide was contemplated.

De Questa would have had serious trouble but for the thoughtfulness of the steward, who remembered that I was traveling with him and came to me for advice. "When did he ask for poison?" I inquired. "At breakfast-time," said the steward. "Oh, then, he merely wants fish," and I explained as well as I could to an English steward the meaning of the French word.

The English of the ignorant classes look upon French very much as a clergyman does upon profanity, or as a missionary regards the muttered charms and incantations of a "voodoo" priestess. De Questa finally got his fish, but he had long before lost his appetite. This adventure discouraged him so much that he refused thenceforth to try to convey in English, Castilian, or French, any of his desires concerning food, but resorted to the primitive sign language. When he wanted eggs, he would flap his arms together and cackle like a hen that has just laid an egg. The steward who, perhaps, had never seen two square inches of countryside in his life, thought he was imitating a rooster and laughed until he almost had a fit. De Questa nearly starved. He had, at last, to eat whatever he could find, without trying to seek what he wanted. I explained to him that roosters did not lay eggs!

Our destination was Philadelphia. It was there that the Spaniards who were living upon Queen Maria Cristina's property had their headquarters. I found two of them, Christopher and John Fallon, living in fine houses, with something of a court about them. They had control of about forty thousand acres of coal lands belonging to the Queen. This large tract was situated at a place to which the Fallons had given their name, Fallonville. I at once consulted several of the best lawyers of Philadelphia, among them William B. Reed, later Minister to China, and was advised to go immediately to the lands and see what had been done with them. I made an appointment with John Fallon, and we went out to the mines. I can not now recall exactly where they were, but I remember that we passed through a wilderness, after leaving the train that took us from Philadelphia, and that we had a very long drive in carriages. A railway track had been built through the forest to the mines, and it seemed to me about fifteen miles long. I appeared to John Fallon as a foreigner who was interested in mines and in coal lands in particular, but not, of course, as representing the Queen.

As soon as I returned to Philadelphia and reported what I had learned, my lawyers advised me to go back to Paris and report to the Queen. De Questa and I, therefore, returned as soon as possible. McHenry met me in London, and we went on to Paris together. We had a conference with Lillo and with Don José de Salamanca, the Queen's banker, and it was decided that the Queen should take active possession of her immense property at once. I saw that there was a great deal of money in the land, and that there was a fine opportunity for the Atlantic and Great Western Railway, if I could in some way get the use of a portion of this vast coal domain.

I saw also that my connection with the affair had already given me a lever with which I could work to some purpose upon Don José de Salamanca, and that this was the best card to play.

As soon as possible I went to his banking office and asked for a conference. I had learned enough, in my dealings with bankers and financiers, to know that you must approach them on the right side, from the side of money, and not from that of a mere wish. Accordingly I wrote on my card that I wished to propose a loan of $1,000,000. I really came as a borrower, but circumstances permitted me to play the rôle of the lender. I was admitted at once, but if I had asked outright for a loan I should have been shown the door. As soon as I was in his presence I said, without preface: "I have no cash in my pockets, nor would you wish it if I had; but I want to show you something."

"I understood that you wanted to lend me a million," said the Spaniard. "I do not see the million."

"You will, when I explain," I said. "I want to use your credit." (I knew that he had none in London and that he could do nothing there.) "I propose to deposit with you $2,000,000 of the bonds of the Atlantic and Great Western Railway for $1,000,000 of your notes."

I knew that the bait of a credit in London would affect him, as the Spanish bankers had long tried in vain to establish their credit in the financial metropolis of the world.

"Where is this property?" he asked.

I drew a diagram of the property for him, explaining its location and its relation to other properties and enterprises. I told him of the Erie Railway, ending at Olean, and the Ohio and Mississippi Railway from Cincinnati to St. Louis. "There is no connection between these two great highways," I said, "and a highway that will connect them will prove a fortune-maker to every one associated with the project." I explained that there were only four hundred miles between the two, and how I purposed filling in this gap. Between the two ends of the completed railways lay three wealthy States. This road has since been reorganized under the name of the New York, Pennsylvania and Ohio, or as it is colloquially called, the "Nyp. and O." Near Olean now exists a town that has the name of my Spanish friend, Salamanca.

My arguments touched Salamanca, but did not capture him. They paved the way, however, for his complete capitulation a little later. My next step was to go to London and confer with the Kennards, famous bankers of that city. We arranged that a nephew of the Kennards, a son of Robert William Kennard, then a member of Parliament, and an engineer of note, should accompany me to America and go over the entire ground of the proposed route.

We came to New York in October, '57, and shortly after we arrived had a conference at the St. Nicholas Hotel, in Broadway, with the men who were most interested in the proposed road. Maps were exhibited, and the plans fully explained. We then left for Olean, where we were met by the contractor in charge of the road, whose name was Doolittle, by Morton the local engineer, and by General C. L. Ward, the president of the road. The whole party took wagons for Jamestown, forty miles away. At this point we were met by a committee appointed to take care of us and to show us what had been done, and what could be done. This was the program throughout, as we passed on from point to point. Among the men who met us at Jamestown was Reuben E. Fenton, who had just been elected Representative in Congress from that district, and was afterward Governor and United States Senator. The line of the road was followed as far as Dayton, Ohio, where it was proposed to connect with the Cleveland and Cincinnati Railway.

At Mansfield there was a great gathering in honor of the occasion. The committees of the three States—New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio, were present, and there was speech-making. I made a speech, which is printed in full in "Spread-Eagleism," published in '58. Judge Bartley, afterward famous on the Federal bench, was chairman of the meeting. I asked if there were not some one present from Ohio who could give us a clear statement as to what we could expect. Judge Bartley called on "Mr. Sherman." A tall, spare man arose. It was John Sherman. He made a speech that was clear, direct, and forcible. Among the other speakers were Robert E. Schenck, of "Emma Mine" fame, who had been elected to Congress recently, and Senator Benjamin F. Wade.

Just before the close of the meeting I introduced Thomas Kennard, the civil engineer, and told the crowd that the road was to be built, and that it would be aided by the money of Queen Maria Cristina of Spain and the great Spanish banker, Salamanca.

I made a report in London of the work accomplished in America, and at once began to purchase material for the road. I sought out Mr. Crawshay Bailey, then a member of Parliament, and a great Welsh iron-master, and he invited me to dine with him and his wife. He had just married a charming young lady. At dinner, I found that Mrs. Bailey spoke French very fluently and that Mr. Bailey did not understand a word of it. So I asked permission of the iron-worker to carry on a conversation in French with Mrs. Bailey. This delighted him very much, for he liked to see that his wife was mistress of a language of which he did not know a single word. This subtle flattery of his judgment and taste so pleased him that I was able to close a bargain with him for 25,000 tons of iron at $40 the ton—$1,000,000—pledging for the debt bonds of the Atlantic and Great Western Railway, at two to one. This was the first great purchase made after the panic of '57.

My second purchase was made from the Ebwvale Company, of Wales. Through Manager Robinson I negotiated for 30,000 tons of iron at $40 the ton—$1,200,000—pledging bonds of the road at two to one, as with Bailey.

I have already spoken of Salamanca, the Spanish Rothschild, and how I had tried to obtain his notes for $1,000,000. I finally succeeded in getting this loan, pledging $2,000,000 bonds of the road as security. At this time, no Spanish securities had been negotiated in Lombard Street for years. It was highly necessary for me that these notes of Salamanca should be negotiated. I went to Mathew Marshall, Jr., of the Bank of London. He was the son of the old Mathew Marshall who had signed the notes of the Bank of England for fifty years. I asked him what $50,000 of the notes of Salamanca would be accepted at by the bank. He replied that they would not be accepted at all. "No Spanish paper can be used in London," he said.

I then had recourse to a scheme that I had previously worked out with some degree of elaboration. I asked Marshall if he would not oblige me by telling me, as a friend, what sixty-day bills of the kind I held would be worth if they could be used. He said they should be handled at six per centum. I telegraphed immediately to McHenry, in Liverpool, as follows: "Marshall will not touch this paper under six per cent. Will Moseley" (the big financier there) "do it for five?" McHenry answered that Moseley would not handle it for less than Marshall's rate, but would take $50,000 at six per centum.

Upon the strength of this, four hundred miles of railway were built, through three great States, opening up a vast territory, and bringing in fortunes to a large number of men. My arrangement with McHenry was that I was to receive £100,000 as commission. No papers were signed, but I asked McHenry to give me a paper settling $100,000 on my wife, Willie Davis Train, which was done. After the road was built, Sir Morton Peto came over from England with some London bankers, on McHenry's invitation. McHenry believed in playing the part of a prince when it came to giving an entertainment, and he invited the visitors to a banquet at Delmonico's, then at Fourteenth Street and Fifth Avenue. It cost him $15,000.

As I had not yet secured my commission, I thought this was a good time to collect it, and instructed my lawyer, Clark Bell, now of No. 39 Broadway, to present and press my claim. McHenry was so afraid he would be arrested while these moneyed men were with him that he settled at once, giving me his notes at four months for the balance due. Gold was very high at this time, being $1.90, and as the notes were on London, I found they could be negotiated through McHenry's agents, McAudrey & Wann. It happened that these agents had lost some $7,000 on information that I had given to them about the result of the battle of Gettysburg; so I agreed to reimburse them for the loss, if they would cash the notes at once, which they did.

This was in '66, and a singular thing happened. When the notes fell due in London on the 6th May, that comparatively small amount of gold precipitated something of a panic in the unsteady market of the day. Everything went with a crash. Moseley, the banker of Liverpool, failed for a large sum; Lemuel Goddard, of London, followed with a loss of as much more; Lunnon & Company failed for a greater amount; McHenry for some millions; Sir Morton Peto for other millions; and Overend, Gurney & Company for another large amount. This showed to me the real shallowness and insubstantiality of the great world of finance. It is built upon straw and paper. The secret of its great masters and "Napoleons" is nothing but what is known among other gamblers as "bluff."

CHAPTER XX

I was in Liverpool at the time the Niagara arrived there for the purpose of laying the Atlantic cable, and suggested giving a banquet to Captain Hudson and Commander Pennock, who was my cousin, and to the other officers, at Lynn's Waterloo Hotel. This old landmark, the resort of American ship-captains for many years, was torn down long ago. At this time a letter came to Captain Hudson from the Grand Duke Constantine, of Russia, who had arrived at Dover in his yacht, the Livadia, thanking him for granting permission for three Russian officers to witness the laying of the cable.

In this little incident I saw an opportunity for visiting Russia in a semi-official capacity, enabling me to see that country to much better advantage. I said to Captain Hudson that I should like to carry his answer to the Grand Duke. He replied that no answer was required, and that, besides, the Grand Duke had returned to St. Petersburg. I assured him that strict courtesy demanded an acknowledgment of the letter, and that it would make no difference to me about the Grand Duke being in St. Petersburg, as I expected to visit that city. So I persuaded him to let me take an answer to the Russian Prince. I suggested the phrasing of the letter. The Grand Duke was informed that I was visiting Russia for the purpose of seeing the Nijnii Novgorod fair, and that the United States was always glad to do anything that helped to repay Russia for her long friendship.

I immediately started for London, where I called on the American Minister, George M. Dallas. Mr. Dallas was very courteous, but he evidently wanted to have the opportunity of handing the letter to the Grand Duke himself. He offered to see that the communication was expeditiously and properly transmitted. "But," I said, "I desire to take it in person." I next called on John Delane, who was long the editor of the London Times, and he asked me to write him some letters from Russia. Then I left London for The Hague.

I met at The Hague Admiral Ariens, to whom I had been introduced by Captain Fabius of the Dutch man-of-war, some years before, at Singapore. From Holland I went through Germany, visiting Stettin, where I saw the beginnings of those great ship-yards that are now sending out the greatest and fastest vessels on the seas. I took a steamer from Stettin for St. Petersburg.

At the Russian capital I called at once on our minister, Governor Seymour, of Connecticut. Mr. Seymour made the same suggestion that Mr. Dallas had made. He wished to transmit the letter to the Grand Duke. But I was not to be deprived of the final triumph of my schemes. I told the Minister that I had come all the way from Liverpool, and that it was my purpose to hand the letter to the Grand Duke, if I had to travel all over the Russian empire to do it. I was informed that it was not the season for seeing this high official, as he had left the city and was at his country residence, at Strelna.

My answer to this was, in true Yankee fashion, "Where is Strelna?" I was told that it was just below Peterhof. Then I was advised not to try to see the Grand Duke on that day, as it was Saturday. I resolved to go at once to Strelna, without regard to official days, as I had long since discovered that the only way to do a thing of this sort was to do it straightway. I got a fast team, and was taken out to the Grand Duke's palace.

I found the residence situated in the midst of an immense forest park, and sentinels guarded every avenue of approach. These stopped me at every turn, but at every challenge I showed the letter to the Grand Duke and told my errand. I was passed on and on, until I was inside the palace itself. Here I was met by a gentleman in the long frock coat the Russians affect, with his breast covered with military orders. He offered, as soon as I told him my errand, to take the letter to the Grand Duke; but I merely said that it was my purpose to hand it to him in person. I now began to fear that it would require some little time to get into the presence of this high dignitary. I expected to be put off for several days, and then to end up against a secretary or an aide-de-camp, who would finally have me meet some one very near the Grand Duke, but not the Grand Duke himself.

I was at last shown by this military-looking gentleman into a reception room of the most spacious proportions. I sat down and prepared to wait for a secretary or aide-de-camp, when, suddenly, the door flew open, and, with a rapid step, a handsome, delicate-looking gentleman advanced toward me. I rose, and again went through the tiresome explanation that I had a letter for the Grand Duke, which I should like to hand to him in person, and so on, and so on. I expected to receive the reply that this gentleman would be greatly pleased to relieve me of the trouble, and was prepared to answer rather severely that I wished to hand the letter to his Grace myself. He said, with a gracious smile, which played like a dim light over his pale features, that he would see that the Grand Duke received the letter. "But," I said, "I must hand it to him myself." "Is it necessary?" he asked, with his faint smile. "It is," I replied as firmly as I could.

He stepped back a little, and said, with a bow, "I am the Grand Duke." I almost sank into the chair with surprise. As soon as I recovered my composure, I handed him the letter, which I now felt to be a very small affair for so much ceremony and trouble.

While I was waiting for the Grand Duke to read the letter, two great dogs came into the room, from different directions, and immediately began fighting. The Grand Duke said something in Russian, which showed that he at least knew how to speak commandingly. The great beasts, with drooping tails, slunk from his presence like whipped children.

The Grand Duke Constantine was a younger brother of the Czar, and was a man of many accomplishments. He spoke with ease and grace seven languages, and his English was quite as grammatical and exact as my own. The Grand Duke, as soon as he had read the letter, called in his aide-de-camp, Colonel Greig, and said that the colonel would see to it that all my needs were attended to immediately, and expressed the wish that he might see me on my return from Nijnii. "I should like to know what you, as an American, think of Russia."

Colonel Greig took me to the residence of his mother, the widow of Admiral Greig of the Russian navy, who lived just opposite Kronstadt. We were driven over in a troika, or droshky, with one horse trotting in the middle and one on each side, in full gallop. It was the most delightfully exhilarating drive I had ever taken, and I still think that the troika is the most attractive of all vehicles. At the Greigs' I was treated with the utmost consideration, and was a guest at a banquet the first night I was there. When I came to prepare for this function, I remembered that I had no change of clothes with me, as I had come out from St. Petersburg in a great hurry.

In this dilemma, I turned to Colonel Greig and explained that it was not possible for me to attend the banquet as I had no dress clothes with me. He looked me over, and replied: "I think we are about the same size. Suppose you try one of my suits?" I accepted the offer at once, and found that his suit fitted me as well as my own. The banquet was a great affair, with a vast concourse of "skis," "offs," "neffs," and so on—little tag-ends of words by which one may tell a Russian name, even if it were possible not to tell it from its general appearance and sound without them.

After a few days at the Greigs', I left for Moscow, where I was received by Prince Dombriski, brother-in-law of the Emperor. The old city of Moscow impressed me more than any other city of Europe. It seemed to belong to quite another world and to a different civilization. There is something primitive and prehistoric about it—elemental in its somberness and in its grandeur. I was astonished to find in the Kremlin a portrait of Napoleon at the battle of Borodino.

In going from the capital to Moscow over the straight line of railway, I heard much of the way that the Czar Nicholas had built the road. It is said that he summoned to him his chief contractor and engineer, Carmichael, and asked him to make specifications for the line as arranged for between the two cities. The Czar confidently expected that he was being deceived about all matters of this kind, and was prepared for fraud in this enterprise. Carmichael drew up elaborate specifications, which Nicholas saw at once were entirely too elaborate, and gave abundant room for "pickings." He turned to Carmichael and asked if the specifications were all right. Carmichael assured him they were. "All right, then," said Nicholas, "I shall turn them over, just as they are, to Major Whistler." The Major was the uncle of the famous artist of to-day. Whistler built the road on Carmichael's specifications, and made a fortune, which has been the foundation of a half dozen family estates—the Winans, Harrison, Whistler estates, et al.

I observed a peculiar effect of the direct method of the Czar in building a straight road to Moscow. All the big cities and even the prosperous and important towns had, without exception, been left at varying distances from the line of railway. At the little stations on the route the Russians would get off and get hot water in samovars and make tea, each of them carrying a supply of tea in bricks, with square loaf sugar in their pockets.

Nijnii Novgorod I found a wonderful city. There, on the "Mother" Volga, as the Russians call it, I saw the origin of all the world's fairs and expositions, in this great fair, at which the nations of a world unknown to Europe and America assemble for traffic and barter. More than 100,000,000 rubles, or, roughly, $50,000,000, change hands in six weeks. There the traveler, who is too indolent or too poor to see the remote tribes of the earth, may have all these strange and outlandish races come to him, on the banks of the Volga. It was a marvelous experience to me, and I considered it as well worth a trip around the world to see Nijnii Novgorod alone.

Some time afterward, when I was in England, I received a letter from Baron Bruno, the Russian Ambassador, enclosing a letter from Colonel Greig, the aide-de-camp of the Grand Duke Constantine. He said that the Grand Duke had read my book, Young America Abroad, with interest. The Grand Duke, he said, was greatly pleased with my descriptions of Russia, with my exposure of the Crimean fiasco, and with my predictions as to the future development and greatness of the country. He added that the Russian Government would like to have me visit the region of the Amur, Petropauloffski and Vladivostok, and to make a report of the prospects of far-eastern Siberia.