It so happened that we spent Sunday here. Sunday at Tallulah! To us it seemed that the day was more than usually sacred. We had a clergyman with us - why not have religious services in the chasm at the falls? At the top of the Oceana Falls was just the place, the granite here breaking into regular joints and forming steps in an amphitheater on which we sat within sound of the roar of the falls and surrounded by grand cliffs. Mr. Porter was a man of rare culture and taste; the invocation, the hymns, the prayer, and the sermon were all in wonderful keeping with the scene, and the effect was really powerful. There was some tittering among the girls at first, but it was soon succeeded by a solemn silence. The ladies sang and I accompanied them on the flute, while the roaring falls made a deep bass that harmonized with the thin clearness of the feminine voices and the soft breathings of the flute. I remember well the text of the sermon; it was the scene of Elijah at Mount Horeb, when the Lord was not in the storm, nor in the earthquake, nor yet in the fire, but in the still small voice heard in the heart of man.

        Another time we all went down by moonlight and sat on the "Devil's Pulpit," so called,

but really God's pulpit for those who have ears to hear; and the ladies sang while I played on the flute. The holy stillness sank deep into our hearts. All enjoyed it, but I most of all, I think. Mr. Porter stood on the Pulpit and recited Coleridge's Hymn to Mont Blanc with really thrilling effect. His feeling for literature, and especially for poetry, was certainly a real culture to me.

        Such experiences of course fed the flames of love in me, but I was distressingly uncertain whether Bessie's heart was touched. Whether she had begun to suspect my love I could not certainly tell, but I thought so, for she was shy in my presence and even avoided me. Yet she did not seem displeased. I determined to settle matters as soon as I saw her under her own roof.

        We left Beal's with great reluctance. We had made friends with everybody and everything there; with the pompous, good-natured Beal, with his gentle, patient wife, with Rollo, Tallulah, and Magnolia, even with Beal's dogs and Mrs. Beal's cats. We went directly to the Toccoa Falls, but remained there only a few hours. It is a beautiful fall of a hundred and eighty feet of a considerable stream, but lacks

the grand scenery characteristic of Tallulah. Still our luncheon place, a deep dell at the foot of the fall, thickly overgrown with moss and ferns, wet with eternal spray, was delightful and refreshing.

        From Clarkesville, which we reached in the afternoon, we went on next day to Athens, where we remained several days visiting my brother John, who had become professor of physics and chemistry in Franklin College. Thence we went onward by rail and stage to Midway, arriving there about the middle of September.

        The fateful day came at last. It was Sunday, the twentieth of September. A cousin whom I asked to help me was astounded, having never dreamt of such a thing, but arranged that I could walk to church with Bessie that evening and gave her a hint of what was coming after the service. I was by no means certain of the result, and need not say how anxious I was, or how I blundered, saying the things I ought not to have said and leaving unsaid the things I ought to have said. I shall not attempt any account of what took place. Suffice it to say that her acceptance was conditioned on her father's will. This was all I could expect; it

assured me of her consent - what could I desire more?

        We became engaged and agreed to marry in January, and after a month in Midway I went down to the old homestead to remain until that time. Heretofore in all my visits to Liberty I had devoted much time and energy to hunting, but this time I could think of nothing but the coming January. Early in the month I went to Macon and there impatiently awaited the appointed time, writing to Bessie every day. We were married at eight o'clock in the evening of January 14, 1846, by the Rev. John Baker. As is usual on such occasions, the groom was uneasy, awkward, nervous, with a painful sense of being unnecessary, the bride, calm, quiet, and dignified, as if conscious of her importance. But enough - all I need to say is that my hopes of happiness have been much more than realized. Our love has grown stronger and more tender to the present time, after a married life of fifty-four years.

        I have referred to love and marriage as the second great crisis in my life. These two; but there may be love without marriage, and, alas, marriage without love. Love and marriage are necessary supplements of each other, and must

be combined to produce the highest spiritual growth. Love, romantic love, inflames the imagination and esthetic sense, and kindles the sense of beauty in the human person, in art, and in literature. But this is not enough; marriage is necessary to bring about another kind of love: that of the heart and affections, unselfish, self-effacing, wedded love. The first grows up quickly, but as quickly sheds its flower, unless supplemented by wedded love, which continues and grows to the end of life, not destroying but only chastening the extravagances of the former. The one may be likened to the Greek spirit, with its intense love of beauty and intense enjoyment of life, physical and temporal, but adding the apotheosis of woman, which it derives from the Teuton; the other, to the Christian spirit of self-sacrifice, with the addition also of the apotheosis of woman in the form of virgin-worship. The one ideal must not displace the other either in the individual or in society; the two, the Greek and the Christian, must be united. They are united in every true marriage; they are becoming so in every enlightened modern society.

        A few days after our wedding we went to Macon and thence to the old homestead in Liberty,

where we stayed during the winter. I have since thought that I should then, while still "foot-loose," have taken my wife to Europe. I did indeed offer to do so, but we were too happy in each other to care for much else and at that time did not appreciate the importance of foreign travel. The first year was spent, therefore, in simple enjoyment of life and mutual love. In the latter part of spring we visited Midway and Macon, and then went for the summer to Indian Springs, Rowland Springs, and Major Freeman's, a large farmhouse in the fertile limestone region of northwest Georgia. Here there was a very choice company, and we spent several months in the delightful place, riding, hunting, swimming, etc.

        In October I took my wife back to her home and her mother's care, and on the tenth of December, 1847, our first child, a daughter, was born. Oh, the joy and yet the strangeness of fatherhood! the softness, the tenderness, the helpless beauty of new motherhood! These are too sacred to touch on further.

        Three weeks later I went again to Liberty to become the administrator of my brother William's estate for his widow and minor children, a position that I continued to hold until the

children were grown and married. On the way I stayed one night in Savannah with Lewis, who was just recovering from the measles. I had never had the disease, but as I had frequently visited measled patients in New York without ill effect, I considered myself immune, and went in and conversed with Lewis half an hour. But the measles got me this time! In Macon on the day before the one that I had fixed for my return to Midway I was taken with a high fever, and for ten days afterward could not leave my bed. It was an awful disappointment to be separated from my wife and child, whom I longed intensely to see, and in my impatience I got up much too early. The attack was a severe one and left me in bad condition, with slow fevers and a ravenous appetite, but without the power of assimilating my food. My hair fell off, and this was the beginning of my baldness. It was several years before I regained my former vigor, if indeed I ever did.

        Since my graduation in 1841, with the exception of the two years spent in New York in medical study, I had simply drifted about and enjoyed life, as I thought, in a noble way. My ideal was culture, physical, mental, and moral, simply for the sake of culture. This is a high

ideal, but not the highest. If one can afford it, as I could, and the life is not continued too long, it is well. It has a wonderfully rounding and broadening effect, and I do not regret the six years so spent. In connection with this matter I call to mind the contrast between the two friends Meister and Werner, in Goethe's Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship. The roving good-for-naught and the industrious merchant meet after a separation of two years; and in the description of the broad brow, clear eye, and free step of the one as contrasted with the narrow, careworn face and stooping shoulders of the other, there is a real touch of nature.

        Such a life, then, is all well enough for a few years, but I had had as much of it as was good for me. When a man has a wife and child his view of life changes; he must become a worker in the social hive. I could not live on my plantation, as my father did and as I had at one time intended to do, for this would have been at the sacrifice of the pleasures of life for my wife, of ambition for myself, and of health for our children. I had to practise my profession.

        I decided to settle in Macon, rented a house and an office, and began the practise of medicine. I lived there two years and a half, until

July, 1850. In 1849 I built a house and for the first time owned my own home. For a year, while I was clearing off the debt incurred by building, we lived on very little, some six or seven hundred dollars - excellent discipline for us who had always had what we wanted.

        In 1849 the Macon Medical Society was founded, and before it I read the first paper I ever wrote, one entitled The Science of Medicine. It was published in the Southern Medical and Surgical Journal for August, 1849. In this same year also I assisted in the organization of the Georgia State Medical Society, whose first meeting was held in Macon. In 1899 the golden anniversary of this society took place and I was made an honorary member.

        In practise I met with moderate success but the teaching of two or three medical students interested me far more than practise. The fact is that my tastes were far more scientific than practical, and perhaps more than most persons would have I felt my want of adequate preparation for undertaking the awful responsibilities of a medical practitioner. Evidently I had not found my right place; I was not working in the line of my best powers, and suffered greatly

from a sense of having wasted my life. It was the only time that I was really unhappy; and I know of no unhappiness equal to this sense of a wasted life. No one knew my feeling, least of all my wife; I acknowledged it to myself only during long solitary walks in the woods.

        Finally, in the spring of 1850, my cousin Lewis Jones, who had come to Macon to attend the meeting of the State Medical Society and stayed at my house, told me his purpose of becoming a pupil of Agassiz, who had been made professor of geology and zoology in Harvard. I heartily joined in his plan, our object being special preparation for the teaching of these subjects.

        About this time Dr. Nottingham, an old and distinguished physician who had just settled in Macon, made me an offer of partnership. It was undoubtedly a tempting one; I had large family connections and he had large experience; we should certainly have been successful. It was now or never, if I was to make medicine my life-work. I decided not to accept. I had found my vocation. I broke up, sold out, left Macon, and went to Cambridge in August, 1850.

CHAPTER V
STUDY WITH AGASSIZ

        On the way to Cambridge I attended the meeting of The American Association for the Advancement of Science, in New Haven, and became a member. I then became acquainted with many scientific men who became my life-long friends, among them Agassiz, Guyot, Dana, Hall, Peirce, Bache, Henry, and William B. and Henry D. Rogers, every one of whom is now dead.

        I arrived in Cambridge in August. The college did not open until October, but that did not matter to me, as I went to Harvard simply to study with Agassiz. He was in Cambridge, and Dr. Jones and I went right to work. The first task Agassiz set us was very characteristic of the man. He thought a while, then pulled out a drawer containing from five hundred to a thousand separated valves of Unios, of from fifty to a hundred different species, all mixed together, and said, "Pair these valves and classify into species; names no matter; separate the species." He left us alone, very severely alone. We worked on those shells for one whole week, the professor looking at our work from time to time but making no remark. Finally we told him that we had done the best we could; he examined the results carefully and

was much pleased. It so happened that just then there entered the room a friend of his from Europe, Ampère, the son of the great electrician. He introduced us and remarked that these pupils of his had just amended correctly the classification of Lea, the great authority on Unios.

        I give this only as an example of his method of teaching. He consistently carried it out, with some modifications. He set us tasks, and we worked unaided save for a hint here and there. As we became better acquainted, however, finding us already well advanced in thoughtfulness, he often gave us long talks, expounding his biological philosophy and inviting discussions, which we were not slow to accept. He thus scattered unpublished thoughts and suggestions broadcast on all sides with a free hand.

        There are two types of great men: those of one class are great by the quantity and importance of their work, but when one comes in contact with them and measures them intellectually, they seem of ordinary stature - their work is greater than themselves, though surely patience and persistence are admirable qualities that should be added to their work in estimating

their greatness; those of the other class, the nearer they are approached the greater they grow - they are themselves greater than all their visible results. These are the great teachers; their spirit and enthusiasm are contagious; their personality is magnetic. They not only think intensely, but they are the cause off thought in others. Agassiz was preeminently of this latter class. To explain how much I owe to him, it is only necessary to say that for fifteen months I was associated with him in the most intimate personal way, from eight to ten hours a day, and every day, usually including Sundays. I was his companion in all of his excursions; geological, with Hall in the fossiliferous fields of New York, and zoological along the shores of Massachusetts and on the reefs of Florida.

        This last excursion was so important as to justify dwelling upon it. The Straits of Florida are probably the most dangerous to navigation in the world, owing mainly to the coral reefs of that region. Professor Bache, of the United States Coast Survey, asked Agassiz to investigate the laws of growth of these reefs. His expenses and those of his assistants were to be paid, and he offered to take us

and his son Alexander, then sixteen, as his assistants. Here was a grand opportunity! But my second daughter, Sallie, "the little Yankee," as we playfully call her, had been born in November in the house in which we were living on the Harvard campus, and I questioned whether I could leave my wife and children. Oh, the pain, the distress, the pity of it! My wife urged me not to let slip such an opportunity, however, and I accepted. We started on her birthday, the first of January.

        While in Charleston awaiting the departure of the steamer for Key West, I had a long talk with a Cambridge friend on the subject of slavery. He was greatly impressed by what I said but not convinced. I left him with the remark, "You stay in the South this winter; I will see you again next spring in Cambridge; tell me then what you think." I did see him again in Cambridge in June, and he then retracted all his previous objections and agreed with me entirely. I might give the details of my arguments, but they are substantially embodied and brought up to date in my article on The Race Problem in the South, in the volume Man and the State, published in 1892 by the Ethical Association of Brooklyn, N. Y.

        I can not dwell - as I would like to - on the voyage to Key West. I enjoyed it all intensely; the weather so soft and balmy; the sea so calm and smooth, the water of the Gulf Stream rivaling the sky in blueness; the sharks in multitudes following the boat behind and piloting it in front, plainly seen in the clear water, now darting ahead and now falling back to their previous positions; the flying-fish, rising in swarms, their vibrating fins glittering in the sun, then, after a flight of a hundred yards or so, falling back in showers; the purple and blue Physalias with their long tentacles floating so gracefully; the coral-trees and coral-heads plainly visible as we steamed rapidly by close to the reef - I never in my life was so delighted.

        Five or six days after leaving Cambridge we reached Key West. We had left in a snowstorm, everything being locked in ice and covered with snow; here we swam in the ocean every day and slept without covering and with the windows wide open; the change was delightful. I remember well being awakened the first morning by a clattering sound. I thought it was the delicious pattering of rain on the roof. But no, the sun was shining brightly; it was the

noise of the breeze in the cocoanut leaves. The impression was exquisitely tropical.

        We were incessantly at work; sometimes visiting the reefs in a Government steamer; sometimes exploring the Everglades in one direction, sometimes the Tortugas in the other; but always observing, noting, and gathering specimens. The collections were enormous, for the whole population, especially the sailors, three or four hundred in number, collected for Agassiz. The keen delight, the almost childish glee of Agassiz when anything new was brought to him pleased these children of nature immensely. "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." Sometimes for several days in succession we would be out all day on the reefs collecting, generally waist-deep in the water; then for several days in our workroom on the wharf at Key West we would study our specimens with microscopes, draw, and pack away. In the evenings we would gather in Agassiz' room, and discuss the day's work and the conclusions to be drawn therefrom. I never saw any one work like Agassiz; for fourteen hours a day he would work under high pressure, smoking furiously all the time. The harder he worked, the faster he consumed cigars.

        The longest of our excursions from Key West was on the Coast Survey steamer, of which John Rodgers, afterward admiral and Superintendent of the Naval Observatory at Washington, was captain. Very intelligent and a keen observer of nature, he was of the greatest service to us in many ways, especially by suggesting points for investigations. We steamed close along the reef, stopping from time to time and taking a rowboat for closer observations, and often getting out and wading waist-deep on the reef, climbing among the coral-trees and over the coral-heads. We especially and carefully examined the structure of the little islands just commencing to form on the reef and not yet inhabited, particularly of Sand Key, which had been cut into to lay the foundations of a lighthouse. Next we examined the structure of the larger islands or true keys; and then that of the mangrove islands, which we found to be of entirely different character and origin. After examining the limestone ridge that forms the southern coast of Florida, we went by boat up the Miami River, which cuts through the higher rim and drains the Everglades, to study the structure of the Everglades and that of their hummocks. Thence we returned, visiting several

other keys on the way back to Key West. There we examined the collection we had gathered, made all necessary drawings, and packed selected specimens in alcohol.

        Another important expedition was made by sailing vessel, Captain Frye, to the Marquesas Islands, and thence into the Dry Tortugas. Here was stationed a company of marines, and we were of course entertained at the fort. The day after our arrival Agassiz sent Dr. Jones and me on the ship to examine a little island about ten miles away, while he and Alexander remained at the fort. We soon examined the island, but were becalmed and lay there anchored all the next day with not a breath of wind. The water was about twenty feet deep and so clear that the waving of sea-fans and switch corals (Gorgonias) and the gorgeously colored fish swimming among their branches were almost as distinct as if there had been no water at all. What a beautiful place for a dive! No sooner said than done. I stripped, plunged head foremost from the deck, and easily reached the bottom, from which I tore Gorgonias and sponges that on rising I handed to the sailors. While I was thus amusing myself, an old-style naturalist who had joined our party for this excursion,

much to the disgust of Agassiz as I thought, came paddling around the ship in a little boat. He was a poky old fellow, and was slowly paddling and peering over the gunwale in an aimless way. I gave the wink to the sailors, who were looking on, took hold of the keel of the boat behind, lay on my back with my legs under the boat and my head hidden by the stern, and began to swim backward. The boat began mysteriously to move the wrong way. The "Professor," as he called himself, paddled more strongly, but the boat continued to move backward. He became alarmed - some devil-fish was running away with him! He peered over the gunwale and over the bows, but saw nothing. He now paddled frantically, his strength increased by terror; but still the boat moved backward! At last the laughter of the sailors, no longer restrainable, revealed the situation to him. He looked over the stern, and I, fearing a retributive blow of the paddle on my head, let go and swam away, convulsed with laughter. After the first flush of anger he took the joke in good part and joined in the fun. I continued to swim and dive and play in the water for several hours, enjoying it greatly.

        The next day we were still becalmed and became

uneasy, as Agassiz might want us at the fort. About midday, therefore, Captain Frye sent us back in an open boat, rowed by two sailors. On the way I made an interesting observation: About half way to the fort the boat grounded on the level, densely growing prongs of a coral grove (Madrepora). The prongs were very thickly crowded, were all on nearly the same level, and were all dead for about three inches. It was exactly the phenomenon of a clipped hedge. The coral tips were killed every year by the depression of the water level. I afterward used this as a basis for estimating the rate of coral growth, the mode being given in my Elements of Geology, page 147, and in the American Journal of Science, 1875, x, 34-36. While I was gone Agassiz also had made some observations on Meandrina for the same purpose. Next day the wind sprung up, the schooner returned, and we sailed for Key West, stopping again at the Marquesas on the way back.

        The scientific results of this visit to the Keys of Florida I do not give here, because they were published by Agassiz in the Report of the Coast Survey for 1851. Some extensions of my own were read before the American Association for

the Advancement of Science in 1856, and published in their Proceedings * and in the American Journal of Science for January, 1857. ** This was my first really scientific paper.

        While at Key West I became intensely interested in the wreckers and the wrecking schooners. Partly from the narrowness of the straits between Key West and Cuba, through which the Gulf Stream runs, partly from the variable rate and direction of that current, but mainly from the presence of the reefs, there are probably more wrecks here than in any other place in the world. The town of Key West, then the largest town in Florida, having about twenty-five hundred inhabitants, was built up wholly on the wrecking business. There seemed to be no other reason for its existence, the island being a barren coral limestone, with almost no soil at all, so that nothing eatable grows there except cocoanuts. All foodstuffs except what the sea gives - an abundance of the finest fish and green turtles - are brought from the mainland of the United States or from Cuba. The manner of growth of the town was doubtless somewhat as follows: First came the wreckers - from three

to four hundred of them - to prey upon the carcasses of dead ships; then came the merchants and traders to prey upon the wreckers; then came the doctors and the lawyers to prey upon both the traders and the wreckers; and last came the clergy of all denominations to pray for all! The wrecking vessels are the finest models I have ever seen for speed and for close sailing to the wind. They are built deep behind and barely resting on the water in front, with raking masts and an enormous spread of canvas. All this is necessary, because there is a prize for the vessel that reaches the wreck first. There may be a wreck during the night - in the early morning, immediately on getting the news, the whole fleet of wreckers, like a flock of white-winged vultures, bears down upon the hapless ship. It is a beautiful sight, and the race is eagerly watched.

        About half of our time was spent on the steamer observing and collecting, and half on shore examining, drawing, and packing away. Our evenings on the steamer around the dining-table after dinner were very enjoyable, as besides our party and the ship's officers there were on board several scientific men connected with the Coast Survey, of whom I may especially

mention J. E. Hilgard and Count Pourtales. Sometimes the talk was on scientific subjects, sometimes on other subjects. I well remember that one evening Agassiz, who had himself felt the effects of the odium theologicum for his views on the diversity of origin of man, was hot in denunciation of the intolerance of society in America. "Why," said he, "there is no freedom for a scientific man in America!"

        "Which, then, professor," some one asked, "is the freest country you know?"

        "Austria," he replied unhesitatingly, "for you can think and speak as you please there, if you let politics alone; and for my own part, I care nothing for politics."

        We left Key West after a stay of six weeks and hastened back to Cambridge as fast as steamer and railroad could carry us, passing in three or four days from tropic summer to arctic winter. Impatient to see our dear ones, we left the cars a little before reaching Boston and walked three or four miles to Cambridge, reaching it about midnight. Thank God, all were well and anxiously expecting our return.

        The rest of the year was a repetition of the former term, save that the study was still more earnest. In addition to zoology and geology

with Agassiz, I took a course in botany with Gray. Practically there were no students in Agassiz' laboratory but us two, so that we had clearly all of Agassiz' time. Several wealthy young men from New York did indeed join the class, but they were utterly untrained and had no idea of hard work; Agassiz could not waste his time on them and they were soon disgusted and quit. In May we went with Agassiz and Hall to the Catskill Mountains and the Mohawk Valley to study the New York system, an excursion that was my first field work in geology.

        About June Agassiz asked us if we desired to take degrees in the Lawrence Scientific School. I was already a much graduated man, having the degrees of A. B., A. M., and M. D., and having graduated in matrimony and fatherhood; and had had no idea up to that time of becoming a student in the Scientific School, or indeed of having any official connection with Harvard at all, having come simply to study with Agassiz. But it was the first year of operation of the school and they wished to have something to show, and I was glad to take a degree. Agassiz suggested as a subject for my thesis, The Homologus of the Radiata, exactly

the one I myself would have chosen. I pondered and wrote, and dissected and wrote, con amore, illustrating every point by drawings of my own, mostly diagrammatic. * I was examined on the thesis by Agassiz, and publicly on zoology and geology by Agassiz and Wyman; and late in June or early in July took my degree and diploma.

        Thus it happened that Lewis Jones and I, and two others, David A. Wells and John D. Runkle, formed the first graduating class of the Lawrence Scientific School. The courses of all of us had, however, been strictly post-graduate, and I believe we were the very beginnings of a post-graduate class in Harvard, if not in the United States. For that very reason they did not know where to put us, as there was as yet no provision at all for such students.

        Graduation and a diploma meant nothing to me; I continued to study right along as if nothing had happened, sometimes in Agassiz' laboratory, sometimes in excursions along the coast with Agassiz, sometimes by myself. For recreation I took my wife and family to the Glades near Cohasset, and while there made a careful

study under the microscope of the development of Bryozoa. Agassiz was greatly delighted with the many drawings that I made, as he saw some new and important things in them, and urged me to prepare a paper for the American Association for the Advancement of Science which was to meet at Albany in August, 1851. But I felt that I was not sufficiently acquainted with the literature of the subject - I did not know what was new in my drawings and what was not - and the time before the meeting was too short for adequate preparation.

        My life in Cambridge constituted a third crisis in my life. Think of the galaxy of stars in Harvard at that time! Agassiz, Guyot, Wyman, Gray, Peirce, Longfellow, Lowell, Holmes, and Felton - with all of whom I was in almost daily contact on the most intimate terms. Emerson I saw sometimes, but not often. Richard Dana I met thrice every day at the table of the house at which I boarded after returning from Florida. The effect of this intellectual atmosphere was in the highest degree stimulating, giving incredible impulse to thought. Mrs. Le Conte too associated intimately with the families of the professors, especially with those of Agassiz, Felton, and Peirce. Boston, moreover,

was near-by, and we took advantage of opportunities of hearing there the greatest musicians, as Jenny Lind and Parody; and I attended the meetings of the scientific societies, the American Academy and the Society of Natural History.

        The result of my long, intimate association with Agassiz was, on my part, a great and ever-increasing love, admiration, and reverence for him, both as a scientist and as a man, and on his part, I am sure, a very strong and affectionate regard. A few extracts from my address at the memorial exercises held in San Francisco the week after his death may be quoted here as showing what seem to me the true grounds of his great reputation and the reasons for believing that it will be permanent, and my estimate of what is most characteristic and original in his philosophy. *

        "As we look back over the history of science, we see, at long intervals, certain men who seem to tower far above their fellows. In what consists their greatness? They are men who have introduced great ideas or new methods into science - ideas which extend the domain of

human thought, or methods which increase our power over nature, facilitate the progress of discovery, and thus open the way to the conquest of new fields. Such men were Copernicus, and Galileo, and Kepler, and Newton, and Herschel, in astronomy; such were Linnæus, and Buffon, and Cuvier, and Agassiz, in organic science. . . .

        "Yes, Agassiz was the originator of a great new idea in geology, and the introducer or perfecter of a new method in organic science. . . . I desire to fix your attention on only one great idea introduced by him, viz.: the idea that glaciers are now, and have been to a much greater extent in a previous epoch, a great geological agent, sculpturing our mountains and determining the forms of our continents. . . . Before Agassiz, the study of glaciers was the study of nice questions in physics, and of interest principally to special physicists. Agassiz transferred the whole subject into the broad domain of geology, and gave it a far deeper, broader, and more general interest. The result was not only a powerful impulse to the study of glaciers, but a flood of light shed upon the whole later geological history of our earth, and thus an enormous impulse to geology also.

        "But I said that Agassiz was a great reformer in zoology also - that he was also, if not the first introducer, at least the perfecter of the great method of organic science. This must ever remain the chiefest glory of Agassiz. Yes, far greater than all his great works in zoology - as great as these are, a monument of industry and genius - far greater than these is the method which underlies them, and which has impregnated all modern zoology. . . .

        "As soon as we leave the field of abstract thought and rise into the field of phenomena, observation commences. But as in the field of pure thought, thought can accomplish little without method; so in the field of phenomena, observation can accomplish little without the assistance of method. The phenomena of the external world are so complex, so affected by disturbing forces and conditions, that in order to be understood they must first be simplified. The scientist, therefore, by experiment, removes one condition after another, until the true cause and necessary condition is perceived. This is the great method of experiment upon which rests the whole fabric of physics and chemistry. But when we rise still higher into the field of organized bodies, the phenomena

become infinitely more complex and infinitely more difficult to understand without the assistance of method, and yet, just here, the method of experiment fails us, or, at least, can be used only to a very limited extent. The conditions of life are so complex, so nicely adjusted, so delicately balanced, that when we attempt to introduce our rude hands in the way of experiment, we overthrow the equilibrium, we destroy the very conditions of our experiment, viz., life. In this dilemma, what shall we do? Fortunately, nature herself prepares for us a most elaborate series of experiments. The phenomena of life in the higher animals and plants are indeed far too complex to be understood; but if commencing with these we go down the scale, we find these phenomena becoming simpler and simpler until they reach the simplest expression in the microscopic cell or microscopic spherule of protoplasm. The equation of life is reduced to its simplest terms, and then, only, we begin to find the value of the unknown quantity. This series I will call the natural history series. Again, nature prepares for us another series of experiments. Commencing with the mature condition of the higher animals, and going backward along the line of individual history,

through the stages of embryo, egg, and germ, we find again the phenomena of life become simpler and simpler, until we again reach the simplest condition in the microscopic cell. This I will call the embryonic series. Again, that there might be no excuse for man's ignorance of the laws of life, nature prepares still another series of experiments. Commencing with the fauna and flora of the present time, and going back along the track of geological history, through Tertiary, Secondary, Paleozoic, and Eozoic, to the very dawn of life, we find a series of organic forms becoming simpler and simpler, until we again reach the simplest term in the lowest conceivable forms of life. This I will call the geological or paleontological, or evolution series.

        "Now it has been by extensive comparison in each of these series up and down, and by extensive comparison of the three series with each other, that our knowledge of organisms has gradually become scientific; that mere accumulation of facts and phenomena has grown into science; that a mere heap of useless rubbish has been changed into a beautiful edifice. This is what is called the method of comparison - the great method used in the science of life. Yes,

anatomy only becomes scientific through comparative anatomy. Physiology only becomes scientific through comparative physiology; and I may add, psychology will never become scientific except through comparative psychology.

        "So much I have said to show you the nature and power of scientific methods and especially of that method - the method of comparison - upon which rests the whole fabric of the science of organisms. Now what has Agassiz done in perfecting this method? I will attempt to explain.

        "We have seen that this method consists of three subordinate methods which lead to similar results, viz.: comparison in the three series, the natural history series, the embryonic series, and the geological series. Now Cuvier and his colaborers introduced and perfected comparison in the natural history series and thus laid the foundation of scientific zoology; but Agassiz and Von Baer and their colaborers extended the method of comparison into the embryonic and geological series, and also into the relation of the three series to each other; and thus greatly perfected the method and increased its power. Others, no doubt many others, assisted in the great work, but Agassiz was unquestionably the

leader in the movement. For forty years Agassiz worked incessantly, enthusiastically - even to the breaking down of his strong physical constitution and the sacrifice of his life - on the ideas and the methods conceived in his youth. Is not this a great life?

        "Finally, let us glance at some of the results of Agassiz' method. The direct result is too familiar and obvious to dwell on. We see it in the amazing impulse given to Biology and its consequent great and ever-increasing progress in recent time. I will only very briefly draw your attention to the indirect results - i. e., results which were not in the mind of Agassiz nor aimed at by him.

        "1. Agassiz' work and Agassiz' method prepared the whole ground and laid the whole foundation for the modern doctrine of evolution. The idea of the similarity of the three series mentioned above - the natural history, the embryonic, and the paleontological - and therefore the light which each sheds on the others, a view so long insisted on by Agassiz and so tardily and grudgingly accepted by zoologists, forms the whole scientific basis, and comparison in these three series, the whole scientific method, of the theory of evolution. Evolution is development.

Evolution of the organic kingdom is development of the organic kingdom through geologic times. No one insisted so long and so strongly on development of the organic kingdom through geologic times as did Agassiz. All that is grandest and most certain in evolution, viz.: development from lower to higher, from simpler to more complex, from general to special by a process of successive differentiation, has always been insisted on by Agassiz, and until recently only grudgingly accepted by English zoologists and geologists. In this sense, therefore, Agassiz is the great apostle of evolution. It was only the present theories of evolution, or evolution by transmutation, which he rejected. His was an evolution not by organic forces within, but according to an intelligent plan without - an evolution not by transmutation of species, but by substitution of one species for another. In the true spirit of inductive caution, perhaps of excessive caution, he confined himself strictly to the formal laws of evolution, and no man has done so much in establishing these as he; but he regarded the cause of evolution as beyond the domain of science, and all attempts at a causal theory as at least premature if not altogether vain.

        "2. Agassiz' work and Agassiz' method has laid the only foundation of a possible scientific sociology. Society also is an organized body, and therefore subject to the laws of organisms. Society, too, passes by evolution from lower to higher, from simpler to more complex, from general to special, by a process of successive differentiation. Society progresses, develops. This is the most glorious doctrine of modern times. The phenomena of society, however, are even more complex than those of organisms, and therefore still more in want of a method. But we have already seen that phenomena which are too complex to be analyzed by experiment can only be brought into subjection by the method of comparison. If, then, there shall ever be a scientific sociology, it must be by the use of the same methods which are used in biology; it must be by the comparison of social institutions, governments, civilizations, etc., in all stages of development; it must be by extensive comparison of social phenomena in three series, first, as exhibited in different races and nations in various stages, as now existing in different places, corresponding to the natural history series; second, as exhibited in various stages of advance of the same nation from barbarism to civilization,

corresponding to the embryonic series; third, as exhibited in the slow onward progress of the whole race through rude stone age, polished stone age, bronze age, and iron age, corresponding to the paleontological series. It is by comparisons of this kind that Herbert Spencer is now attempting to lay the foundations of a scientific sociology. I repeat it: if sociology ever becomes a science it will owe much to the genius and the method of Louis Agassiz."

CHAPTER VI
PROFESSORSHIPS IN OGLETHORPE UNIVERSITY, THE UNIVERSITY OF GEORGIA, AND SOUTH CAROLINA COLLEGE

        I had now finished preparation and begun my life-work. Henceforth, until the war of '61, my life ran comparatively smoothly. It consisted almost wholly of intellectual work. Besides the routine of teaching, I was engaged mainly in thinking, investigating, and writing and publishing papers. But during the first year teaching occupied all my time. I taught all the sciences, except zoology, the very one for which I had especially prepared myself. I was not sorry for this, however, for how could I teach zoology without a laboratory? At that time there was not even a text-book on the subject. Botany I could manage better, for I had Gray's Structural and Physiological Botany, a really excellent text-book. I could gather plants and dissect them, and I had a first-rate microscope. I therefore taught mechanics, physics, chemistry, geology, and botany. This was excellent training for me, for it kept alive my interest in all departments of science, which is especially necessary in geology, which was to become my chief study. I believe I was successful, not only in teaching but also in gaining the affections of my pupils.

        The previous August Lewis Jones had been elected professor of geology and natural history

in the University of Georgia, a much better position than mine, paying twice the salary, and one for which I certainly should have made application had he not repeatedly told me of his intention of applying, so that I could not be an applicant without seeming to violate confidence and friendship. But he got on badly with the president, who had the reputation of being a bigoted, dogmatic, and imperious old man, and after holding the chair only a year resigned in anger and disgust. I at once determined to apply for the place, and wrote to my brother John, who was a professor in the institution. To my disgust I learned that geology and botany was not considered enough for one man, and that French would be tacked on. French had always wandered from one professor to another, seeking rest but finding none; when I was a student, it was tacked on to physics; its present habitat was the chair of geology and natural history. I read French with ease, but I could not speak it, so immediately began taking lessons from an excellent native French teacher. I was elected in December, 1852, and moved to Athens in the following month.

        Still I had no zoology to teach, and I was glad of it. Agassiz had introduced an entirely

new mode of studying and teaching zoology, and my preparation was entirely ahead of the times; the colleges were not yet ready for the new method. My duties were, therefore, the teaching of geology, botany, and French. After six months, however, a French teacher was elected, and my work was confined to geology and botany, with a Monday morning class in natural theology. All Monday morning classes were of a more or less religious nature, because such subjects were supposed suitable for Sunday study. This natural theology class I greatly enjoyed, as it gave me an opportunity of bringing out homologies of the animal kingdom or general laws of animal structure as evidence of a divine plan. The students were intensely interested, as it was all new to them. But the lack of zoology in my course, with this exception, carried my thought and work more and more in the direction of geology.

        The conditions in Athens were far more favorable for intellectual activity than were those in Midway. I had the great advantage of intimate association, continued ever after, with my brother John, whose scientific knowledge was the widest and most accurate I have ever known. Then there was McCay, formerly my teacher

and now my colleague, an excellent mathematician and a man of the clearest thought and most exact method. Later there were LeRoy Brown and C. S. Venable. With the rest of the faculty, except with the younger men, especially Scherb, the instructor in French, and Henry Waddell, instructor in Latin, I had little intellectual sympathy. There were also several men of great intelligence in the community, such as Hope Hull, Tom Cobb, Judge Lumpkin, and the Rev. Mr. Linebaugh. John and I took a walk of two or three miles in the forest every morning before going to work, and Mr. Linebaugh usually joined us.

        During the long winter vacation in 1854, instead of going to our plantation in Liberty County as usual, we went to Philadelphia and Cambridge. My uncle Jack had moved from New York to Philadelphia, and in the evenings his house was the gathering place of scientific men; John Fraser, Elwin, Phillips, Lea, and many others. One evening John Fraser brought with him the newly invented instrument, the stereoscope. I had never before seen one, but I had read carefully and with delight all that had been published by Wheatstone in description of the instrument and in explanation of its wonderful

effects. His theory, it will be remembered, was that when the images of two dissimilar pictures fall on the retinæ dissimilar in the same way and to the same degree as those formed by a real object or scene, the two dissimilar images are mentally fused into one, and appear as a real solid object or an actual scene. Wheatstone's explanation had seemed to me very complete and beautiful, and I was eager to test it by looking through the stereoscope at the diagrams used to show its effects. The instrument passed around, and the beautiful effects and the completeness of Wheatstone's theory were commented on. At last it came round to me as one of the youngest of the party. I looked long and delightfully at the stereoscopic effect, and then remarked, "Yes, it is very beautiful, but Wheatstone's theory is not true; there is no mental fusion at all, for when I look at the farther lines of the united diagrams, the nearer ones are doubled, and when I look at the nearer lines, the farther ones are doubled, and furthermore, the stereoscopic effect is the result of this doubling." Exclamations of surprise and dissent were heard on every side. I was unanimously set down as a very conceited and disputatious young man thus to set up my opinion

against that of the Great Wheatstone. I was, of course, silenced; but I knew I was right. From early childhood I had amused myself with experiments on binocular combination of figures, and had acquired unusual power of analysis of visual impressions. I saw plainly what they did not see. I was perfectly conscious of looking nearer and farther, and of watching the slight doubling and reunion of the lines. I was young and did not sufficiently appreciate the importance of my discovery (for it was nothing less) as I should have done. The very theory that I advocated that night was brought out about a year later by Brücke.

        While in Philadelphia I ransacked the city for print-shops, especially old ones hidden away in cellars in out-of-the-way places, and bought many beautiful engravings, among them a complete set of Retzsch's outlines. I thus began a collection of inexpensive art, which has been a source of unfailing delight to me, and of culture to my children.

        From Philadelphia we went to Cambridge to see our friends and to renew old associations there. As soon as Agassiz knew that we had arrived, he and Mrs. Agassiz called and invited us to stay at their home, an invitation that we,

of course, accepted. We spent a week with Agassiz, and a more delightful week it is impossible to imagine. The domestic life of Agassiz was indeed charming, for Mrs. Agassiz (his second wife) was not only an affectionate wife but one of the wisest of women. He had with him at this time his son Alexander, then in college, and his two daughters, Ida and Pauline, who had just arrived from Neuchâtel. They were beautiful girls, the one blonde like her father, the other dark and high featured, doubtless like her mother. Agassiz was in high spirits and very happy. He took a great fancy to my little Sallie, who had been born in Cambridge and was then just three years old. She was very bright and very quick to learn, and spoke with remarkable distinctness. Agassiz taught her the names of all his dearest specimens; and partly because she pronounced the difficult word so distinctly, with true French accent, partly because she was a little quick-tempered, he called her "the little Echinoderm." A little child in the home! It seemed to bring back the joy of his early married life. He was continually playing with the child, even taking her on his back and getting down on his hands and knees and "playing horse" all around the dining-table.

This fondness for little children, this child-likeness of nature, was one of the most beautiful traits of Agassiz' character; and yet it is not brought out in any of his biographies, not even in that written by his wife. Women, I think, are so jealous of the dignity of their husbands, that they do not like such exhibitions of primal human nature in the presence of others. Agassiz in all of his subsequent letters to me never failed to ask after "the little Echinoderm."

        Agassiz' house was, of course, the gathering place of distinguished men. It was here at evening teas that I first became well acquainted with Oliver Wendell Holmes, whose father had been pastor of the Midway church. I infinitely enjoyed his delicious chirping - I know no other word that expresses it - over his tea.

        During the four years that I spent in Athens I wrote four or five articles - popular, scientific, educational, and philosophical. These I regarded mainly as a practise in the art of exposition, and therefore published in the students' magazine. The first important paper I ever wrote was entitled On the Agency of the Gulf Stream in the Formation of the Peninsula and Keys of Florida. It was based on my own

observations in 1851 and on the subsequent publications of Agassiz on the reefs of Florida, and, as has been stated, was read before the American Association for the Advancement of Science at its meeting at Albany in 1856, creating marked interest. It was afterward published in the Proceedings of the Association * and in the number of the American Journal of Science ** that followed the meeting, and was the beginning of my scientific reputation. The conclusions reached in it have been substantially sustained by subsequent observation, although with some important modifications by Alexander Agassiz. My ideas concerning the mode of formation of barrier reefs, without subsidence, were again brought out thirty years later by Captain Guppy, of the British Navy; but my priority was frankly acknowledged by him as soon as his attention was drawn to my paper.

        In 1854 McCay left the University of Georgia and went to Columbia, South Carolina, and LeRoy Brown was put in his place. In 1855 my brother John resigned to take the lectureship in chemistry in the College of Physicians and Surgeons, New York, and Venable was put in his

place. People began to inquire why it was that the best men continued to leave the University of Georgia. The president, Dr. Church, unfortunately undertook to answer, and brought such allegations against members of the faculty that McCay, John Le Conte, Lewis Jones, Nahum Wood, and Tom Pond were, in self-defense, drawn into a controversy that finally involved the whole faculty and led to the removal of all by the Board of Trustees. I immediately applied for the professorship of chemistry and geology in South Carolina College, a position then vacant; was elected in December, 1856; and began work there in January, 1857. In October John had been elected to the chair of physics in the same college, so that he, McCay, and I were again colleagues, McCay being president.

        In the interval between my resigning from the University of Georgia and beginning work in South Carolina, I was invited by Professor Henry to deliver six lectures at the Smithsonian Institution at Washington. In December, 1856, I therefore gave three lectures on coal and three on coral reefs. They were delivered unwritten, but those on coal were afterward written out and published in the Smithsonian Report for 1857, pp. 119-168. They were highly

commended at the time by the best men in the country, e. g., ex-President Fillmore, and were translated and republished in France. In them were brought out some views concerning the affinities of gymnosperms that anticipated by thirty years similar views brought out by Lester Ward in America and Engler in Germany.

        While in Washington I spent a week with Professor Henry and can never forget his charming family life with his wife and daughters and the wonderful suggestiveness of his conversation. Just forty years later, in December, 1896, I was again entertained by the daughters, who still live in Washington.

        My chair in the South Carolina College was, as has been said, chemistry and geology. In geology I was all right, but as I had taught chemistry but one year at Oglethorpe I had to work hard to get up a good course of lectures on that subject. McCay, moreover, besides being president had on his hands the very heavy chair of mathematics, and this being more than he could possibly do without help, he asked me to take his freshman classes. This I did, though very reluctantly. It was, however, not without benefit to me, as it revived my interest in mathematics, very necessary in physical and

dynamical geology. It also brought me into closer contact with the students. This was a very busy year with me; I had three lectures a week in geology, three in chemistry, and four recitations in algebra and geometry, ten exercises a week in all. It was impossible to do any original work.

        After five or six months of this routine work, there occurred another catastrophe and a general resignation of the whole faculty. It was a very painful affair, of which I can give only a brief outline. A fuller account may be found in La Borde's History of the South Carolina College.

        The students here were very high-spirited and honorable, but also quite turbulent. They had been accustomed to being governed not so much by law as by the personal influence and eloquence of Thornwell, the previous president. McCay was not popular - he was no speaker. Thornwell by his personal magnetism had created a very high sense of honor and truthfulness among the students; they would not tolerate among themselves or in their teachers the least indirectness of method. There had been some trifling breach of discipline and three of the students were suspended for two weeks.

The whole body of students petitioned for their restoration. McCay, knowing that his presidency was on trial, tried to arrange matters so as to avoid collision with the student body. The students thought that his method was indirect and deceptive, and positively refused to attend his classes. Several members of the faculty had many interviews with their committee, but they would not yield. The student body was in open revolt against the president but not against the faculty; other recitations they attended as usual, but to McCay's they would not go. The faculty could not act because its members were divided among themselves; there was an old régime and a new, John and I being regarded as in the new. The Board of Trustees was therefore called together, the resignations of the whole faculty were asked for, and the College disbanded. Three of us, my brother, Professor Rivers, and I, were immediately reelected; and all the other chairs and the presidency were left vacant until the reorganization of the College in October.

        As the College was broken up in May, nearly a month before the end of the term, there was a long vacation of about four months. I took advantage of this to visit the Virginia Springs and

the University of Virginia. At the springs I met a number of the professors of the University, especially McGuffy, Holcombe, and Cabell, and greatly enjoyed my intimate association with them, particularly the long walks and talks with McGuffy, certainly one of the most suggestive minds I ever came into contact with. I also enjoyed immensely the celebrated swimming baths of these springs.

        In August, leaving my wife and two children at the springs pleasantly situated and with the best of company, I went to Montreal to attend the meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science. This meeting was an eminently successful one, a number of English scientists being present. The people of Montreal were very hospitable, and got up several delightful excursions on the St. Lawrence and to the Saguenay. But the striking event of the meeting was the address of Hall, the retiring president, on The Formation of Mountain Chains by Sedimentation. The idea was entirely new and very important. But a new idea is always taken in with difficulty, and Hall was far from clear in his exposition, so that he was not understood. I was sitting immediately in front of Guyot, who, after Hall had been

trying for nearly an hour to make himself understood, leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Do you understand what he is talking about?" "Not a word!" I answered. It is evident now that he was bringing out a very important truth, though a very insufficient theory of mountain origin. Geologists were not then ready for the truth contained in the address, and therefore it did not bear fruit for many years.

        On my way back I stayed for two weeks in Charlottesville and became intimately acquainted with three other professors of the University of Virginia, Holmes, Bledsoe, and Gildersleeve. Surely the University at that time had a very strong corps of professors, and certainly my association with them was very stimulating to thought.

        In September the Trustees of the South Carolina College met, and all the former members of the faculty except McCay and Pelham were reelected. The College reopened in October with La Borde, the oldest member of the faculty, as acting president and Venable in the chair of mathematics. In January, 1858, Judge A. B. Longstreet was elected president. He was an able lawyer and judge and a distinguished

humorist, as all know who have read his Georgia Scenes, Characters, Incidents, etc., in the First Half Century of the Republic; but he was utterly unfit for the presidency of a college. He was not in any sense a cultured man, and could not inspire the highest respect of either the students or the faculty. He was not, however, wanting in firmness; and as the students had been made more turbulent than ever by their apparent triumph of the previous year, it was plainly to be seen that a catastrophe was impending. Calhoun's birthday was always observed as a holiday, but usually exercises were suspended for only a part of the day. The students asked for the entire day; the faculty gave all but the morning exercise, wishing to hold them to their rooms the previous night. The students then tarred the benches of all the recitation rooms, rendering them unfit for use. On being asked to other rooms some classes obeyed and some refused. The refusal was regarded as a combination to defeat the law, and about a hundred and twenty students, more than half of the number in the College, were suspended until the opening of the October term, that is, for more than five months. They were required, moreover, to

stand a rigid examination on all that had been passed over in the meantime, a very hard condition, as many subjects were taught only by lectures. All of them tried the examination in October, and about one-half succeeded. In January those rejected tried again, and again a half succeeded; the remaining twenty-five or thirty then gave it up. The effect of this sharp discipline was excellent; we had no more trouble.

        I have said that the students in the South Carolina College were high-spirited though turbulent. I should add that I had never previously seen (nor have I since) so high a sense of honor among students in their relations to one another and to the faculty. No form of untruthfulness among themselves or toward the faculty (such, for example, as cheating at examinations) was for a moment tolerated. Any student suspected of such practises was cut by his fellow-students and compelled to leave. When a student was brought up before the faculty for any offense, no other question was asked but, "Did you have anything to do with this affair?" The answer was "Yes" or "No," and he was condemned or acquitted on his own statement. Sometimes a student might on some

technical ground refuse to answer, but no one ever lied.

        My life in Columbia was perhaps the most pleasant in my whole career. The society was the most refined and cultivated I have ever known. My wife was delighted. Three institutions of learning, the South Carolina College, the Theological Seminary, and the Military Academy (Arsenal), formed the nucleus about which gathered many intellectual men and women. Such men as Dr. Thornwell, Dr. Palmer, William C. Preston, and Wade Hampton are rare in any community. My intellectual activity was powerfully stimulated, and I wrote many articles, mostly of a literary and philosophical nature, as, for instance, my inaugural address in December, 1857, on The Place of Geology in a Course of Education; The Relation of Morphology to Fine Art; The General Principles of a Liberal Education; Female Education; The Relation of School, College, and University to One Another and to Active Life; The Relation of Biology to Sociology; and The Nature and Uses of Fine Art. The first four of these were given as addresses before academic audiences; the others were written without any intention of publication, but only because

the thoughts were burning within and must come out in expression. After having been written, they were thrown into my drawer, and afterward, sometimes months afterward, were begged from me by Dr. Thornwell and published in the Southern Presbyterian Review. They were afterward recast and published severally in the Princeton Review, ¹ the Popular Science Monthly, ² and the Overland Monthly. ³

        Meanwhile, however, pure science was not neglected, for in 1859 I wrote and read before the American Association for the Advancement of Science my original paper on The Correlation of Physical, Chemical, and Vital Force, and the Conservation of Force in Vital Phenomena. This created great interest among scientific men at the time. It was published in the Proceedings ⁴ of the Association and republished in full in the American Journal of Science, ⁵ and the London, Edinburgh, and Dublin Philosophical Magazine, ⁶ and in abstract in the Canadian Naturalist. ⁷ Still later I recast it in more popular form and published it in the Popular

Science Monthly in 1873, * and again as an appendix to Stewart's Conservation of Energy, of the International Scientific Series.

        The summer of 1858 was spent by my brother's family and my own at Flat Rock, in North Carolina. This beautiful place is the summer resort of many of the most cultured families of Charleston and the low countries generally, some of whom have here charming houses and grounds, with fountains, artificial lakes, etc. We were often invited to dine with these delightful people. I took advantage of this opportunity to visit Asheville, to climb Black Mountain (Mt. Mitchell), the highest peak of the Appalachians, 6,710 feet high, and to run down the French Broad River. The scenery in this region, in which Biltmore was subsequently located, is the finest I have yet seen in the United States.

        I take this opportunity to do justice to the brilliancy and originality of Langdon Chevis, a planter on the coast of South Carolina, near the Savannah River, by recording some views of his expressed to me in a conversation at Flat Rock on the origin of species. We had both read that

remarkable book Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation, published in 1844, and he had cordially embraced the idea of origin of species by transmutation of previous species, while I contrarily held to Agassiz' views of creation according to a preordained plan. We had it hot and heavy. When I brought forward the apparently unanswerable objection drawn from the geographical distribution of species and the manner in which contiguous fauna pass into one another, i. e., by substitution instead of transmutation, his answer was exactly what an evolutionist would give to-day - viz., that intermediate links would be killed off in the struggle for life as less suited to the environment; in other words that only the fittest would survive. It must be remembered that this was before the publication of Darwin's book, and the answer was wholly new to me and struck me very forcibly.

        Why did he not publish his idea? No one well acquainted with the Southern people, and especially with the Southern planters, would ask such a question. Nothing could be more remarkable than the wide reading, the deep reflection, the refined culture, and the originality of thought and observation characteristic of them;

and yet the idea of publication never even entered their minds. What right had any one to publish unless it was something of the greatest importance, something that would revolutionize thought? My father was an extreme instance of such indifference to publication, and I myself for the same reason was slow to publish. Many important observations that I made on the geological processes going on about me everywhere in the South, especially on the formation of soil by the rotting down of rocks in situ and on mountain sculpture in Tennessee, I gave every year in my class lectures, but did not dream of publishing. Soon after the war Hall and Hunt visited the South and brought out these same facts, and very rightly received due credit therefor.

        In October, 1858, appeared the splendid comet of Donati, the most magnificent celestial phenomenon I had ever seen. With what wonder and intense yearning I gazed at it every night! From early boyhood this upward yearning of my soul as if it would go out of me has always affected me in the presence of the starry heavens, especially when I gazed at the bright evening star. This yearning now returned upon me in the presence of this glorious comet.

        The summer of 1859 I spent mostly in Columbia, as Mrs. Le Conte was not well. After an absence of two weeks attending the meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, where I read a paper, as previously stated, I came back to my family, who had been staying with my sister at Orangeburg, and we all returned to Columbia, where my third daughter, Josephine Eloise, was born on the twenty-ninth of September. Little Josie, dear little Josie! I can not even mention her name without the tenderest emotions. She was the most beautiful child we ever had, with that rare combination of flaxen hair and dark eyes. Alas! we lost her just two years later. The light, the sunlight, the spiritual light seemed to have gone out of my house. Is it possible that the object of such love can be other than immortal? If it is mortal, then the noblest feelings of our nature are vain and should be suppressed. Surely this can not be true.

CHAPTER VII
IN TIME OF WAR

        I returned to Columbia in September, Lincoln

was elected in November, and then the storm burst; first, the secession of South Carolina, then of other States, then the dreadful war between the North and South. At first I was extremely reluctant to join in, and was even opposed to the secession movement; I doubted its necessity and dreaded the impending conflict and its result. A large number of the best and most thoughtful men all over the South felt as I did; but gradually a change came about - how, who can say? It was in the atmosphere; we breathed it in the air; it reverberated from heart to heart; it was like a spiritual contagion - good or bad, who could say? But the final result was enthusiastic unanimity of sentiment throughout the South. Those who were latest and most reluctant, because they saw the seriousness of the result, were also the most earnest and most reliable. Those who did not join in the movement were, with a very few exceptions, like James L. Petigru, untrue men in every way, North and South alike. "Copperheads" and "skalawags" were, with few exceptions, alike false. I spoke of Mr. Petigru as an exception. From the first and throughout the war he was a Union man, speaking openly and never concealing his opposition to secession.

He said the State, which he loved dearly, was demented, rushing on ruin; but submitted quietly and sorrowfully. Every one respected his views and such was the confidence in his integrity that after the war the State gave him the work of codifying the laws.

        The Secession Convention, which sat in Columbia in December, 1860, was the gravest, ablest, and most dignified body of men I ever saw brought together. They were fully aware of the extreme gravity of their action. While the Convention was in session smallpox broke out in Columbia, so the deliberations were continued in Charleston and the secession decree signed there. Then followed in quick succession the secession of Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Florida, and Texas; then the creation of a national government, with its capital at Montgomery, Alabama; then the secession of Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina, and Arkansas; and finally the removal of the capital to Richmond, Virginia.

        This secession movement was first called an insurrection, and later a rebellion; and the war which followed is commonly spoken of in history as "the War of the Rebellion." Nothing can be more absurd. The Confederate States composed

a thoroughly organized government, as much so as the United States. During the whole war the machinery of government was practically perfect. It was a war between the States, or better still, a war between two nations. For each side it was really a foreign war. I am not speaking of the merits of the case, but only of acknowledged facts. I am not blaming anybody on either side. It was evidently an honest difference of opinion as to the nature of our government; it was honestly fought out to a finish and the result frankly accepted. But let it be distinctly understood, that there never was a war in which were more thoroughly enlisted the hearts of the whole people - men, women, and children - than were those of the South in this. To us it was literally a life and death struggle for national existence; and doubtless the feeling was equally honest and earnest on the other side.

        I shall not speak in detail of the course of the war, for that belongs to history; but shall speak only of my personal experiences during the conflict. The College went on quietly during 1860 and 1861. In the spring of '61 there was the siege of Fort Sumter by our forces and the firing on the United States vessel bringing

supplies to the beleaguered fort. Instantly the whole country was ablaze; troops were called out by Lincoln, and the war was actually on. A large number of students left the College to join our forces, but still we went on with diminished numbers. In the spring of '62 the stress of war became greater and the number of our students was reduced to forty or fifty, but still the College continued. In June, 1862, came the terrible seven days' battle for the possession of Richmond and the call for all men over eighteen, and the College was perforce disbanded, for all the students volunteered.

        Edwin Nisbet, Mrs. Le Conte's brother, was in the battles about Richmond, and lay desperately sick of typhoid fever there. We therefore went on to nurse him. The condition of the city and the surrounding country after the battles was awful. There were twenty-five thousand sick and wounded in the hospitals in the city and many more in the hospital camps in the vicinity. The blessedness of surgery and the nobleness of surgeons were well shown here; the sick and wounded were of both armies, and the surgeons of both sides worked together in the alleviation of pain and the cure of disease. I visited the hospital camp at Savage Station,

and found the condition of affairs horrible. All the buildings were utilized and tents added, but still there was not sufficient room and hundreds of sick and dying lay under the trees. For want of sufficient nurses, neglect was unavoidable. I myself took the typhoid in Richmond and was sick three weeks. In the meantime Edwin recovered and we went back to Columbia together.

        Though our salaries at the College continued, as we were State officers, they were dreadfully insufficient on account of the depreciation of the currency, and I found it necessary to supplement mine. In October, 1862, I was appointed one of three arbitrators in an action brought to decide the right of the Confederate Government to the possession of the niter caves. I went to Atlanta and heard arguments by the best lawyers for three weeks, rendered my decision, and then returned to Columbia. During these dark days of the war I wrote some of the papers already named. One of them, The Nature and Uses of the Fine Arts, which I consider one of my best, was written in 1863, when the whole South was in an agony of conflict. The College was suspended; I must do something; I thought and wrote. Finally this would

not answer. I felt that I must do something in support of the cause that absorbed every feeling. Just as I was asking myself how I could turn my scientific knowledge to some useful account, a large manufactory of medicines for the army was established in the suburbs of Columbia, and I was asked to be the chemist. I accepted, and for about eighteen months was engaged in the manufacture on a large scale of many kinds of medicine, alcohol, nitrate of silver, chloroform, sulfuric ether, nitric ether, podophyllin, etc. The whole army was supplied by this laboratory with all medicines, except those that could be had more easily by running the blockade.

        In 1864, without solicitation on my part, I was appointed chemist of the Niter and Mining Bureau, with the rank and pay of major. My business was to test all nitrous earth, whether from caves or niter beds. My laboratory was that of the College, and I was given an accomplished analyst as assistant. In the summer I visited all the niter caves in northern Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee, all the niter beds in South Carolina, Georgia, and Alabama, and the iron mines and blast-furnace at Shelbyville, Alabama. Here I also found a Bessemer

furnace, the first I had ever seen and the only one in the Confederacy. In September I returned to Columbia and prepared my report to St. John, the Chief of the Bureau, in Richmond.

        Meanwhile Sherman was coming down from Chattanooga toward Atlanta, Johnston slowly retreating before him but contesting every foot of the way. Then Atlanta was taken and Johnston superseded by Hood, a great blunder. Then we heard that Hood had gone around to Sherman's rear and invaded Tennessee, leaving the door open to the south for Sherman to march through Georgia from the mountains to the sea, an easy thing to do, since there was no force to oppose him. Next we heard that Hood's army had been met and shattered by Thomas and that the remnants were hastening to South Carolina again to get in front of Sherman. In the meantime his army was nearing Savannah and would certainly ravage the whole coast. My widowed sister, her two girls, and my own fourteen-year-old daughter were at Halifax, my sister's plantation, some thirty-five miles south of Savannah, with no one to protect them but faithful negroes. I hastened to their rescue, leaving Columbia on the ninth of December.

        Within ten miles of Savannah the train came to a standstill, and we learned that the bridge over the Savannah River was already in the hands of the enemy and partially burned. Though within forty-five miles of my destination, I had to return to Columbia, therefore, and try to reach Liberty from the south by a détour of eight hundred and fifty miles. After many unpleasant experiences, particularly because of the lack of food and sleep, and some real danger, the train being shelled by the enemy, I reached Columbia again five days after my departure.

        Three days later I set out once more, going by rail to Mayfield and thence, as the railroads in Georgia had been torn up in Sherman's Grand March, by the wagon road to Macon. From Macon I went by rail and stage to Thomasville, traveling all night and suffering intensely from the cold. This town fairly swarmed with refugees, from whom I learned that the Yankees had already been in Liberty and wantonly destroyed the stock and crops. My sister, I was informed, was probably still in her home, so on the twenty-fourth I went on to Doctortown, the extreme outpost of the Confederate forces in that quarter and but twenty-six

miles from Halifax. As Liberty still swarmed with Yankees, I determined to remain quietly in Doctortown till I could get word to my sister by scouts.

        Christmas opened bright and beautiful, but was a very anxious day for me. One of my own negroes arrived and told me that all the animals on my place had been killed and much of the corn and rice carried off or destroyed. Later in the day I met a negro who, having guided his master to safety, was about to return to Liberty, and by him I sent a letter to my sister entreating her to come to me with the girls.

        I remained in camp at Doctortown a whole week in enforced inactivity. On the twenty-seventh I received a letter from my sister saying that as there was not a horse or vehicle left in the whole county she had no means of coming to me, and begging me by no means to attempt to come to her, as the Yankees were still numerous in the vicinity of her house. In this dilemma the general who was in command of the camp consented to send out a party with a flag of truce to represent to the enemy the painful position of the ladies and to ask their help in removing all who desired to leave. The

squad returned with the word that they had seen no Yankees, so Major Camp, Captain Varnedoe, and I immediately began preparations to bring out our friends. I decided to go ahead and prepare them for the coming of the wagons, and started off on New Year's day with a bounding step, a light heart, and joyous anticipations of soon meeting my loved ones and rescuing them from the scenes of desolation and the dread of further violence. The task I had undertaken was no light one, for, except the bridge across the Altamaha River, all the bridges and trestles over the many swamps had been burned. But I laughed to scorn all difficulties, provided myself with passports, and was soon beyond the pickets.

        At the lake, an old slough or river-bed partly silted up, I met a friend who told me that the Yankees had by no means left the county; that he himself had been dodging them in the woods for a fortnight, escaping only "by the skin of his teeth." The news somewhat staggered me, but I determined to go on at any risk, but with extreme caution.

        Late in the afternoon I reached Walthourville and found the village deserted and the homes of many of my friends but blackened

ruins. Only one man, Mr. Cay, was still in his home and he warmly invited me to share his supper and bed. At daybreak next morning I started again and by nine o'clock had reached my sister's house. I approached it unobserved and knocked sharply. After a few minutes the door was opened by the old negro house-servant, who on recognizing me uttered a wild scream, seized me by both hands, and dragged me, she screaming and I laughing, up-stairs to her mistress' room. In a moment I held my loved ones in my arms. Then followed the sad recital of their sufferings and losses. Every day for nearly two weeks the Yankees had entered their house, each separate gang ransacking every room and taking whatever they desired. I told them my reasons for believing that they had left the county but would soon return, and urged them to prepare for immediate departure. The young ladies were eager to go at once; but as my sister had much to pack, it was arranged that I should return for her. About eight o'clock in the evening I received word from Captain Varnedoe that the wagons were hidden in a swamp about a mile and a half from us, but that, as the Yankees were certainly returning, if they had not already returned, it

would be necessary for us to lie perdue for a while, or to turn back and escape.

        As it was clearly impossible to go out by wagon, I determined to take my daughter to Doctortown on horseback, one of the negroes having offered to lend me an old, broken-down horse that the Yankees had abandoned. At day-break on the third, after a sad, sad good-by and a solemn promise to return for the others as soon as possible, we started, Sallie on the old horse and my man Joshua and I on foot. As we entered the main road to Walthourville we heard shots about half a mile to the north that showed that the Yankees were approaching Halifax. It was indeed a narrow escape. About sunrise a neighbor ran out from his house to say that it was simple madness to go on, that the Yankees had been at Walthourville the night before and would probably come down that very road. As they were certainly in possession of the road behind us, I decided to push on, however, but with more caution, keeping a sharp lookout for hiding-places.

        About nine o'clock we approached Walthourville, and having sent Joshua ahead to reconnoiter, Sallie and I turned aside into a thickly wooded branch road and sat down to rest. We

had not been hidden more than ten minutes when we realized that the Yankees were encamped in the woods not over fifty yards from us. They were evidently breaking camp, and in a few minutes came galloping by. If our Rosinante had had the least spark of spirit, had he neighed once in answer to the snorting of the horses, we should have been lost; but he didn't even prick up his ears, having evidently seen enough of that sort of thing.

        All day long horsemen went galloping and wagons rumbling by within fifty yards of where we sat concealed. About four o'clock, the galloping having in a measure ceased, I crept on my hands and knees to the road and examined the tracks. To my dismay and intense disappointment I found that a considerable number led up the road toward Doctortown. The conviction was forced upon me that we could not go on. About sunset Joshua returned, and he agreed with me that we should have to turn back. Soon after dark, therefore, we sadly and cautiously started on our return, and by nine o'clock were again at Halifax. The Yankees had told my sister that on the sixth they would leave the county and not return, so I decided to hide in the woods until their departure and then take

my friends out. But I was so worn out by my eighteen-mile walk and the constant suspense and anxiety that this night I determined to sleep in the house, though several thousand Yankees were encamped only three or four hundred yards distant.

        I learned in the morning that three of the negroes, fearing that the Yankees might have heard of my being in the house, had patrolled the roads all night while I peacefully slept. The same faithful and affectionate fellows before daybreak conducted me to the hiding-place they had selected, a dry spot in the midst of a strip of thick, swampy ground surrounded by a ten-foot canal. They made a comfortable bed of Spanish moss, spread over it a blanket, and left me to my meditations. Soon the Yankees were swarming in the fields on both sides of me, popping at everything they could see; but I became so absorbed in one of James's novels, with which I had been provided, that I entirely forgot their presence save when they came exceptionally near. At night I again slept in the house, but as it was evident from questions they had asked that the Yankees had some inkling of my presence, only partially undressed and was ready for immediate flight.

        The following day was passed as the previous one had been. On returning to the house at night I noticed several fires in the distance and learned that the Yankees were burning houses, a sign, the negroes told me, that they would leave on the morrow. About noon of the sixth, therefore, as all appeared to have gone, I again prepared to leave with my daughter. In the midst of the preparations, however, a picket ran in to say that a party of Yankees was approaching, and I immediately darted through the cluster of negro houses and hid in the gallbushes behind. The party soon rode on, but the incident convinced me that it was not yet safe to attempt to go out, so I returned to my hiding-place in the swamp.

        The next day one of the negroes came with the word that a party had come from Doctortown under a flag of truce with wagons for carrying out the ladies. As, however, all could not be accommodated, my sister decided to remain until I could return for her. About noon they started, nine ladies, their children and servants. It was a strange, sad, and never-to-be-forgotten sight; so many ladies, nurtured in tenderness and plenty, never knowing want or even hardship, now driven from their homes, they hardly

knew whither. And yet so great had been the distress of mind and even terror for the previous three weeks that on leaving they were in the highest spirits.

        After visiting my own plantation and giving the overseer directions, I returned to Halifax and walked thence to Walthourville, overtaking the ladies there. Next morning I walked to Doctortown to prepare for their reception, and by two o'clock all were safe there. The day after I took my own party on the cars to Thomasville, and from there sent them by wagon in charge of a friend to Macon, while I returned to Doctortown to arrange for bringing out my sister and her baggage.

        On the walk from Doctortown to Halifax I found to my dismay that the waters of the Backswamp were far more swollen than I had previously seen them, so that I had to wade for over half a mile in water more than waist-deep and against a strong current.

        From Halifax I went over to my own place and had a talk with the negroes. As they stood bareheaded in a semicircle about me, I told I them that if they desired to go with me, I would make some kind of provision for them, if it took my last dollar, though just how I could provide

for them I did not know; if, however, they preferred remaining on the plantation, there was plenty of corn and rice but no meat, as all of my stock had been destroyed. With one accord they replied that if I had a place on which to put them, where they would not again be disturbed by Yankees, and provisions and meat for them, they would go willingly; but that they preferred remaining where they were to being carried they knew not whither. I told them that I thought they had decided wisely and spoke to them of the necessity not only of work but of organized work and hence of a head to direct. They expressed their willingness to work as they always had done if I would take charge and direct, but said that they could not get along with the overseer, seeming to think in fact that their day of deliverance from overseers had come. I told them that it was impossible for me to remain, but that my uncle, William Jones, would direct their labor, and to this they cheerfully consented. One by one they then came forward and shook hands with me and with many expressions of kindness and affection bade me good-by. It was impossible to doubt the faithfulness of the negroes generally. At least a hundred knew of my hiding-place in the

swamp near my sister's house, but none betrayed me.

        About four o'clock we left Halifax for Walthourville. My sister went out with the wagons; but she had so much baggage that it was impossible to take it all, so with the help of one of the negroes I attempted to take out four large trunks by means of an old cart and the broken-down Yankee horse previously mentioned. About sunset our troubles began, for the cart stalled so often in the thick blue mud of the causeway that we were three full hours in going half a mile. Half a dozen times Henry and I had to carry the heavy trunks, two of which weighed over three hundred pounds apiece, to firmer ground before we could draw the cart from the mud. The old horse was so strained as to be unfit for service and a mile from Walthourville absolutely refused to go farther. We were obliged, therefore, to pass the night in a negro cabin by the roadside.

        As it seemed impossible that the old horse could take us to Doctortown, I left the cart in the care of Henry and went ahead to get a good strong mule. Hearing of a ferry across the Backswamp, I went to it to avoid wading again, and after some delay got a place as passenger

in a small canoe with a cask of molasses as freight and a negro as engineer. But as the negro stepped in he tilted the canoe a little and the cask, not being properly secured, rolled to one side. In an instant the whole contents of the canoe, human and saccharine, were spilt into the water. As it would take some time to raise and bail the canoe and as I was thoroughly wet already, I decided to wade across, went to the trestle, and in pitch darkness plunged half a mile through water waist-deep.

        Having selected from the sorry lot at Doctortown a mule that proved to be more trouble than he was worth, I started next morning to return for the cart. At the Backswamp my trouble began. Finding a cart going across, I sat in the back and endeavored to lead the mule over. The horse in the cart plunged along rapidly and unequally; the mule was unwilling to lead, I was unwilling to let go, the rope was unwilling to break: the result of this concatenation of unwillingness was that I was pulled out of the cart into water nearly up to my neck! Arrived at the other side, we proceeded to the railroad. Now I preferred going along the track; but the mule had a different opinion, and, after some vigorous argument to no effect, reason

was obliged to yield to obstinacy and we took the wagon road, though it was nearly twice as long. The result was that we reached Henry and the trunks too late to return to Doctortown that day.

        The old horse was so rested by the next morning that I determined to use him in the cart after all and to ride the mule. All went well until we reached the fatal Backswamp. We carried the trunks over one by one in the canoe; then Henry drove over the empty cart while I swam the mule behind the canoe. But within ten steps of the farther side the old horse stumbled and fell and would inevitably have drowned had not Henry and I leaped into the water and released him from the cart. By nightfall, however, we had the trunks under a shed three-quarters of a mile from the ferry, and I went on to Doctortown to sleep.

        On returning to the shed next morning I found there Colonel Hood, who had had charge of the wagons that were bringing the ladies out. He said that they were on the other side of the Backswamp, and as the rain was falling in torrents, he transferred the task of getting them across to me with evident pleasure. To get the entire party over I had to make the trip by

canoe nine or ten times in the blinding rain and against a swift current, but by one o'clock all were safe in Doctortown.

        But my troubles were not yet at an end, for the baggage had to be transferred from the shed to the camp. Having got most of it to the Altamaha bridge by noon next day, a friend and I endeavored to take all that was left across the lake in a single boat-load. All went well and we decided to pole along the upper side of the embankment to the bridge. But the great flood of water that ran with fury through the trestles made the passage by them with our heavily-laden boat really dangerous. The first trestle we passed with great difficulty, breaking two oars and narrowly escaping being swept through; but no human power could withstand the fury of the torrent rushing through the next. We were dashed violently against the uprights, carried through, and whirled around with a velocity that in spite of our efforts took us into the swampy woods on the lower side with great risk of overturning or smashing the boat. To proceed on our way it was necessary for us to return through the trestle. But how?

        Landing on the embankment I ran back to where I had seen a canoe, stripped a hundred

feet or so of broken telegraph wire from the poles standing in the water, and paddled back to the boat. We then fastened the wire to the bow and with five negroes on shore hauling on it and my companion and I sometimes rowing, sometimes pushing on the piers of the trestle, succeeded after half an hour's severe struggle in forcing the boat through the trestle against a roaring torrent that rose almost to the gunwale and threatened every moment to swamp us. Having rounded the point, we were in comparatively smooth water, and soon had the last piece of baggage at the bridge, whence it was conveyed to Doctortown in a box-car that I had chartered.

        From Doctortown we went without difficulty by rail to Thomasville, but there our troubles began again. It took me two days to secure a couple of wagons to carry us to Albany, and for the sixty-mile trip I had to pay four hundred dollars. The roads were in such dreadful condition that we were four days on the way. We were obliged to camp out one night, and as it was intensely cold and very windy suffered severely on the trip. On the thirtieth of January, having journeyed from Albany by rail, we reached Macon, and found the rest

of our party safe at the home of one of my nieces.

        After a day spent in resting and visiting friends, we started for Milledgeville. We were delayed by our baggage and reached the station just as the cars were moving off. A young man in Confederate gray, seeing our predicament, ran to the conductor, stopped the train, and helped the ladies on, while I attended to the baggage. A mile and a half from Milledgeville we had to alight, as the rails beyond that had been torn up by Sherman. Here there was a perfect Babel, travelers being anxious to proceed and wagoners taking advantage of their necessities to practise extortion. I found the prices charged too exorbitant for my dwindling purse and was in a quandary when the same young soldier again came to our relief and quickly engaged two wagons at half the price that had been asked me. Henceforward he was regularly installed as a member of our party.

        He was a rather good-looking young fellow, bright, quick, and efficient, but quiet and unobtrusive. Though but twenty, according to his own statement, he had evidently seen much of the world, and pretended to be a great reader of character. Ready-witted, keenly observant,

and apparently open and frank, there was, however, something mysterious about him, and he both attracted and repelled. He knew all the officers of the army that we met and they all knew him. He was acquainted with the minutest details concerning our army, but seemed no less conversant with Sherman's. My sister thought him a Yankee spy, but he himself said he was a Confederate, a member of Lewis's Kentucky brigade, who had fought the Yankees all through Georgia with Wheeler. He called himself Davis, but promised some time to tell us his real name. Whatever he was, he had evidently taken a great liking to our party and was very kind and efficient, beguiling the tedium of the ride to Mayfield with incessant, bright conversation. He told the most awful stories of his adventures, but seemed capable of doing all that he related. As we parted from him at Augusta, he said, "I shall soon see you again in Columbia. The Yankees are certainly going there, and I shall be wherever they are."

        From Augusta we had intended going to Columbia by rail, but alas! Sherman was ahead of me again, and all of the cars had been impressed to carry Stovall's brigade to the scene of an expected battle. Fortunately I

found in town Professor Holmes, the Superintendent of the Niter and Mining Bureau, with which I was connected, and he, having arranged to have our baggage forwarded by government wagons, drove us to Edgefield, his home, and thence, after hospitably entertaining us, to Columbia.

CHAPTER VIII
A FUGITIVE BEFORE SHERMAN'S ARMY

our first and second lines of defense had been carried and the booming of the enemy's guns sounded ever nearer and nearer, the authorities confidently said there was no real danger - Hardee's army corps would surely come in time. But on my way home that night I met a wagon-train fully half a mile long, rumbling slowly and softly through the silent and deserted streets toward the Charlotte depot, as if stealing away in the dark. It was evidently an army-train, and the solemn rumbling as it dragged its slow length along smote painfully on my heart. For the first time my hopes utterly gave way, and I thought, Columbia is doomed!

        On reaching home I found Mr. Davis, true to his promise, anxiously awaiting me. He urged me to flee at once, as the Yankees might be in the city on the morrow, asserting that he had been in their camp all day and knew all their plans. On being asked what he thought would be the fate of the city if it fell into their hands, he said that he feared to tell us what he knew would take place, but that he thought that he could save my house and my brother's. He claimed to have great influence with Yankee officers by means of bribery and offered to give me letters to Yankee colonels, to be used if necessary;

but I declined his offer, as I did not wish to be connected with any tortuous policy. "You must not be surprised," he said, "in case any Yankees enter your house to see me among them. If you recognize me, don't betray me."

        Full of these sad tidings, I went to see my brother John, and found him and Captain Ashbell Green consulting about leaving at once. The military authorities had at last confessed that they could not hold Columbia, and had advised them to save what Niter Bureau stores they could. We decided to go as soon as possible. By Mr. Davis's advice we packed all our valuables, manuscripts, lecture-notes, etc., and sent them to the Niter Bureau to go out with the stores, and then took a sad, heart-breaking leave of our families, commending them to the tender mercy of God, our common Father.

        That was the saddest night of my life. Our imperative duty was to save, if possible, the government property in our care, and it would have been worse than useless for us to have remained, for as we were all officers, we should certainly have been taken prisoners. And yet it was hard to leave in the hands of the enemy all that we loved most tenderly. I worked all night packing, the ominous words of Mr. Davis,

"I fear to tell you what scenes will be enacted in Columbia," ringing in my ears, and the solemn booming of Sherman's guns giving them fearful meaning and emphasis.

        About six o'clock on the morning of the sixteenth we started, Captain Green, John, his son Johnny, and I, with twenty-two negroes, including the wives and children of those who had been working on the niter plantation, a sad encumbrance. We had two wagons, two carts, and a buggy, all heavily loaded. Our intention was to go to Allston, but owing to our taking the wrong road and stalling in the thick mud, we made camp the first night not more than ten miles in a direct line from Columbia.

        About three o'clock the next morning we were awakened by a terrific explosion that shook the ground like an earthquake. We were in great anxiety to know what it meant and Mr. Davis's words haunted my memory. Later we learned that a large quantity of powder in the Charleston depot had been ignited by the careless use of lights by a band of plunderers, many of whom were killed by the explosion.

        By sunrise we were on our way again. On coming into the direct road to Allston we found it full of fugitives from Columbia, panic-stricken,

wayworn, and travel-stained, but still hurrying on. From them we learned that after traveling a day and a half we were but twelve or thirteen miles from the city. We stopped for the night at a deserted house by the wayside, and about ten o'clock, with an ejaculated prayer for the loved ones at home, I threw myself on a pile of fodder and was soon asleep. Alas! alas! while we thus slept in peace Columbia was wrapped in flames. Had we glanced in that direction we should have seen the ruddy glare and slept no more that night.

        The next morning we continued creeping along the awful roads at the rate of about two miles an hour. I was walking ahead of the wagons, enjoying the glorious morning, when suddenly a country woman ran from a cabin a hundred yards from the road and called to me to stop.

        "Where are you going?" she asked.

        "To Allston."

        "To Allston! Don't you know the Yankees are crossing the Broad River not a mile from here?"

        "Impossible! We met Wheeler's men not more than a mile or two back and they assured us there were no Yankees ahead. They

ought to know, for they were sent here to watch them."

        "Wheeler's men!" she retorted contemptuously; "don't you see that smoke yonder? and that there! And yonder! And again yonder!"

        I looked as she pointed and to my utter dismay realized that we were indeed in the midst of the enemy, whom we thought so far away. We at once determined to turn into the woods and remain hidden until they had passed by. The chance of escape was small, but to go on or to turn back was certain capture. Having taken down the fence, therefore, we drove the wagons deep into the forest and concealed them in a little grove of saplings, replaced the fence, and carefully erased the wagon tracks from the road to the wood. After we had made a camp in a little hollow through which ran a stream, Captain Green and I returned to the road to observe the enemy. We soon saw seven Yankee soldiers approach a house on the main road, about three hundred yards from where we were concealed, and erelong heard the popping of Yankee guns and the squealing of Confederate pigs and the squawking of rebel chickens. About eleven a dense column of smoke arose from another

house not over a hundred yards from us. A few minutes later several companies passed on the road within twenty yards of us and turned up a branch road that skirted the wood, and soon two columns of smoke to the northward told that two more houses had been fired. As other companies continued to pass on the main road, our position was becoming dangerous, so I returned to camp and reported to John what I had seen. I then crept on hands and knees toward the houses burning on the north. The hum of many voices approaching caused me to lie very close, and within thirty steps of me passed two companies of soldiers leading half a dozen horses and mules from the burning stables.

        Though I prowled around during the afternoon I saw no Yankees, and we began to hope that they had passed on. About sunset, however, they began to return and soon after dark we saw their fires on the Broad River, about a mile away, and heard the rolling of their drums and the cheering as party after party returned laden with booty; and knew that their camp had not been moved. We had been too anxious to think about eating, but as the negro children were clamorous for food, we consented with

many misgivings to the making of a fire for cooking. We concealed it as much as possible, but the reflection on the tree-tops was fearfully distinct, so we extinguished it as soon as we could and went quietly to bed.

        We were in fine spirits next morning, for we erroneously thought that we had escaped discovery. Just after breakfast we heard the measured tramp, tramp of marching troops, and saw a regiment pass along the road within a hundred and fifty yards of us. We drew a long breath when they were fairly by. But a few moments later a sharp cry of "Look out!" broke the stillness of the early morning air. Recognizing the voice of Captain Green, who was doing picket duty while we breakfasted, I immediately ran to the wagons where I had carelessly left my pistol and a valise containing money, jewelry, railroad bonds, manuscripts, and other valuables. But alas! when I reached one wagon I saw the Yankees already swarming upon and pillaging the other. I was within ten steps of them before I saw them and had no time to save anything. I dropped to my hands and knees, crept into the thicket, and at a distance of thirty yards watched them knock to pieces trunks and boxes and rifle their contents.

As some were scattering about, evidently searching for hiding Confederates, I gradually shifted my position, and finally concealed myself in a clump of saplings on the other side of the by-road. Here I lay listening to the work of destruction for more than an hour.

        The clump of saplings was, however, so small and so near the road, along which the enemy was passing continually, that I was in imminent danger of discovery. Once indeed a tall Yankee (he seemed to me enormously tall!) came straight toward me, but he stopped when but six feet away, laid down his gun, adjusted his haversack and canteen, and passed on. I determined, if possible, to recross the road and regain the main wood, and after several futile attempts succeeded about noon in doing so. I crept cautiously toward the wagons to learn the fate of the others and to save my manuscripts if possible; but when about thirty yards from camp was brought to a halt by the voices of Yankees and negroes, the latter raised in expostulation. Cautiously creeping nearer I saw the soldiers, evidently a second party, pile the trunks and boxes on the wagons, set fire to them, and watch them burn to ashes. Then they began to search the woods and I again had to fly

and seek concealment. But my extreme anxiety concerning my brother and nephew made it impossible for me to keep quiet, and several times during the afternoon I crept down to camp. But each time I found Yankees there and had to retreat. My anxiety became insupportable. May I never again pass such a day of agony!

        After dark, seeing the camp-fire burning, I determined at any risk to make another attempt. This time there was no one there but the negroes, who seemed unfeignedly glad to see me safe. John, they said, had given himself up to the enemy, apparently recognizing the futility of trying to escape with his son, who was just convalescing from a serious illness. Captain Green they believed to be still in hiding in the woods. Party after party had been searching for us, for they knew that two of us had escaped and even mentioned our names. After eating some food and warming myself, I retired from the bright light of the fire, and a little later word was brought to me that Captain Green had come to the camp. I immediately went forward and in a moment was clasping his hand. The poor fellow was very much exhausted, having had almost no sleep the previous night and nothing to eat since supper the previous day.

He had lain hidden all day in the clump of saplings across the road in which I myself had sought shelter, and had narrowly escaped capture. Once indeed a party of Yankees sat on the trunk of the very fallen tree among whose dead branches he was hiding, and chatted for some time. From their conversation he learned that a negro had discovered our camp-fire the night before and betrayed us to the enemy in the morning.

        While we were talking, one of our pickets came running in to say that some men were coming. They proved to be some of our negroes that the Yankees had taken with them to ride our mules and who had escaped from their captors. They said that John and Johnny had been forced to walk to Allston, six miles away, but had not been harshly treated. John's watch had been taken from him, but was restored by the captain at Allston to whom he reported the theft.

        The Yankees had told the negroes that they would capture Captain Green and me next day, if they had to beat every bush, which, as the little wood was not over a quarter of a mile square, they could easily have done. We decided, therefore, to escape in the night. I paid

one of my negroes twenty dollars to carry my boys and John's back home and the leader of the Niter Bureau negroes a hundred dollars to see that those belonging to the Bureau were returned safe, shook each heartily by the hand, and bade them good-by. "Take care of yourself, my dear Massah," "Good-by, Massah, and God bless you!" "I hope de Lord will keep you from dem Yankees, dear Massah!" - such were the parting words that greeted me on every side as we moved off. Were they sincere? I thought so then, and was really deeply moved by their kindness. I believe so still, though I now know that they were anxious for us to go not only to secure our safety but also, and perhaps chiefly, because they had some of our property which they had begged from the Yankees and did not wish to restore. Of such mixed stuff is human nature - especially negro nature - woven!

        We left the camp about nine o'clock and walked rapidly and silently toward Columbia. Having heard that the Little River bridge had been burned, we planned to cross the river that night and wait on the other side in comparative safety until we knew that all the Yankees had left Columbia. When within half a mile of the

bridge we heard light footsteps close behind us and turning saw a well-dressed, intelligent young negro almost treading on our heels. He said he was on his way home, and pointed toward a brilliantly lighted house some two hundred yards from the road, in which he said there was nobody but "colored folks." The Yankees, he further told us, had been very troublesome during the day and he feared would return during the night. We deeply suspected that he would inform on us, but had no idea that at that very time a number of Yankees were quartered in that very house.

        We had got but half-way to the river, however, and were just entering on an embankment that formed an abutment to the bridge when we heard the clatter of the hoofs of horses galloping from the house of the "colored folks." In an instant we were over the zigzag fence that bordered the road and each squatted in a corner. We were hardly fairly settled when twenty Yankee cavalrymen dashed by so close to the fence that their horses' heels struck the very rails behind which we were lying. Soon we heard them returning, after having satisfied themselves that we were not on the embankment. Instead of passing by again, as we had

hoped they would do, they reined up and dismounted close to us. "Now," thought I, "we are lost, for they are going to search the fence!" Instead they simply leaned against it and rested, so near to us that I could have grasped one fellow by the leg. But I didn't! On the contrary I moved not a muscle and hardly breathed.

        After chatting for half an hour about bushwhackers and fugitive Confederates, even mentioning our names, they remounted. "Let's try this way," said one; and they galloped in the direction from which we had come, probably concluding that we had suspected the negro and turned back on our tracks, the very thing we should have done had we suspected their presence in the house. I learned later that about midnight they visited the camp that we had left.

        When the sound of the retreating hoof-beats had entirely ceased, we made our way through the plowed fields to the river. It was impossible to cross without more light, so we had to wait for the rising of the moon at about four in the morning. The night had grown very cold, so for hours I paced up and down, stamping, swinging my arms, and striking my chest, while Captain Green sat on a log in complete exhaustion, his head sinking lower and lower on his

knees. Suddenly I heard an agonizing cry. I turned quickly, but Captain Green had disappeared as if the earth had opened and swallowed him! Running to the spot where he had been, I found that in his sleep he had plunged forward, and awakened standing on his head in a drainage ditch six feet deep. Fortunately he was not much hurt and for some time I could not help him out for laughter. Afraid to trust himself again in a sitting posture, he went staggering about trying to keep awake. But in vain. He fell asleep while walking and awoke to find himself in the ditch again. The fact is that the poor man, naturally feeble at best, was so prostrated by want of food and rest and by the constant excitement of mind and exposure to the cold that he could scarcely stand.

        After the moon had risen we easily waded the river, which we found not more than knee-deep, and with great difficulty scrambled up the steep bank on the other side. Even on the level road Captain Green could not walk over three hundred yards without stopping to rest, and erelong he collapsed entirely. As I feared that he would be seriously ill, I determined to apply at the nearest farmhouse for restoratives, and leaving him by the roadside ran to a house about

half a mile away. After some delay a woman came to the door in answer to my calls. Her expression was one of extreme fear. That ghastly, terror-stricken face staring at me in the cold gray dawn will haunt me forever! I made known my errand, and she and her husband, who had fled through the back door on my approach, kindly offered to do anything they could for the captain. A few Yankees had visited the house the day before, she said, and had promised that this day they would return in force and "clean her out." They were expecting them every moment and had taken me for an advanced guard.

        I quickly returned for the captain, but did not find him where I had left him. Realizing what had happened I hastened up the road and found, as I had expected, that having regained his strength he had followed me, but instead of turning up the lane to the farmhouse had kept on the main road. As I overtook him just as he was approaching another house, we told our story there and were hospitably received.

        A warm breakfast, a cup of hot rye-coffee, and a blazing fire quickly and completely restored Captain Green. He sat before the fire in a most blissful state of mind, his lank legs

helplessly crossed, his head, peacefully resting on the top of his chair, enveloped, as in a halo of glory, in a cloud of smoke, a gauzy, but strong veil woven by the magician Tobacco. It seemed a pity rudely to bring his soul back from the Heaven of Narcotism, tenanted only by good angels of peaceful and innocent thoughts, to a dull earth overrun by vile Yankees, but alas! it had to be done.

        Soon after sunrise we started for a hiding-place. We selected a thick clump of pine saplings half a mile from the house, and had hardly seated ourselves before the popping of guns and the columns of smoke from burning homesteads told that the enemy had begun their daily work. As we were far from any house, we soon became indifferent, however, and took turns at sleeping and watching.

        As evening approached the shooting ceased, and, as it was very cold, we determined to spend the night at one of the fires that we saw blazing in every direction, and chose a burning fence in a spot where we would be partly sheltered from observation, near the ruins of a cabin behind which we could fly in case of danger. We had just finished a supper of pork that was nearly all fat and corn bread as dry as

sawdust, when we heard footsteps cautiously approaching. The newcomer proved to be the owner of the fence, and I recognized him as the man that I had frightened from his house early in the morning. After tearing down two or three panels of the fence so as to isolate the fire, in which work we helped him, he went to his home, which, as he had been in the woods trying to save his horses and mules, he had not visited during the day. In an hour or so he returned with a pot of rye-coffee, a lot of biscuits, and about a peck of sweet potatoes. The captain and I sat by the fire and roasted potatoes all night.

        Early in the morning we sought a new hiding-place, for it was our policy never to use the same place twice, as we might be observed and betrayed by some prowling negro. The sun was well up before we found a suitable place and we flitted from bush to bush and from gully to fence like belated specters. At last in our fearful rambles we came to the main road to Columbia, but did not recognize it. Observing a party of negroes, men, women, and children, approaching, we waited for them to pass before venturing to cross the road. To our vexation immediately after we had observed them they

set down the large bundles that they were carrying on their heads, and rested for about half an hour. I did not dream that they were, as I afterward learned, our own negroes on their way home, or I should have sent a message to my family. When they had passed we crossed the road and about ten o'clock found a place of concealment in a thicket that crowned a hill.

        After a day passed much as the previous one had been, we cautiously approached the house of our new friend, whose name we had learned was Leitner, to get a fresh supply of provisions. We were received with unaffected kindness, given an excellent supper, and cordially invited to stay at the house all night. As the Yankees had apparently gone on to Winnsboro, after some hesitation, because we feared we might bring trouble on our kind friends, we accepted.

        By daybreak next day we were off to the woods again. Our walk to a hiding-place revealed the somewhat startling fact that all the woods and thickets had been thoroughly searched by the Yankees the day before. The tracks of their horses were thickly scattered in every direction, and had we not crossed the road I do not see how we could have avoided capture.

During the day we heard little shooting and saw no columns of smoke, so on the urgent invitation of Leitner we again spent the night at his house. We concluded that the Yankees had left and that on the morrow we could safely go on to Columbia. But our hopes vanished when, just as we were sitting down to supper, one of the children discovered a fire not half a mile away. We at once decided to spend the night in the woods, rushed from the house, and ran in the direction of the fire. From a hilltop over-looking it we watched the burning building sink into smoldering brands, but as we saw no soldiers returned to Leitner's about midnight.

        The experience showed us, however, that it was not yet safe to venture on our way, so we spent another day in hiding, and returned at night to Leitner's. During supper the servant announced that there were strangers at the gate. In an instant Leitner, the captain, and I were out of the back door and over the fence. The newcomers proved to be Confederates, however, fugitives like ourselves, members of the Medical Department on their way back to Columbia. They had during the day met many pedestrians from the city who concurred in saying that there were no Yankees there or on the way thither.

We ate our supper in an ecstasy of delight, therefore, and went to bed to dream of home.

        The next morning, after a hearty breakfast and a still more hearty good-by to our good hostess, who could not be prevailed upon to take a cent for all her kindness, we set out in high spirits, though the rain was falling in torrents. On we went at a swinging gait, my heart on fire with the thought of taking supper at home, for we had been told that though four-fifths of Columbia was in ruins, the College buildings had been spared. But Captain Green tried in vain to keep up, and by half past one was completely exhausted. At a venture I went up to a house to see if I could procure some food, and to my surprise found it the home of an intimate friend. We were heartily welcomed and given a delicious dinner with coffee, real, genuine coffee, the first I had tasted for two years. Moreover, my kind host insisted that Captain Green should stay overnight to regain his strength. About three, therefore, I bade them farewell and strode on at a rapid rate, walking the six miles to Columbia in an hour and a half.

        I entered the city at the extreme northern end, and went down the whole length of the main street, a mile and a half. Not a house was

standing and I met not a living soul! The beautiful city, the pride of the State, sat desolate and in ashes. The fire had swept five or six blocks wide right through its heart, leaving only the eastern and western outskirts. At last I saw the brick wall surrounding the campus and the buildings of the College, and a few minutes later was knocking at the door of my own ivy-covered home. Deep silence for a moment, then the quick pattering of little feet along the hall, then my wife and children hanging around my neck with mingled laughter and tears.

        Then followed a recital of experiences on either side. Theirs had been far more dreadful than mine, but as I did not personally witness them I shall not attempt to describe the terrors of the bombardment of the sixteenth and seventeenth, the still greater terrors of the entrance and occupation by the enemy, or the inconceivable horrors of the night of the seventeenth. But a few facts learned that night from my wife and daughters and later confirmed by thousands of eye-witnesses, I will briefly state.

        Our forces evacuated the city early on the morning of the seventeenth, the Yankees entering and taking formal possession about nine o'clock. General Sherman personally promised

the Mayor, Dr. Goodwyn, complete protection and perfect security of personal property, and during the day everything was quiet. A number of officers, however, among them a colonel quartered in my brother's house, hinted about certain rockets that would signal the destruction of the city. About seven in the evening, after ten hours of peaceable possession, when there were no Confederate soldiers within fifteen miles, these signal rockets went up from various parts of the city and instantly fires burst out everywhere. In an hour Columbia was a roaring, surging sea of flames. The streets were filled with ten thousand yelling soldiers, running from house to house with flaming torches, and even stealing their trinkets from the frightened women who rushed into the streets from their burning homes. Every house in the city, except those within the campus walls, was pillaged, and most of them first pillaged and then burned. As the College buildings were used as a hospital for the soldiers of both sides, a guard was placed around them to protect them, but spite of this they were several times fired and saved only by the exertions of the physicians. Once their destruction seemed so probable that all the patients were removed

into the open area in the middle of the campus, and the next day over twenty died in consequence of the fright and exposure. At one time my wife thought our home was certainly doomed, and she spent the greater part of the dreadful night with the children around her in the back garden far from the house.

        No one of the enemy had, however, crossed the threshold of our door. Ah me! what a fatality seemed to have pursued us and our wagons! Had we left the things at home, they would have been safe; had we on starting taken the direct road to Allston, they would have been safe; had we remained where we camped the first night, they would have been safe; had we stopped anywhere within three miles from Columbia and three miles from Little River, they would have been safe.

        Mr. Davis, I was told in answer to my inquiries, had slept the night of my departure in the study in the basement of my house. Having carefully examined the doors and windows and found that in case of danger he could escape into either the front or the back yard, he begged that if any unusual noise was heard he might be called at once, as he had had little rest for many nights and would probably sleep deeply. During

the following day he had been arrested as a Yankee spy on information furnished by an old negress, but was promptly released by our officers, who recognized him as one of our own most trusted spies. The night of the sixteenth he brought a tall, dark, villainous-looking man, probably a Yankee spy, to my brother's house, which, as it opened on the street, was more exposed than any other on the campus, told him to notice it particularly, and said in an authoritative voice, "Remember, I protect this house." As the last Confederates were leaving the city next morning he again came to my home and begging one of my daughters to accept as a memento of him some ribbons, feathers, and other trifles, said farewell. In taking leave he said, "Our army is going, but if the Yankees enter your house, I shall certainly be with them. Be sure you do not betray me by recognition." He went and we never saw or heard of him again. Was he a Confederate spy? Was he a Yankee spy? Or was he a spy on both sides? We never knew.

CHAPTER IX
AFTER THE WAR

        In the matter of clothing we were no better off. We had long before been reduced to the coarse stuffs made in the Confederacy, and the ladies wore nothing but homespun. But with the taste characteristic of the sex they made

their dresses so neatly and trimmed them so prettily that I have never seen more becoming gowns. As I had taken all my clothing with me when I left Columbia, I had nothing after my return but what I wore on my back and that was in rags. A benevolent society of ladies supplied me with underclothes, but for outer clothing I was compelled for a time to use the cast-off blue of Federal soldiers who had died in the hospital. My negroes were dependent on me, as were those of the Bureau, about ninety in all. I got cloth for their apparel, but as it was impossible to obtain blankets, I was obliged to cut up all my carpets to take their place and for a long time my floors remained bare.

        After the war came what was worse than the war itself, the occupation by Federal troops and the humiliations necessarily attendant thereon. This, of course, we expected. But far worse was the arrival of "Treasury Agents," those vultures hovering over the rear of the army of occupation, sniffing for carrion, hunting for property to confiscate, taking accusations of any and all kinds, especially those by irresponsible blacks. Then followed the utter demoralization of all labor and the intolerable insolence of the negroes suddenly set free with all their passions

not only uncontrolled but often even encouraged. As I can not speak of these matters with any calmness, I forbear to speak of them at all.

        In May, after the United States Commandant had taken possession of the post, I went to him and told him that there was a flat-boat on the river that had belonged to the Niter and Mining Bureau and was therefore confiscable, but as it was of no value to the United States I asked and immediately received permission to use it in bringing corn for the city from the plantations below. I went down the river with a crew of negroes and brought up several thousand bushels. The city allowed me a hundred bushels, which I divided with John. On the fifty bushels of corn thus received I lived, by exchange, until August. The first money that I had seen since the break-up in March then came to me from the sale of cotton made the previous year, for in 1865 none was even planted. In January, 1866, the College was reopened, and my salary, which during the greatest stress of the war, in 1864, had ceased, began again.

        As a result of the war I lost everything I had in the world, for, except the eight thousand dollars in bonds lost at the capture of the

wagons, all my property was in lands and negroes. But this total loss did not in the least dishearten me; I did not lose a wink of sleep. This was partly because everybody else had suffered in the same way, partly because I felt sure that I could make my living somehow, partly, and perhaps chiefly, because I had always been oppressed by the ownership of slaves. Not because I felt any conscientious scruples about it, but because I felt distressingly the responsibility of their care; because I felt that those who own slaves ought personally to manage them, as my father did. This I could not do without sacrificing all my ambition in life and the health of my family. The income from my land, on account of its situation, had always been far smaller than its market value warranted, and I could at any time during the twenty years previous to the war have sold it and changed the form of investment with great advantage to myself. This I refused to do purely out of kindness to the negroes and because of a sense of responsibility for their welfare. By their emancipation, therefore, I felt that an intolerable burden had been lifted from my shoulders.

        To the astonishment of all my friends, I asserted that, although practically it might be and

in this case undoubtedly was, the freeing of slaves was not necessarily any loss of property at all; that it certainly was not loss of property in the sense in which the burning of a house is. This was only saying that slaves were not property, chattels, in the sense in which other things are, and in fact they were never so treated in the South. The right claimed was to their labor and the change was simply from a slave-system to a wage-system. I contended that, if the labor remained reliable, the market value of the slaves would be transferred bodily to the land. For, I argued, under the wage-system, if the negroes were reliable, the income of the land would certainly be as great as ever. This was admitted. Now, the value of land, as of every other investment, is determined wholly by the income. Q. E. D. The great impoverishment of the South was due wholly to the complete disorganization of the labor as a necessary consequence of the sudden change.

        Looking back now from the standpoint of 1901, my contention is entirely justified. Wherever the labor is reliable and the management judicious the land makes as much now as it ever did in slave times, and, therefore, the owner is as rich as he ever was. He has suffered

no loss. But in some places negro labor continues to be utterly unreliable. This is especially true of the so-called "black belt," where the negroes are greatly in excess of the whites, and more especially true in Liberty County, where I still have nearly two thousand acres of land, half of it very rich. It has never made me a cent since the war. The negroes there will not work for wages, as they can live almost with out work on fish, crawfish, and oysters; a little patch of cotton furnishing them the means for tobacco and clothing. They have no ambition to improve, and live almost like animals. The whole lower and richer part of the country is practically given up to them, the whites having nearly all gone elsewhere. And yet the kindliest feelings exist among the blacks toward the whites, especially toward their former masters. Whenever I go down to the old place, I am greeted with the greatest joy and affection and called "Massah," as in slavery times. In 1892 old Sandy actually threw his arms around my neck and embraced me. But they always expect some gratuity, and I never disappoint them. In the middle and up country, where the proportion of whites is greater, the negroes are slowly improving in conduct and in thrift, but

in the "black belt" they are either stationary or are gradually relapsing into fetishism and African rites and dances.

        As has been said, the College reopened in 1866, the small salaries paid being supplemented by fees from the students. To give a more practical education, one more suited to the impoverished condition of the State, it was reorganized on the plan of the University of Virginia, with independent schools and freedom of election. In connection with chemistry I had to give a course in pharmacy, and in connection with geology one in agriculture. It was impossible, of course, to do this fully, all I could do for pharmacy being to enlarge in my chemical course on the preparation and properties of the substances used in medicine, and for agriculture to give a course of six or eight lectures on the most fundamental principles underlying the science and the art. Meager, very meager, certainly; almost useless, the reader may say. Yet I have heard some of my students who afterward engaged in agriculture refer to this short course with great satisfaction as having been of decided benefit to them.

        Meanwhile, in 1866, Johnson's plan of reconstruction was tried and failed. Though I was

not a member of the convention which was held in Columbia, a number of my old pupils and friends were and with them I had many talks. I insisted that the convention should adopt a franchise without distinction of color, but with a small educational and property qualification. My friends admitted the wisdom of the suggestion but said that it was impossible, as the leaders had not "backbone" enough to propose it and the people were not ready to indorse it. It was a great opportunity lost, for, though Congress would probably have repudiated Johnson's plan anyhow, it would have been well to put ourselves on record in this regard.

        I never knew so much real social enjoyment in Columbia as in the years 1866 and 1867; society was really gay, the necessary result of the rebound from the agony and repression of the war. My daughters were then "in their teens," and for their sakes we entered heartily into the general gaiety. As everybody was poor the gatherings were almost wholly without expense, and therefore frequent; the hostess simply furnished lemonade and cake and the young men a negro fiddler.

        The commandants of the post were changed from time to time, five in all serving. The last

two were really good fellows, much disposed to fraternize with the people. The gentlemen of Columbia were very cordial toward them, but the ladies were inexorable. Nothing would induce them to recognize the officers and their wives; they were tabooed. I became quite friendly with some of the officers, swimming daily during the summer with them in "Rock Spring," a splendid place for the sport; but I could never induce my wife to invite one of the gentlemen to the house for a social meal. We men exchanged visits, but the friendship went no further.

        Under the provisional government established by President Johnson, we got on very well. A very dear friend of mine, Major Perry, was appointed provisional governor. He was a man of noble presence, untarnished integrity, and sterling character, a Union man during the secession movement, but loyal to the State when it seceded. With such a governor and the assistance of the military, whom we had come to regard as our best friends, everything went on prosperously, and the people were well satisfied. But when the permanent government was organized in the presence of bayonets, with a carpet-bag governor, scalawag officials,

and a negro legislature controlled by rascals, things were very different, and at last became simply intolerable. There was an income tax of five per cent; my salary was two thousand dollars, so I paid one hundred dollars; I subsequently learned that I paid more tax than the whole legislature put together. Think of such a legislature making laws, and especially tax laws, for a State! Anticipating somewhat, I may say that this condition of affairs continued and grew even worse until 1876, when, the carpet-bag government having become a stench in the nostrils of the whole country, the bayonets were removed, the whites assumed control, by force when necessary, Hampton was elected governor, and order was restored; prosperity then again began and has increased from year to year till the present time. The iniquity of the carpet-bag government was simply inexpressible. The sudden enfranchisement of the negro without qualification was the greatest political crime ever perpetrated by any people, as is now admitted by all thoughtful men.

        The College had been strongly reorganized as a university with elective courses, and the faculty greatly strengthened by the addition of

Robert W. Barnwell as president and General E. P. Alexander as professor of mathematics and engineering. The former was a man of imposing appearance, splendid ability, and strong personality, the highest type of Southern gentleman and scholar; and I admired and revered him exceedingly. The latter, who had been chief engineer in Lee's army, was a hearty, whole-souled, enthusiastic friend and companion and a kind of genius in mathematics, and especially in engineering.

        The society in Columbia at that time was one of the most refined and cultivated I ever knew, making it a delightful place for my wife and family. But the prospects for the South were gloomy in the extreme. I bore the iniquities of the government as long as I could, but when the negro legislature began to talk about what they were going to do with the University, I thought it time to quit. Colonies were being formed to emigrate to Mexico and Brazil, and for a while John and I thought seriously of trying our fortunes with Maximilian. But just then we heard through friends of the proposed University of California, and wrote immediately applying for professorships. We were elected, John in November and I in December,

1868, and this led to our removal to California in the following year.

        Meanwhile, in the winter of 1866, I had resumed my scientific activity, which had perforce been suspended when the absorption of the mind in the war and its possible results made abstract thinking and writing seem an absurdity, if not a crime. During the winter of 1866-'67 I gave six lectures on coal and petroleum at the Peabody Institute in Baltimore, and in the following year again commenced original scientific work. From early childhood, as I have already said, I had been singularly gifted in binocular experimenting and in the analysis of visual phenomena, and to this subject I now turned my attention. My interest was excited by an elaborate paper in the Archives des Sciences by Claparède, and my ardor intensified by an address by Helmholtz before the Royal Society. I at once saw that both these papers were all wrong in their interpretation of the phenomena described, and immediately wrote three articles, Adjustments of the Eye, Rotation of the Eye on the Optic Axis, and The Horopter. These were published in the American Journal of Science in 1869 * and reprinted in the London, Edinburgh,

and Dublin Philosophical Magazine. * They were the beginning of a series of twelve or more papers that I later condensed and embodied in the volume entitled Sight, in the International Scientific Series.

CHAPTER X
EARLY YEARS IN CALIFORNIA

        From Columbia I went to New York with my wife and daughter, and met there my sister Jane and her daughter, who had decided to go with us. As soon as we were sure that the transcontinental railroad, which had just been opened, was working satisfactorily, we started west on it, and arrived in San Francisco early in

September. John and his wife, who had preceded us, met us on our arrival, and the next day we went over to Oakland and took possession of a fine, roomy house that John had previously rented. The University had been completely organized by John, who was to act as its president until the election of such officer by the regents; and was opened on the twentieth of September, 1869, when I entered on my duties. Eleven students were inherited from the College of California, which had disincorporated and turned its property over to the University, twenty-five entered the freshman class, and one or two enrolled as special students, a total of about thirty-eight.

        These early years in California were very active ones for me, the wonderful new country, so different from any that I had previously seen, the climate, the splendid scenery, the active, energetic people, and the magnificent field for scientific, and especially for geological investigations, stimulating my intellectual activity to the highest degree. Coming to a new country, I had to make myself known to the people, so accepted invitations to lecture on many occasions. In addition to popular lectures in many places and frequent addresses before the California

Teachers' Association, I gave at least twenty lectures on scientific subjects before the Mechanics' Institute of San Francisco, and a series on Sundays in Oakland on The Relations of Science and Religion. This last course was reported stenographically and published by Messrs. D. Appleton and Company, constituting my first book. As in the University I lectured on geology, zoology, and botany, I was working to the limit of my strength.

        Geology had now become my favorite department, but as to understand the geology of a new country requires much time and travel, my scientific activity was at first in other lines. Especially did the fascinating subject of binocular vision interest me. I have already said that my first papers on this were in answer to Claparède and Helmholtz, and it is curious that nearly all my work on this subject was forced upon me by the publications of others who were not able to analyze perfectly their own visual impressions. Soon after I came to California my attention was called to a series of papers on Physiology of Vision in the Guy's Hospital Reports by Dr. Townes, which, though fundamentally wrong, were very suggestive to me. From the nature of the misunderstandings

in this case, I saw plainly that a new mode of diagrammatic representation of binocular phenomena was necessary, and accordingly wrote an elaborately illustrated paper, giving the new mode and showing how all binocular phenomena may be completely represented by it. This was published in the American Journal of Science in 1871, * and led up to a paper on Stereoscopic Phenomena ** and one on So-called "Images of Illusion"; and the Theory of Binocular Relief, *** in the preparation of which I made many experiments on binocular perspective by the light of the electric spark. In these papers I supplemented and completed the theory of Brücke, already spoken of. Had nothing else happened I suppose I might have stopped here; but in the same year there had appeared in the Archives des Sciences a most elaborate paper by M. Raoul Pictet, entitled Mémoire sur la Vision Binoculaire, which was itself an abstract of a still more elaborate memoir in the Transactions of the Imperial Academy of St. Petersburg, that contained a theory

of binocular perspective that I saw at once was all wrong, because based on an entire misinterpretation of the phenomena described. I gave the true interpretation in the last of the above-named papers, and published it not only in the American Journal of Science but also in the Archives des Sciences. * M. Pictet replied, and I wrote a rejoinder on transparency of double images, ** giving an explanation that was confirmed by Professor Dor, of the University of Berne, in a paper published in the Archives des Sciences. In the same year Professor Tyndall published in the Philosophical Magazine a letter to him by J. L. Tupper, in which were described some phenomena that seemed to him to contradict the law of direction. I immediately wrote, showing that, instead of contradicting, they confirm that law. *** It is thus seen that the year 1871 was a fruitful one to me on this subject.

        Meanwhile, in 1870, our hearts had been gladdened by the birth of the long-hoped-for son. Though I had been well enough satisfied