"I think my testimony in this matter is worth something. During nearly four years of life in the army, and five years' residence within one mile of the West Point Academy, I have met with a great many officers of the volunteer and regular service, and never has a man more thoroughly impressed me with the fact that he was a gentleman, and conscientious in duty even to the slightest particular, than General Upton. Moreover, he is an enthusiast in his profession, and therefore successful. He is the author of the Infantry Tactics now in use in our army, and said to be the finest in the world. From frequent intercourse with the Point, I know that he maintains a daily discipline among the cadets as nearly perfect as anything of the kind can be. It is my belief that investigation of the recent troubles will show that the inst.i.tution was never better officered than at present.

"Moreover, General Upton is a sincere Christian--one that lives up to his profession. His influence in this respect is most marked and happy upon the corps. We cannot overestimate the importance of the fact that the officer directly in charge of the young men at the Point is guided in all respects, not only by strict military honor and duty, but by the highest Christian principle."

CHAPTER VIII

RESIGNATION FROM THE MINISTRY

While at Highland Falls Edward wrote his first novel, "Barriers Burned Away." He had told of his plan for a story to be based upon the scenes he had witnessed among the ruins of the great Chicago fire, and when I received a letter from him the following winter asking me to make him a visit as soon as possible, I suspected that he wanted my opinion of what he had written. And I was not disappointed, for on the evening after my arrival he read to me a number of chapters, and we talked over his plan for the story until after midnight, he going over the outlines that he then had in mind, though he afterward made some changes. The next day he called upon Dr. Field, editor of _The Evangelist_, and owing to his kind encouragement the visit was repeated, the result being that the story was finally accepted for serial publication in that paper.

From that time on, my brother read to me every one of his stories in ma.n.u.script, and I enjoyed them the more from the fact that in every case I recognized the originals from which he had drawn his scenes and characters, idealized as they were.

In 1874 his health had become so much impaired by overwork that his physician strongly urged him to give up either writing or preaching.

After giving the matter serious consideration and consulting with friends whose advice he valued, my brother reluctantly decided to retire from the ministry. How his people parted with him is told in a letter to _The Evangelist_, whose readers had followed with so much interest and substantial aid my brother's efforts to build a new church.

"I have been very much surprised. Last Sabbath, the 7th of March, was my birthday. On the 6th I sat quietly in my study until the sun was behind the mountains, and then was sent out of the house on false pretences. The young people of the church were getting up an entertainment, and suddenly took it into their heads that they needed my a.s.sistance. There seemed many delays, but we at last got through. Then I received a startling message that a neighbor wished to see me immediately. Surmising sudden illness or trouble, I did not go home, but started off in great haste. I found not sickness, but mystery, at this neighbor's, which I could not fathom. My friend and his wife were unusually entertaining and I could not get away, though I knew I was keeping tea waiting at home. Finally there came another mysterious message--'Two gentlemen and two ladies wished to see me at the parsonage.' 'O, I understand now,' I thought. 'It is a wedding; but they are managing it rather oddly.'

"But imagine my surprise when I opened the door, and found about one hundred and fifty people present. Well, to be brief, they just overwhelmed us with kindness. They gave us fine music, and provided a supper for five hundred instead of one hundred and fifty.

"Mrs. Roe thought that she was in the secret; but they surprised her also by presenting, with cordial words, a handsome sum of money at the close of the evening.

"My resignation has not yet been accepted, but we expect that the pastoral relation will be dissolved at the next meeting of Presbytery. As soon as spring comes in reality, and the embargo of ice and snow is over, we must be upon the wing; and this spontaneous and hearty proof of the friendliness of my people was very grateful to me. During the nine years of my pastorate they have been called to pa.s.s through many trying and difficult times.

They have often been asked to give beyond their means, and have often done so. With the very limited amount of wealth in the congregation, even the generous aid received from abroad and from visitors could not prevent the effort to erect a new church and parsonage from being an exceedingly heavy burden, involving perplexing and vexatious questions. When I remember how patiently they have borne these burdens, how hard many have worked, and how many instances of genuine self-denial there have been, I feel that too much cannot be said in their praise. It is my hope and my belief that they will deal as kindly with my successor as they have with me."

Dr. Edgar A. Mearns of the United States army was one of my brother's devoted friends who knew him intimately during the years of his ministry. In 1888, from Fort Snelling, Minn., he writes as follows:--

"The sad news of the death of Rev. E. P. Roe, at Cornwall-on-Hudson, reached me to-day, and filled my heart with sadness. During the long years of my sojourn upon the western frontier, I have looked forward with unspeakable pleasure to the time when I could grasp the hand of this true friend, and walk and talk with him, and enjoy once more the society of his dear family.

I had planned a leave of absence from my station in the desert-wilderness of Arizona for last spring, in response to his urgent invitations; but other duties awaited me, and I was not permitted to realize the fulfilment of this ardent desire. We were to walk through the woodlands, drive over the mountains, and sail on our native Hudson. I saw in mental vision the very rock under which we used to poke at the woodchucks with a stick, and on which we gathered the walking fern, and seemed once more to hear him discoursing of small fruits in his delightful garden, or reading to the family circle from his latest ma.n.u.scripts. In the West many hearts have been pierced by this sorrow, for he made friends wherever he went.

"To write a word of the lost friend, who has been a very pillar of support in times of struggle or affliction, will perhaps relieve a pain at the heart which is hard to bear. It is not as an author justly celebrated, that I must speak of him, but of the private life of one who combined every attribute of mind and heart to endear him to his friends. I have known him as a pastor, laboring a.s.siduously among the members of his flock, dispensing liberal charity among the poor, and lightening everybody's burden. He was a rock to lay hold of when other friendships were borne away by the cruel winds of adversity. Then it was that the genial warmth of his smile, the kindly hand-pressure, and the cheerful encouragement of his voice fettered sore hearts to his.

"I have seen him as a hero, struggling in the water and broken ice, bearing in his arms the bodies of children for whom he risked his life. He had heard a cry for help, and that alone was enough to enlist the sympathy and secure the highest sacrifice of which our nature is capable. Then, paying no heed to personal sickness and injury, he strove to comfort the bereaved hearts of mothers, whose boys were drowned, perhaps by exposure laying the seeds of the disease which recently caused his death.

"His zealous devotion to his calling, together with exposure to various hardships encountered on frequent lecturing tours made for the purpose of obtaining funds for the erection of a suitable church for his congregation, made such inroads into his naturally vigorous const.i.tution that, having accomplished his task, he was compelled to resign his charge as pastor, after about nine years of faithful service. The beautiful stone Presbyterian church at Highland Falls is a monument to his untiring efforts."

CHAPTER IX

FRUIT CULTURE AND LITERARY WORK

After my brother's resignation from the ministry, he bought a plain, old-fashioned house with considerable ground about it, at Cornwall-on-the-Hudson, two miles distant from his childhood home, and went there to live.

It soon became evident, however, that Edward could not depend upon his literary work alone for the support of his growing family. He had for some years taken much interest in the cultivation of small fruits, and after the removal to Cornwall he carried on this work upon a larger scale, finding it profitable as well as interesting.

I remember the piles of letters that came to him each day for several years containing orders for plants. Although in general not a methodical man, yet the painstaking care which he was known to exercise in keeping the many varieties distinct enabled his customers to rely implicitly upon his statements as to the kind and value of the plants ordered. He often employed many men and boys on his place, but always engaged them with the understanding that if through carelessness the varieties of plants became mixed the offender was to be dismissed at once, and a few examples soon taught his a.s.sistants that he meant what he said. But when they were faithful to their duty, they invariably found him considerate and kind.

The strawberry was Edward's favorite among the small fruits, and he made many experiments with new varieties. When the vines were bearing, sometimes as many as forty bushels of berries were picked in a single day. Some of them were of mammoth size. I remember on one occasion we took from a basket four berries which filled to the brim a large coffee-cup, and notwithstanding their enormous size they were solid and sweet. During this period he wrote the articles on "Success with Small Fruits," published in _Scribner's Magazine_.

Currants came next in his favor. Writing of them he says: "Let me recommend the currant cure. If any one is languid, depressed in spirits, inclined to headaches, and generally 'out of sorts,' let him finish his breakfast daily for a month with a dish of freshly picked currants. He will soon doubt his own ident.i.ty, and may even think that he is becoming a good man. In brief, the truth of the ancient pun will be verified, 'That the power to live a good life depends largely upon the _liver_.' Let it be taught at the theological seminaries that the currant is a means of grace. It is a corrective, and that is what average humanity most needs."

Mr. Charles Downing of Newburgh, a noted horticulturist, was Edward's valued friend. He was especially successful in fruit culture, and it was his custom to forward to my brother for trial novelties sent to him from every part of the country. Then on pleasant summer afternoons the old gentleman would visit my brother, and, side by side, they would compare the much-heralded strangers with the standard varieties. Often forty or fifty kinds were bearing under precisely the same conditions.

The two lovers of Nature thus gained knowledge of many of her secrets.

Edward's coming to live in Cornwall was a source of great pleasure to our father, who, although then past eighty years of age, was still vigorous, and as full of enthusiasm for his garden as when he first moved to the country. Often on summer mornings, before the sun was fairly above the eastern mountains, father would drive over to my brother's, taking in his phaeton a basket of fruit or vegetables that he believed were earlier than any in my brother's garden. These he would leave at the front door for Edward to discover when he came downstairs, and return in time for our breakfast. He would laugh with the keenest enjoyment if he found that his beans or sweet corn had ripened first. Frequently he would remain at his son's house for breakfast, and afterwards the two would wander together over the grounds while the dew was still fresh upon the fruit and flowers. Many of the rosebushes and shrubs had been transplanted from the old garden, and it delighted my father and brother to see that they were flourishing and blooming in their new environment.

When Edward first moved to Cornwall several newspapers severely criticised him for giving up the ministry to write novels. I was sitting with him alone in his library one day when such a criticism came to him through the mail. After reading it he handed it quietly to me, went to his desk and took down a bundle of letters, saying: "These are mostly from young men, not one of whom I know, who have written to me of the benefit received from my books." He then read to me some of those touching letters of confession and thanks for his inspiring help to a better life.

When he finished reading the letters he said: "I know my books are read by thousands; my voice reached at most but a few hundred. I believe many who would never think of writing to me such letters as these are also helped. Do you think I have made a mistake? My object in writing, as in preaching, is to do good, and the question is, Which can I do best? I think with the pen, and I shall go on writing, no matter what the critics say."

Still his name was retained on the rolls of the North River Presbytery, and he was always ready to preach when needed, especially in neglected districts. For a long time after father's death he kept up the little Sunday-school that had been father's special care.

His home commanded a fine view of the river and mountains, and he would watch with great delight the grand thunder-storms that so often sweep over the Highlands. I take this description of a storm from one of his letters:--

"This moist summer has given a rich, dark luxuriance to the foliage, that contrasts favorably to the parched, withered aspect of everything last year. The oldest inhabitants (that cla.s.s so sorely perplexed in this age of innovations) were astonished to learn that a sharp frost occurred in the mountains back of us, just before the Fourth. Even the seasons have caught the infection of the times, and no longer continue their usual jog-trot through the year, but indulge in the strangest extremes and freaks.

"A person living in the city can have little idea of thunder-storms as they occur in this mountain region. The hills about us, while they attract the electrified clouds, are also our protection, for, abounding in iron ore, they become huge lightning-rods above the houses and hamlets at their bases. But little recks old Bear Mountain, or Cro' Nest, Jove's most fiery bolts. The rocky splinters fly for a moment; some oak or chestnut comes quivering down; but soon the mosses, like kindly charity, have covered up the wounded rock, and three or four saplings have grown from the roots of the blighted tree.

"But the storm we witness from our safe and sheltered homes is often grand beyond description. At first, in the distant west, a cloud rises so dark that you can scarcely distinguish it from a blue highland. But a low muttering of thunder vibrates through the sultry air, and we know what is coming. Soon the afternoon sun is shaded, and a deep, unnatural twilight settles upon the landscape like the shadow of a great sorrow on a face that was smiling a moment before. The thunder grows heavier, like the rumble and roar of an approaching battle. The western arch of the sky is black as night. The eastern arch is bright and sunny, and as you glance from side to side, you cannot but think of those who, comparatively innocent and happy at first, cloud their lives in maturer years with evil and crime, and darken the future with the wrath of heaven. At last the vanguard of black flying clouds, disjointed, jagged, the rough skirmish line of the advancing storm, is over our heads. Back of these, in one dark, solid ma.s.s, comes the tempest.

For a moment there is a sort of hush of expectation, like the lull before a battle. The trees on the distant brow of a mountain are seen to toss and writhe, but as yet no sound is heard. Soon there is a faint, far-away rushing noise, the low, deep prelude of nature's grand musical discord that is to follow. There is a vivid flash, and a startling peal of thunder breaks forth overhead, and rolls away with countless reverberations among the hills. In the meantime the distant rushing sound has developed into an increasing roar. Half-way down the mountain-side the trees are swaying wildly.

At the base stands a grove, motionless, expectant, like a square of infantry awaiting an impetuous cavalry charge. In a moment it comes. At first the shock seems terrible. Every branch bends low.

Dead limbs rattle down like hail. Leaves, torn away, fly wildly through the air. But the st.u.r.dy trunks stand their ground, and the baffled tempest pa.s.ses on. Mingling with the rush of the wind and reverberations of thunder, a new sound, a new part now enters into the grand harmony. At first it is a low, continuous roar, caused by the falling rain upon the leaves. It grows louder fast, like the pattering feet of a coming mult.i.tude. Then the great drops fall around, yards apart, like scattering shots. They grow closer, and soon a streaming torrent drives you to shelter. The next heavy peal is to the eastward, showing that the bulk of the shower is past.

The roar of the thunder just dies away down the river. The thickly falling rain contracts your vision to a narrow circle, out of which Cozzens's great hotel and Bear Mountain loom vaguely. The flowers and shrubbery bend to the moisture with the air of one who stands and takes it. The steady, continuous plash upon the roof slackens into a quiet pattering of raindrops. The west is lightening up; by and by a long line of blue is seen above Cro' Nest. The setting sun shines out upon a purified and more beautiful landscape. Every leaf, every spear of gra.s.s is brilliant with gems of moisture. The cloud scenery has all changed. The sun is setting in unclouded splendor. Not the west but the east is now black with storm; but the rainbow, emblem of hope and G.o.d's mercy, spans its blackness, and in the skies we again have suggested to us a life, once clouded and darkly threatened by evil, but now, through penitence and reform, ending in peace and beauty, G.o.d spanning the wrong of the past with His rich and varied promises of forgiveness. At last the skies are clear again. Along the eastern horizon the retreating storm sends up occasional flashes, that seem like regretful thoughts of the past. Then night comes on, cool, moonlit, breathless. Not a leaf stirs where an hour before the st.u.r.diest limbs bent to the earth. This must be nature's commentary on the 'peace that pa.s.seth all understanding.'"

At this period Dr. Lyman Abbott made his permanent home in Cornwall, going almost daily to the city to attend to his duties as editor of the _Christian Union_.

In a short article written for that paper my brother describes a drive taken over the mountains when Dr. Abbott was entertaining the Brooklyn a.s.sociation of Congregational Ministers.

"Pleasures long planned and antic.i.p.ated often prove 'flat, stale, and unprofitable' when at last they disappoint us in their sorry contrast with our hopes, while on the other hand good times that come unexpectedly are enjoyed all the more keenly because such agreeable surprises. The other morning the editor of the _Christian Union_, Dr. Lyman Abbott, who is a near neighbor and a nearer friend, appeared at my door with the announcement that he was to meet on the morrow at the West Point landing the New York and Brooklyn a.s.sociation of Congregational Ministers, at the same time giving me an invitation to accompany him, which I accepted on the spot. The morning of the 27th found us leading an array of carriages up the Cornwall slope of the mountain, for it had been arranged that the gentlemen whom Mr. and Mrs. Abbott were to entertain for the day should land at West Point and enjoy one of the finest drives in America across the Highlands, instead of a prosaic ride down from Newburgh through the brickyards. The Albany day boat was on time, and so were we, and there stepped on sh.o.r.e a venerable body of divinity, or rather several bodies, led by Rev.

Henry Ward Beecher and his brother, Dr. Edward Beecher. A shower the previous evening had left less dust than could be found in the immaculate parlor of a spinster, and the heated air had been cooled to such a nicety of adjustment that we grew warm in the praise of its balminess. With much good-natured badinage and repartee we climbed the West Point hill and took the outer avenue that skirts the river edge of the plain and campus. 'The brethren' gazed with mild curiosity at 'Flirtation Walk' where it led demurely and openly from the main road, but soon lost itself in winding intricacies, mysterious copsewood, and the still deeper mysteries suggested by the imagination. Let no grave reader lift a disdainful nose. Perhaps this same secluded path of frivolous name has had a greater influence on human destiny than himself.

"The trim plain and trimmer cadets were soon left far behind, and nature began to wear the aspect it had shown to our great grandfathers when children. Through the skilful engineering of Mr.

Charles Caldwell, a most excellent road of easy grades winds across Cro' Nest and b.u.t.ter Hill (the latter was rechristened 'Storm King'

some years since by the poet, N. P. Willis). As our path zigzagged up the s.h.a.ggy sides of Cro' Nest, wider and superber views opened out before us, until at last West Point with its gleaming tents, the winding river with its silver sheen, and the village of Cold Spring lay at our feet, while to the southwest a mult.i.tude of green highlands lifted their crests like a confusion of emerald waves. A few moments more brought us to the summit, and although we were but a thousand feet nearer heaven than when we started, the air was so pure and sweet and the sky so blue that it might well seem to those who had so recently left the stifling city that they had climbed half-way thither. A half an hour's ride brought us to the northern slope of the mountains. Here we made a halt at Mr. Cobb's 'School on the Heights," and were entertained with unlimited cherries, which by some strange providence had escaped the boys, and also by some exceedingly interesting gymnastic exercises that were performed to the rhythm of gay music. There are probably few finer views on the river than that from Mr. Cobb's piazza and grounds, and thus his pupils are under the best of influences out of doors as well as within. As Mr. Abbott's guests looked down upon the broad expanse of Newburgh Bay, the city itself, the picturesque village of Cornwall, and the great swale of rich diversified country that lay between our lofty eyrie and the dim and distant Shaw.a.n.gunk Mountains that blended with the clouds, they must have felt indebted to their host for one of the richest pleasures of their lives.

[Ill.u.s.tration: VIEW FROM THE PIAZZA AT "ROELANDS."]

"At last Mr. Beecher said that he carried an internal clock which plainly intimated that it was time for dinner. The _descensus_ was easy, but Mrs. Abbott's warm welcome and hot dinner suggested an _avernus_ only by blissful contrast. The fun, wit, and jollity of the remainder of the evening can no more be reproduced than the sparkle of yesterday's dew or the ripple of yesterday's waves. It was a pleasant thing to see those gray-haired men, many of whom had been burdened with care more than half a century, becoming boy-like again in feeling and mirthfulness."

During Edward's residence in Cornwall, each year about the middle of June, when the roses and strawberries were in their prime, it was his custom to send an annual invitation to the Philolethean Club of clergymen in New York City to visit him for a day at his home. Dr.

Howard Crosby, Dr. Lyman Abbott, Dr. Schaeffer, and many other well-known clergymen were members of this club. At these meetings the learned and dignified clergymen threw aside all formality and were like a company of college boys off for a frolic. Their keen wit, quick repartee, and droll stories at these times will never be forgotten by those privileged to listen.

In 1882 heavy financial loss came upon us as a family owing to the failure of an elder brother. Edward, in his efforts to help him, became deeply involved, and to satisfy his creditors was obliged to sell the copyrights of several of his earlier books. These were bought by a friend without his knowledge at the time. After several years of incessant labor he worked his way out of these difficulties, and, owing to the immense sale of his books, was able to redeem his copyrights. He then felt free to take rest and change of scene in a trip to Southern California.