Chapter IX: Part 9

In 1800, the corporation of the city of New York felt the need of a more spacious and imposing civic building, so a prize of $350 was offered for a plan and elevations of a town-hall of four façades. One of those sent in received the approbation of the City Fathers two years later; and the Common Council immediately appointed a building committee, and appropriated $25,000 for the work. The architect was a native of New York: his name was John McComb. Born in 1763, he had already gained distinction in his profession by his plans for the front of the Government House, Washington Hall, St. John’s Church, the Murray St. and Bleecker St. churches, and many other public and private edifices in New York, Philadelphia, and other cities.

Mr. McComb was quite abreast with the architectural tastes of his day. He had no sympathy with the Gothic style, nor is his work in the least reminiscent of the great Renaissance town-halls of the Netherlands. He seems to have almost slavishly followed the English school of architects, particularly the Adam brothers and Sir William Chambers. The works of the latter especially were held in the highest esteem and admiration by the New York architect.

It is not difficult to trace the sources from which Mr. McComb derived his inspiration for a City Hall which even to-day is unsurpassed in dignity, simplicity, beauty and purity of design by any building of this kind in the country. Cross-sectioned north and south it strongly resembles the Register Office, Edinburgh, that was built by the Adams in 1774. About the same date they were responsible for the Assembly Rooms, Glasgow, the stairway of which the one in the City Hall greatly resembles, but the latter is more graceful and better proportioned. In fact, the interior details show an intimate acquaintance with the works of the Adam brothers.

For the principal elevations, the architect went to Inigo Jones’s plans for Whitehall Palace: with the exception of the Banqueting House, these had never been carried out. Sir William Chambers was closely followed in the exterior details; and Adam, Richardson, Soane, Campbell and Richardson, in the plan and interior work.

When the site was chosen, it was considered that he would indeed be a wild dreamer who would expect the city to spread further up town than what is now City Hall Park: the chief façade therefore looked at the city lying below it, and the back towards the open country was left plain and unornamented,--for who would ever see that side?

The front, therefore, was built of Stockbridge marble, the sides of Morrisania or Verplanck marble, and the rear of brown stone. The marble was carved by John Lemair, whom the architect held in high esteem. He wrote: “I have visited the carver’s shop almost daily, and I have always been pleased with Mr. Lemair’s attention, mode of working and finishing the capitals,--work which is not surpassed by any in the United States and but seldom seen better executed in Europe and which for proportion and neatness of workmanship will serve as models for carvers in future.”

The work on the interior, however, was not so satisfactory; the execution of the wood-carving is very inferior: there was a scarcity of good wood-carvers in New York at that date. On account of the scarcity of labour and funds, it took ten years to build; but on the whole the work was well done and economically, for it cost no more than half a million dollars.

In the original design, a clock was placed in the centre window of the attic story front: this clock was not supplied till 1830, when it was placed in the cupola which was altered to receive it. This change was detrimental to the general effect as originally intended.

In 1811, before it was quite completed, the Fourth of July was celebrated in the new City Hall; and the Aldermen took up their quarters there in August of that year. From that time it became the nucleus of municipal life, and its grounds were visited for recreation as well as business. The park gave its name to the famous Park Theatre, that stood on the south-east side.

A writer of the day describes the Park as “a piece of inclosed ground in front of the new City Hall, consisting of about four acres, planted with elms, planes, willows and catalpas, the surrounding foot-walk encompassed with rows of poplars. This beautiful grove in the middle of the city, combines in a high degree ornament with health and pleasure; and to enhance the enjoyments of the place, the English and French reading-room, the Shakespeare gallery, and the theatre, offer ready amusement to the mind; while the mechanic-hall, the London hotel and the New York gardens present instant refreshment to the body. Though the trees are but young, and of few years’ growth, the Park may be pronounced an elegant and improving place.”

The artistic beauty of the building has more than once suffered from overzealous repairs and renovations. Two or three years ago, the exterior was scoured and cleaned with a sand-blast process that deprived the marble of all the mellow tones and tints with which Time had beautified it: but Time can also heal this wound.

In 1858, at the great celebration in honour of the successful laying of the first Atlantic cable, there was a grand display of fireworks, during which a stray spark set fire to some inflammable material stored at base of the cupola. The latter was consumed, and the low dome over the stairway was also damaged. This was not the only damage done by this fire, for the clock was also destroyed, and the scales fell from the hands of Justice,--the figure that surmounted the cupola. Moreover, when the old bell hanging there, that had so often clanged forth its alarm to summon the citizens, was removed, the cornice was injured. For several years, no effort was made to repair the damage; the windows were boarded up, and the façade remained smoke-blackened. When the work of repair was finally taken in hand, there was no attempt to restore anything but the general appearance of the original, so that both dome and cupola suffered in that Medean cauldron.

The City Hall has often been the scene of important functions. On Feb. 22, 1819, a grand ball was given in honour of General Andrew Jackson; and in 1825, General Lafayette was escorted there immediately after his arrival at Castle Garden. A great dinner was given to him within its walls; and in the “Portrait Room” he held public receptions every day from twelve to two o’clock, during his stay in New York.

Nearly every important foreigner and distinguished “guest of the nation” has been welcomed at the City Hall by the Mayor: a brilliant reception to Prince Henry of Prussia was among the latest.

The City Hall, too, has frequently been illuminated in celebration of some event of importance. That of 1825, in honour of the opening of the Erie Canal was considered magnificent at the time. Considering that they had neither gas nor electricity, they did very well, for no less than 2,306 lights were displayed, including wax candles, and lamps of various colours. There was a transparency on the front representing the Erie Canal, emblematical figures, etc., etc. There was also a lavish display of fireworks.

Another remarkable demonstration occurred at the City Hall when the Croton Water Works were given to the city in 1842. There was a great procession and a fountain was formally opened in the City Hall Park. This was much admired; and by manipulating the pipes the fountain was made to assume such shapes as the “Maid of the Mist,” the “Croton Plume,” the “Vase,” the “Dome,” the “Bouquet,” the “Wheat Sheaf” and the “Weeping Willow.”

THE WHITE HOUSE

The long low white mansion with its white colonnades surrounded by green lawns and tall shade trees standing some little distance from Pennsylvania Avenue is familiar to every one in the United States. Even those who have not visited the house--and these are few in number--know it well by means of pictures. Perhaps the prettiest view of the building is the less familiar one of the South Portico, below which the greensward stretches down almost to the Potomac and is broken by fountains and flower beds. The view is very pretty, too, from the Portico itself, embracing the shining river and the tall Monument on the right.

We cannot help regretting that the first President of the United States was never an occupant of the White House and that he did not know it would be popularly called by a name associated with his wife. He took the greatest interest in the architectural plans for it, and with Mrs. Washington visited the mansion just before the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Adams.

The story of the White House is as follows:--In 1792, the United States Government offered a prize of five hundred dollars for the best plan for the official residence of the President. The fortunate architect was James Hoban, an Irishman by birth, but at this time a resident of South Carolina. Hoban selected for his model the Duke of Leinster’s new house in Dublin, built in the fashionable classic style of the day. The original plan for the Presidential mansion called for three stories, and Hoban suggested that wings adorned with colonnades should be added as need for extension arose. Public opinion, however, was aghast at such magnificence, and, although Washington liked the plan, the architect was obliged to modify it.

The stone of which it is built was quarried at Rock Creek, near Washington. The corner-stone was laid by General Washington in 1792; but the house was not finished until 1799. By this time John Adams had become President of the United States and he and Mrs. Adams were the first occupants. Mrs. Adams’s description shows very plainly that the Mansion was not, in any sense, palatial. She says in one of her chatty letters:

“The house is upon a grand and superb scale, requiring about thirty servants to attend and keep the apartments in proper order, and perform the ordinary business of the house and stables--an establishment very well proportioned to the President’s salary. The lighting the apartments from the kitchen to parlours and chambers is a tax indeed, and the fires we are obliged to keep to secure us from daily agues is another very cheering comfort! To assist us in this castle, and render less attendance necessary, bells are wholly wanting, not one single one being hung through the whole house, and promises are all you can obtain. This is so great an inconvenience that I know not how to do, or what to do.... We have not the least fence, yard or other conveniences without, and the great unfinished audience-room [the East Room] I make a drying-room of to hang my clothes in. Six chambers are made comfortable; two lower rooms, one for a parlour and one for a ballroom.”

Little or nothing was done to make the Executive Mansion more sumptuous during either Jefferson’s or Madison’s administrations; and it must have been a surprise to visitors from other parts of the world to see such a simple dwelling. Writing home in 1804, Thomas Moore says: “The President’s house is encircled by a very rude pale, through which a common rustic stile introduced visitors.”

The Madisons, whose home it became in 1809, were noted for the old-fashioned Virginia hospitality that they extended to those invited to both public and private entertainments. The famous Dolly Madison was a gracious hostess, and her abundant table did not escape criticism.

The Madisons were compelled to flee from the house on the approach of the British troops in 1814. Many stories are told of how Mrs. Madison saved the valued portrait of Washington that had been hanging in the State Dining-Room since 1800; but her own is the best. Mrs. Madison did not cut the picture from the frame as the legend has it, but ordered this to be done. Just before her flight, she writes to her sister on the 23d of August, 1814:

“My husband left me yesterday morning to join General Winder. He inquired anxiously whether I had courage or firmness to remain in the President’s House until his return on the morrow, or succeeding day, and on my assurance that I had no fear but for him, and the success of our army, he left, beseeching me to take care of myself, and of the Cabinet papers, public and private. I have since received two despatches from him written with a pencil. The last is alarming, because he desires I should be ready at a moment’s warning to enter my carriage and leave the city; that the enemy seemed stronger than had at first been reported, and it might happen that they would reach the city with the intention of destroying it. I am accordingly ready; I have pressed as many Cabinet papers into trunks as to fill one carriage; our private property must be sacrificed, as it is impossible to procure wagons for its transportation. I am determined not to go myself until I see Mr. Madison safe so that he can accompany me, as I hear of much hostility towards him.”

After the Battle of Bladensburg, she continues:

“Our kind friend Mr. Carroll has come to hasten my departure, and in a very bad humour with me, because I insist on waiting until the large picture of General Washington is secured, and it requires to be unscrewed from the wall. The process was found too tedious for these perilous moments; I have ordered the frame to be broken and the canvas taken out. It is done! and the precious portrait placed in the hands of two gentlemen from New York for safe keeping. And now, dear sister, I must leave the house, or the retreating army will make me a prisoner in it by filling up the road I am directed to take. Where I shall again write to you, or where I shall be to-morrow I cannot tell!

DOLLY.”

The British troops entered the Mansion and set fire to it. “I have indeed to this hour,” wrote an eye-witness in 1855, “the vivid impression upon my eye of columns of smoke and flame ascending all through the night of August 24, 1814, from the Capitol, President’s house and other public buildings, as if the whole were on fire, some burning slowly others with bursts of flames, and sparks mounting high in the dark heavens.”

This spectator was with President Madison, the Secretary of the Navy and others across the river, watching the spectacle.

After the fire of 1814, the Madisons lived in rented houses in Washington.

When the Mansion was partially restored and again made habitable, the blackened exterior was painted white and the building received the name White House in honour of Mrs. Washington’s early home in Virginia. President and Mrs. Monroe held the first public reception in 1818, on New Year’s Day.

The White House was refurnished in 1825, for the visit of General Lafayette. Congress allowed John Quincy Adams $14,000 for this purpose. Another allowance of $13,000 was made to Martin Van Buren for further decorations and furnishings, and President Johnson was allowed $30,000 to repair the building after the Civil War.

The portico on the North Side was added in President Jackson’s time.

The most important changes, however, have taken place during President Roosevelt’s administration. About half a million dollars have been spent in making architectural improvements, both within and without. A terrace has been added on the west side, leading to the executive offices, and by the removal of the conservatory, the state dining-room has been enlarged. This room has also been refurnished with panels, tapestries and trophies of the chase.

The historical rooms are the great “East Room,” where the public receptions are held and where the brilliant marriages of Nelly Grant and Alice Roosevelt took place; the “State-Dining-room”; the “Red Room,” the “Blue Room” and the “Green Room”; and although the furniture and draperies of these rooms have been changed from time to time, the colours have been rigidly adhered to.

The “Blue Room,” of which Jefferson was particularly fond, is the President’s reception-room. It is oval in shape. At present the walls are covered with blue silk and the window curtains are blue sprinkled with golden stars.

Scattered through the various rooms are many portraits of the Presidents and their wives.

The conservatory of the White House, which owes much to President Grant, has always been noted, and supplies choice flowers and plants for the state dinners and other important entertainments.

The White House is full of memories and associations of the public and private life of the Presidents. Weddings, funerals, and births have occurred here. Within its walls President Lincoln signed the Proclamation of Emancipation. Here Garfield languished for weeks after his assassination. The last notable event was the wedding of Miss Alice Roosevelt, the President’s daughter, to Mr. Nicholas Longworth,--the most brilliant entertainment that the White House has ever seen.

THE WHITE HOUSE OF THE CONFEDERACY, RICHMOND

One of the Meccas of the Southern States is a house in Richmond formerly known as “The White House of the Confederacy,” and now as “The Confederate Museum.” It is a plain, substantial house with columns at the back and is a typical residence of Richmond and of the Nineteenth Century. The house was built in 1819 by Dr. Brockenbrough for his residence and must have been more imposing with the original garden.

In 1862 Mr. Lewis Crenshaw, the owner, sold it to the city of Richmond for the use of the Confederate Government; and the city, having furnished it, offered it to Jefferson Davis, the President of the Confederate States for his residential and official home. Mr. Davis refused to accept the gift, and it was then rented from the Confederate States for the “Executive Mansion.” President Davis and his family lived here for three years until the evacuation of Richmond, when he left with the government officials on the night of April 2, 1865. The “Mississippi Room” was his study, and in it all the important conferences of the President and his officers were held. It may be interesting to quote here from Mrs. Davis’s _Memoirs of Jefferson Davis_, regarding this historic house. She writes:

“In July we moved to the old Brockenbrough house, and began to feel somewhat more at home when walking through the old-fashioned terraced garden or the large airy rooms in the seclusion of family life.

“The mansion stands on the brow of a steep and very high hill that is sharply defined against the plain at its foot through which runs the Danville railway that leads to the heart of Virginia. The house is very large, but the rooms are comparatively few, as some of them are over forty feet square. The ceilings are high, the windows wide and the well-staircases turn in easy curves towards the airy rooms above. The Carrara marble mantels were the delight of our children....

“The tastes, and to some extent, the occupations and habits of the master of the house, if he, as in this case, assisted the architect in his design, are built in the brick and mortar, and like the maiden’s blood in the great bell, they proclaim aloud sympathy or war with those whom it shelters. One felt here the pleasant sense of being in the home of a cultivated, liberal, fine gentleman, and that he had dwelt there in peaceful interchange of kind offices with his neighbours. The garden, planted in cherry, apple and pear-trees sloped in steep terraces down the hill to join the plain below. To this garden or pleasance came always in my mind’s eye a lovely woman, seen only by the eye of faith, as she walked there in ‘maiden meditation.’

“Every old Virginia gentleman of good social position who came to see us, looked pensively out on the grounds and said, with a tone of regret, something like this: ‘This house was perfect when lovely Mary Brockenbrough used to walk there, singing among the flowers’; and then came a description of her light step, her dignified mien, her sweet voice and the other graces which take hold of our hearts with a gentle touch and hold them with a grip of steel. At first it seemed odd and we regretted our visitor’s disappointment, but after a while Mary came to us, too, and remained the titular goddess of the garden. Her name became a household word. ‘Whether Mary would approve’ was a question my husband playfully asked, when he liked the arrangement of the drawing-rooms.”

When General Godfrey Witzel, in command of the Northern troops entered the city on the morning of April 3, 1865, he made this house his headquarters; and it was used as the headquarters of the United States Government during the five years that Virginia was under military rule and was called “District No. 1.” When Abraham Lincoln passed through Richmond a few days after the evacuation, he was received in the “Georgia room” of this old house.

After the war “The White House of the Confederacy” became the home of the first public school established in Richmond and was used as such for more than twenty years. Finally, to save it from destruction, for the house was falling into decay, a mass-meeting was held in Richmond to take measures for its preservation. A society was formed called the “Confederate Memorial Literary Society” whose first act was to petition the city to yield it to its charge for the purpose of establishing a Museum of Confederate relics and a memorial to President Davis.

The Museum was formally opened in 1890. Quoting from the charter:

“The purposes for which it is formed are to establish in the city of Richmond, in the State of Virginia, the capital of the late Confederate States of America, a Confederate Memorial Literary Society or Association, to collect and receive, by gift, purchase, or otherwise, all books and other literary productions pertaining to the late war between the States, and of those engaged therein; all works of art or science, all battle-flags, relics, and other emblems of that struggle, and to preserve and keep the same for the use of said Society and the public.”

A room, bearing the distinctive name, shield, and colours of the State it represents, is assigned to each State of the Confederacy, and is a repository for memorials from that State. A Regent and Vice-Regent are appointed to represent each State and to assume the care and expense of their respective rooms--collecting by loan, donation, or otherwise, contributions of what they think will make their rooms attractive.

The Solid South is represented by a general reception room, library and gallery in which the portraits of the President of the Confederate States and of his Cabinet as well as those of the distinguished civil and military leaders are hung. On the left is the “Virginia Room” and on the right the “Georgia Room” and beyond that the “Mississippi Room,” in which the Confederate Cabinet sat. The relics of Jefferson Davis are appropriately placed here. The Kentucky, Alabama, South and North Carolina and Maryland Rooms are in the second story, and in the third, the Alabama, Arkansas, Tennessee, Florida, Missouri, Louisiana and Texas Rooms are situated.

The collection is exceedingly large and of great interest to the student of the great struggle of 1861–1865.

THE OLD STATE HOUSE, BOSTON[23]

EDWARD G. PORTER

The Old State House stands upon the site of the original market-place, opposite the first meeting-house in which, for a quarter of a century, the town-meetings were held, according to the custom of the time.

In the year 1656 Captain Robert Keayne, one of the founders of the Ancient and Honourable Artillery Company, left, in his voluminous and eccentric will, “the sum of three hundred pounds, current money,” for a Town House, which was to furnish room for the market, as well as for the courts, a library, an exchange, an armoury, etc. An equal amount was contributed by citizens, and a wooden structure was erected on this spot which served the purposes of the town until it was destroyed in the great fire of 1711. There are good descriptions extant of this first building, but no pictures or plans. It was the scene of the administration of Endicott, Bellingham, Leverett, Bradstreet, Andros, Phips, Stoughton, Bellomont, and Joseph Dudley. By this time the Town House had become such a necessity that its successor was immediately provided for, one-half the expenses being borne by the Province, and the other half by the Town and the Country in equal proportion.

The first Governor who presided in this building was Joseph Dudley, and after him came Tailer, Shute, Dummer, Burnet, Belcher, and Shirley. It was during the latter’s brilliant administration that the famous expedition against Louisburg was planned and successfully carried out in 1746 under General (afterwards Sir William Pepperell) and Commodore Warren.

The following year the Town House (at that time commonly called the Court House) was seriously injured by fire, which began in the second story and destroyed much of the interior, and nearly all the records, pictures and furniture. The building, however, was reconstructed very much as before; and from that day to this, no essential changes have taken place in its appearance.

An interesting description of it is found in a journal dated 1750:--

“They have also a Town House, built of brick, situated in King’s Street. It’s a very Grand Brick Building, Arch’d all Round and Two Storie Heigh, Sash’d above; its Lower Part is always open, design’d as a Change, tho the Merchants in Fair Weather make their Change in the Open Street, at the eastermost end. In the Upper Story are the Council and Assembly Chambers. It has a neat Capulo, Sash’d all Round, which on rejoycing days is Elluminated.”

The administrations of Pownall, Bernard, and Hutchinson bring us to the stirring events immediately preceding the Revolutionary War. At that time many eyes were turned to this building in hope or fear, as the scene of the royal authority in the Council Chamber, and of the popular demands for Liberty in the Hall of Representatives. The obnoxious measures of the Crown, which followed so rapidly upon the accession of George III. in 1760, were here officially promulgated by the Governors, and vehemently denounced by the patriots.

The collision which finally came in 1775, was foreshadowed in the speeches of James Otis and Samuel Adams, in the protests of the Legislature against the unjust imposition of taxes, in the arrival of the British regiments, and in the massacre of March 5, 1770, which occurred almost under the windows of the Council Chamber.

The quartering of troops in the Town House and the planting of cannon at its doors gave great offence to the people, and served only to increase the difficulty. Under General Gage, the last of the Royal Governors, were developed those military movements which made Lexington, Concord and Bunker Hill immortal, and which led to the organization of an American army, by whose achievements the British were compelled to evacuate Boston on the 17th of March, 1776.

In July of the same year, the Declaration of Independence was read to the citizens of Boston from the famous east window of the Council Chamber, where in the earlier time the Royal succession had been in three instances proclaimed “with Beat of Drum and Blast of Trumpet,” and where also had been announced in turn the appointment of eight governors of Massachusetts under the Crown, and where at last, in 1783, the Proclamation of Peace was read by the Sheriff of Suffolk, amid the grateful shouts of the multitude and the salutes of thirteen cannon at the forts.

In this building John Hancock was inaugurated the first Governor under the Commonwealth; and here presided his successors, James Bowdoin, Samuel Adams, and Increase Sumner. In 1789, General Washington, during his last visit to Boston, reviewed the procession from a temporary balcony erected at the west end of the Hall of Representatives.

Here the Legislature of Massachusetts met for the last time in 1798, and then marched in a body to the more imposing structure which had just been completed on Beacon Hill.

The old building has since then been given up to business purposes, except during an interval of ten years, 1830–1839, when it was occupied by the municipality as a City Hall.

In 1882, it was carefully restored and formally re-dedicated to the public use as a memorial hall. The second floor, containing the ancient Council Chamber and Representatives Hall, has been confided to the custody of the Bostonian Society for a term of years. Valuable portraits, engravings, documents, and other historical relics may here be inspected daily by the public without charge. The tower, the quaint roof, the lion and unicorn, the central stairway, and, in fact, all the details of the building, present with almost absolute accuracy the characteristic features of the old Town House of the fathers. And it is confidently believed that the venerable structure will continue to grow more and more in the affections of the people of Boston, because it was here that “the child Independence was born.”

THE MORRIS-JUMEL HOUSE, NEW YORK

Commanding an extensive view, or “prospect,” as they would have said in Colonial days, of the Harlem River and Long Island Sound, there stands a dwelling of the Georgian period famous under two names,--the “Morris House” and the “Jumel Mansion.” The house was built by Colonel Roger Morris, an English officer who came to this country with General Braddock and was wounded in the ill-fated expedition to Fort Du Quesne. He also served under General Wolfe at Quebec and left the army in 1764 to settle in New York, where he became a member of the King’s Council. He bought the property on Harlem Heights and erected the house now standing as a present for his wife, Mary Philipse, daughter of Frederick Philipse, whom he married in 1758. The Morrises made a charming home here and entertained with lavish hospitality the most distinguished guests until the beginning of the Revolution, when, being Tories, they were forced to leave their house. Eventually, included in the bill of attainder, they went to England, and their house and property in Harlem Heights were confiscated and sold.

Immediately after the battle of Long Island, August 27, 1776, General Washington retreated with his army to Harlem and selected the Morris House for his headquarters. Here Aaron Burr, associated with the later destinies of the house, served as secretary to Washington.

One day, after nearly three months’ residence, Washington started out on a reconnoitering expedition and about fifteen minutes after he had left, the British troops under Sir Thomas Stirling took possession of this desirable place; and from that moment until the evacuation of New York in 1783, the “Morris House” was the headquarters of General Knyphausen and his Hessian soldiers.

In 1785, the house became a tavern and was used as such for several years. It next looms into importance in 1810, when it was purchased by Stephen Jumel, whose handsome and clever American wife and the society that she gathered around her brought it once more into notoriety.

There have been several conflicting stories regarding Madame Jumel’s parentage; but Mr. Josiah Collins Pumpelly in an article published in the _New England Genealogical and Biographical Record_ (1903) obtained the following statement from a relative: “Eliza (Bowen) Jumel was born, April 2, 1777, in Providence, R. I., but not in a poor-house, as was asserted by her enemies during the lawsuit. The statement made in Appleton’s _Cyclopædia of National Biography_ that the lady’s name was Capet, and that she was born at sea, is not sustained by reliable history. Eliza Jumel was the daughter of Phœbe and John Bowen. Her father was a sea-captain and owned his own vessels; her brother and father were drowned together.”

In 1804, she was married to Stephen Jumel, a rich coffee planter of San Domingo, who, during an insurrection on the island and massacre of the French, escaped to New York about 1790. He was much older than his beautiful bride; for at the time of his marriage he was nearly fifty and she twenty-seven. In 1810, they purchased the “Morris House” on Harlem Heights where they lived in great style. Subsequently the Jumels had a home in Paris, where they also entertained sumptuously until M. Jumel’s large fortune melted away. In 1821, Madame Jumel returned to her New York home. It seems that Madame Jumel immediately disposed of her rich furniture and other treasures, for in 1821 the following advertisement appears in the New York newspapers: “On Monday, the 16th of April next, at the Mansion House of Mrs. Jumel, Harlem Heights, the whole of her Furniture and Gallery of original Paintings, together with Kitchen Furniture, Carriages, Horses, and other implements on the premises. Any attempt to describe those superb and elegant articles would hardly convey an idea of what they are; and as people will be at liberty to go and see them one week previous to the sale, it is deemed sufficient to say that such a collection has never been offered to the public and connoisseurs in this country; being a careful selection made in Paris by the best judges from the museum and palace of the late Emperor.”

M. Jumel returned to New York in 1828 and recovered his lost fortune. From that date till his death in 1832, the house again witnessed scenes of gay society. Among the distinguished visitors at this period were Joseph Bonaparte and Louis Napoleon.

Again to quote from Mr. Pumpelly:

“After the death of her husband Madame Jumel carried on her business affairs by herself. She displayed in them excellent judgment and ability. The varied experiences of her life had sharpened her faculties, and the poor Rhode Island girl, with whom scandal had made free, had developed into a woman of culture, tact and superior powers. She furnished her mansion with somewhat of its former splendour. It displayed abundant souvenirs of the First Empire and its renowned master. There were eight chairs which had belonged to the First Consul, a table, the marble top of which had been brought to her from Egypt, a clock which the Emperor had used in the Tuilleries, a chandelier that he had once given to Moreau, tapestries and paintings which had been collected by Josephine; also a set of drawing-room furniture which had once been owned by Charles X.; a bedstead upon which Napoleon had slept for many months and his army chest. Visitors also told of a stand that was said to have belonged to Voltaire, a black leather trunk which was supposed to have been used by Napoleon on the march to Moscow, and an elaborate embroidery of flowers surrounded by a golden chain, which had been made by the Empress. On the furniture was emblazoned the symbolic ‘N’ of the Empire in commemoration of its great chief.”

In 1833, Madame Jumel was married in the drawing-room of this historic house to Aaron Burr. After her death in 1865, the house became the property of Mr. Nelson Chase, whose first wife was Madame Jumel’s niece. It now belongs to the Daughters of the American Revolution.

FORT SUMTER

IZA DUFFUS HARDY

The next morning we sally forth early under a tropical sky of burning blue and take our way to the market, a bright and busy scene, and cool and pleasant even this hot day, the breeze blowing gently through the long airy sheds, supported by open archways, the abundant array of fruit and flowers and vegetables refreshing to the eye. The negro element is in almost exclusive possession behind the stalls, the white in front, but not exclusively. There is a negro majority in South Carolina, in the market as well as elsewhere. Here are all shades of black, yellow and brown; here a good-looking brown girl with immense gold earrings, sits half hidden behind tempting great heaps of rosy tomatoes, golden Florida oranges and crimson plantains; there an old woman, black as a coal, coifed in a gorgeous striped bandana, presses green peas upon our attention; here the tourist is buying bananas and the housekeeper pricing pineapples.

We linger among the fruit-stalls and do not hurry ourselves past the fishmonger’s department, where the cool shining fish lie on slabs spread with green leaves. But we hasten through the butcher’s quarter; it is too hot to look at raw beef. We observe strutting about here, picking up pieces under the stalls and perching over the doorways, a number of large birds, which we take at first for turkeys. They are, however, buzzards, unfit to eat, but useful in picking up offal, and therefore encouraged about this quarter of the market.

Returning to the main street of Charleston, we pass by the ruins of the old church.

“Burnt during the war, of course?”

“No, madam, burnt by accident before the war.”

There its ruined and blackened walls stand still, the long grass growing where aisle and altar were. We pass by the shops and soon come to the private houses, pretty and picturesque detached villas (residences “unattached,” are, of course the rule in these warm climes). Many are surrounded by their own gardens; some nestle in the shadow of tall trees; others are buried from basement to roof in the luxuriant purple blossoms of the wisteria. At the end of this street we come upon the Battery, the most beautiful spot in this beautiful city by the sea.

Here, facing the strip of park which lies between them and the water, stand the finest residences in Charleston, built in the palmy days before the war, some of them survivals of the old Colonial times. No two of these handsome houses are alike; each is stamped with its own character and individuality; they are of all styles--Greek, Gothic, Elizabethan, and nondescript, and of all pale tints of cool grey, white, and light brown. They all luxuriate in balconies, piazzas, verandahs, and every device for enjoying an almost tropical air in shade and sunshine, and many of them rejoice in their own shadowing trees. The scorching breath of the Southern summer has not yet rusted the green of the turf and tree; the grass in the Battery Park is the richest velvet sward that our feet have ever pressed; the spring-leafage of the scrub-oaks is fresh and tender, though the warmer tints of autumn linger yet here and there among the boughs. At the further border of the long narrow slip of park is a fine sea-wall, beyond which the sleepy waters of Charleston Harbour lap the stone of the embankment. Here on the Battery stand various monuments, one, of course, in memory of “the brave who are no more.” It is here, all along this walk, that the ladies of Charleston collected in crowds, on one memorable 12th of April, to watch the bombardment of Fort Sumter in the distance.

Fort Sumter, of course, is the first excursion the tourist takes from this city. A short cut through the market leads us to the wharf where the little paddle-steamer waits to carry us thither. The sun blazes fiercely in a heaven of dazzling sapphire blue, the little waves lap and gurgle softly in transparent ripples of emerald, as the boat cuts its calm way along. We pass the sunny shores, the green trees and white villas of Mount Pleasant--well so named!--we pass Sullivan’s Island; we near Fort Moultrie; and now we are in sight of Sumter. The deck is crowded with excursionists, most of them Northern tourists; there are a few Southerners, one or two Germans--we discover no English except ourselves. We make acquaintance with some of our fellow-passengers; all seem sociably inclined; all gather together along the bulwarks at the first sight of Fort Sumter. Here are North and South, “Yankee” and rebel harmoniously and amicably associating on a pleasure excursion to the scene of the first conflict of the terrible four years’ struggle, the spot where “twenty years and more” ago, that first shot was fired which rang through the civilized world, which thrilled like a bugle-call through the hearts of North and South, and “let slip the dogs of war” to their dreadful work. Here this morning are the men who wore the vanquished grey and those of the victorious blue, brothers once more! In sight of the shattered walls of Sumter, no word except of friendliness is heard.

We observe in the conversation of the various groups that they one and all delicately refrain from speaking of the “other side” in audible tones except as “Federal” and “Confederate,” although to each other, in their _sotto voce_ discourse, we catch the old terms “Yank” and “Reb” passing freely.

The Federal element, as represented on board this boat, does not appear very well informed as to the facts and details of the siege. We inquire in vain: How many were in the fort? What was the besieging force? How many lives were lost? In answer to this last question, there are a variety of answers, apparently most of them conjectural, and ranging from “three hundred” down to “none.”

“It was from Fort Moultrie yonder that the first gun was fired,” observes one tourist, drawing from his next neighbour the mild correction: “Pardon me, sir, the _very_ first shot was from Fort Johnson.”

Hereupon both parties pull out of their pockets--no, not revolvers, but little blue paper--covered “Guides to Charleston.”

Meanwhile we are drawing nearer and nearer to the low, sandy island that is the goal of our excursion. We wonder, as we look on that barren sand-heap scorching in the yellow sand-glare, was _that_, once upon a time, the lofty fort of Sumter? Could ever those fragments of battered wall have towered up towards these blue skies in proud defiance? In fancy, we see the pall of smoke wrap Sumter round again, hear the thunder of the cannonade, and above the “burning battlehell” of fire and smoke, we see streaming to the wind the ghost of the “Stars and Bars!”

We land on the little pier, and pick our way along narrow planks laid across the heavy sand, amongst heaps of cannon balls, old guns, new guns, up steps, down steps, underground and overground, in and out of gloomy bomb-proofs, from the loopholes of which the “dogs of war” thrust forth their huge, black muzzles. One of the little garrison of the fort shows us round, and acts as general _cicerone_ to our party. He answers our questions--the Northern tourists put quite as many as we strangers do; is it not twenty-two years since the siege? A whole world behind to them; but our soldier-guide has the whole story fresh in his mind. So has a bronzed and grizzled Southerner, who now for the first time, in the subterranean shades of a bombproof-tunnel, comes to the fore, and thenceforth divides public interest and attention with the lawful _cicerone_.

Somebody puts to this new authority the old question--how many lives were lost in the opening bombardment?

“Not one, sir,” is the prompt answer, “not one by the Confederate attack. Seems strange, but so ’tis. There was one life lost, and that was after the fort had surrendered. A man was blown up and killed. He laid a mine, as a trap to blow up the Confederates, and he tripped his foot, stumbled, and touched it off, and was killed by his own mine.”

A gentle smile of contemplative satisfaction irradiated the Confederate’s countenance as he narrated this anecdote--of which we afterwards heard divers and contrasting versions. I was walking with a gentleman from Massachusetts, but, as my escort did not appear able to feed my feminine curiosity with all the details I desired, I drew the better-informed Confederate authority to join us; and we rambled on in an exemplarily harmonious trio.

Our Southerner was brimming over with reminiscences, all uttered in dulcet and lamb-like tones which would well have befitted an idyllic love-story.

“With a seven-inch bore, like this,” he observed, resting his boot-heel tenderly on a big gun that lay half buried in the sand, “we sunk the first monitor that came along. Hit the turret and made her careen, and then the lower battery took her right between wind and water.”

He smiled softly, as if cherishing sweet and tender memories.

“I put a little Confederate flag on the buoy out there,” he continued, pointing to a spot on the sunny water, “and it stayed there all the time.”

“Didn’t we come after it?” inquired the tourist from Massachusetts.

“Oh, yes; the Federals, they came after it several times; but they didn’t happen to get it,” the mild Carolinian replied in his soft lingering drawl.

I do not know how much or how little correct history was current amongst us that day; but there certainly was a good deal of information to be had for the asking.

“Getting ready for our cousins!” observed a New York girl, patting a fine new gun approvingly.

“What cousins?” I inquired.

“Our English cousins,” was the reply. “They might take a fancy to come over here!”

“I don’t think we want to come over, except as tourists, as we have come to day,” I observed, mildly deprecating.

“I guess you and the Southerners have had enough of that,” replied the young lady contentedly.

Our bronzed Southerner was picking up a sea-shell from the sand as a souvenir for me, and, probably by way of a coal of fire, he picked up a finer shell for her, and polished it with his pocket handkerchief.

In every group some chapter of the story of the siege was being told--I fear occasionally coloured according to the bias of the narrator. The names of Beauregard, Sherman, Lee, Anderson, were echoing on every side. Indeed it was not 1883, it was 1861, in which we all lived that hour!

Time was up; the whistle sounded. We left the sandy isle of Fort Sumter--deserted now, save for a little garrison to be counted on the fingers of one hand--and returned to our boat, and to the present year of our Lord, 1883.

OLD STONE TOWER, NEWPORT

BENSON J. LOSSING

The object of greatest attraction to the visitor at Newport is the Old Tower or windmill, as it is sometimes called. On the subject of its erection history and tradition are silent, and the object of its construction is alike unknown and conjectural. It is a huge cylinder composed of unhewn stones--common granite, slate, sandstone, and pudding-stone--cemented with coarse mortar, made of the soil on which the structure stands, and shell lime. It rests upon eight round columns, a little more than three feet in diameter and ten feet high from the ground to the spring of the arches. The wall is three feet thick, and the whole edifice is twenty four feet high. The external diameter is twenty-three feet. Governor Gibbs informed me that, on excavating the base of one of the pillars, he found the soil about four feet deep, lying upon a stratum of hard rock, and that the foundation of the column, which rested upon this rock, was composed of rough-hewn spheres of stone, the lower ones about four feet in circumference. On the interior, a little above the arches, are small square niches, in depth about half the thickness of the wall, designed apparently to receive floor-timbers. In several places within, as well as upon the inner surface of some of the columns, are patches of stucco, which, like the mortar, is made of coarse sand and shell lime, and as hard as the stone it covers. Governor Gibbs remembers the appearance of the tower when it was partially covered with the same hard stucco upon its exterior surface. Doubtless it was originally covered within and without with plaster, and the now rough columns, with mere indications of capitals and bases of the Doric form, were handsomely wrought, the whole structure exhibiting taste and beauty. During the possession of Rhode Island by the British in the Revolution, the tower was more perfect than now, and the walls were three or four feet higher than at present. The British used it for an ammunition magazine, and when they evacuated the island, they attempted to demolish the old “mill,” by igniting a keg of powder within it. But the strong walls resisted the vandals, and the only damage the edifice sustained was the loss of its roof and two or three feet of its upper masonry. Such is the Old Tower at Newport. Its early history is yet unwritten and may forever remain so.

There has been much patient investigation, with a great deal of speculation, concerning this ancient edifice, but no satisfactory conclusion has yet been obtained. Of its existence prior to the English emigration to America there is now but little doubt; and it is asserted that the Indians, of whom Mr. Coddington and other early settlers upon Aquitneck (now Rhode Island) solicited information concerning the structure, had no tradition respecting its origin. Because it was called a “mill” in some old documents, some have argued, or rather, have flippantly asserted, that it was built by the early English settlers for a windmill. Thus Mr. Cooper disposes of the matter in his preface to _Red Rover_. A little patient inquiry would have given him a different conclusion; and if the structure is really ante-colonial, and perhaps ante-Columbian, its history surely is worthy of investigation. That it was converted into and used for a windmill by some of the early settlers of Newport, there is no doubt, for it was easily convertible to such use, although not by a favourable arrangement. The English settlement upon the island was commenced in 1636, at the north end, and in 1639 the first house was erected on the site of Newport, by Nicholas Easton. Mention is made in the Colonial records of a windmill by Peter Easton, in 1663, twenty-five years after the founding of Newport; and this was evidently the first mill erected there, from the fact that it was considered of sufficient importance to the Colony to induce the General Court to reward Mr. Easton for his enterprise, by a grant of a tract of fine land, a mile in length, lying along what is still known as _Easton’s Beach_. That mill was a wooden structure, and stood upon the land now occupied by the North Burying-ground in the upper suburbs of Newport. The land on which the tower stands once belonged to Governor Benedict Arnold, and in his will, bearing the date of 1678, forty years after the settlement, he mentions the “stone-mill,” the tower having evidently been used for that purpose. Its form, its great solidity, and its construction upon columns, forbid the idea that it was originally erected for a mill; and certainly, if a common windmill made of timber was so highly esteemed by the people, as we have seen, the construction of such an edifice, so superior to any dwelling or church in the colony, would have received special attention from the magistrates and the historians of the day. And wherefore, for such a purpose, were the foundation-stones wrought into spheres and the whole structure stuccoed within and without?

When, in 1837, the Royal Society of Northern Antiquaries of Copenhagen published the result of their ten years’ investigations concerning the discovery of America by the Northmen in the Tenth Century, in a volume entitled _Antiquitates-Americana_, the old mill at Newport, the rock inscription at Dighton, in Massachusetts, and the discovery of skeletons evidently of a race different from the Indians, elicited the earnest attention of inquirers, as subjects in some way connected with those early discoveries. Dr. Webb, who was then a resident of Providence, and secretary to the Rhode Island Historical Society, opened a correspondence with Charles C. Rafn, the Secretary to the Royal Society of Copenhagen, Dr. Webb employed Mr. Catherwood to make drawings of the mill, and these, with a particular account of the structure, he transmitted to Professor Rafn. Here was opened for the society a new field of inquiry, the products of which were published, with engravings from Mr. Catherwood’s drawings. According to Professor Rafn, the architecture of this building is in the ante-Gothic style, which was common in the north and west of Europe from the Eighth to the Twelfth Centuries. “The circular form, the low columns, their thickness in proportion to their distance from each other, and the entire want of ornament,” he says, “all point out this epoch.” He imagines that it was used for a baptistery, and accounts for the absence of buildings of a similar character by the abundance of wood in America. The brevity of the sojourn of the Northmen here was doubtless another, and perhaps principal reason, why similar structures were not erected. The fact that the navigators of Sweden, Norway and Iceland visited and explored the American coast, as far as the shores of Connecticut, and probably more southerly, during the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries (five hundred years before the voyages of Columbus), appears to be too well attested to need further notice here. For the proofs the reader is referred to the interesting work alluded to _Antiquitates-Americana_.

ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, NEW YORK

CHARLES HEMSTREET[24]