USA > Rhode Island > The "Old Stone Bank" history of Rhode Island, Vol. I > Part 14
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It would seem more appropriate to call him an atonement, rather than a victim. The account goes on to say that no military escort had been called to preserve order among the 10,000 or more spectators of all ages, sexes, and conditions. Deep silence held the crowd at the moment of execution, for everyone was impressed with the horror of the occasion. Tracy, the brother of the murderer, was tried in the October session of the Supreme Court, and sentenced to life imprisonment.
Concerning the article quoted above, a correspondent, at this time, wrote to the newspaper in order to verify the facts, and to tell the story of another execution. He
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told how a prisoner, one Joseph Tiller, through the strength of his conscience, or hoping to impress the spectators that there was some good in him, requested permission to address them. When the sheriff granted this permission, he told them in a strong voice that he had once saved a man from drowning at the risk of his own life. "And remember," he concluded-and these were his last words-"remember Joseph Tiller."
The correspondent went on to relate that twelve years later he was walking with a friend through a lonely back country and happened upon a single grave, apparently forgotten. "Who had the ill fortune to be buried in this forlorn place?" the corre- spondent asked his friend. In ending his story, he said, "You may imagine with what. a shudder of surprise I heard the name- and perhaps with regret-'Joseph Tiller.'"
TON
THE BURNING OF THE "LEXINGTON"
R ARELY a day passes when the daily newspapers do not relate the harrow- ing details of a disaster in some part of the world-disasters that snuff out lives by the score, causing untold suffering and sorrow, and arousing public sympathy and inter- est in every quarter of the globe. Disasters seem to stand out in a person's mind, and memory of them seems to be forever return- ing to paint mental pictures that fill one with horror, pity and sympathy. Rhode Islanders of former generations talked in horrified whispers of a disaster that stirred the very heart-strings of the country. Ma- rine accidents have been all too common in history, but none was more shocking or lamentable than the loss of the steamer, "Lexington," which went down in flames on a cold, wintry night in January, 1840.
The sole survivors of the passengers and crew who ended their ill-fated voyage off Huntington, Long Island, were David Crowley, Captain Chester Hilliard of Nor- wich, Conn., Charles Smith, a fireman, and Captain Stephen Manchester of Providence. An account of the fire that destroyed the steamer was given before a coroner's in- quest, held shortly after the event. It was estimated that nearly 150 men, women and children lost their lives within a few min- utes after flames suddenly broke out near
the smokestack; those who were not burned to death were either drowned or frozen to death.
The "Lexington" was on her way out of New York and was headed down the Sound to make the first stop at Stonington, Conn., when, at about 7 o'clock, as the passengers were just finishing dinner, the cry of "fire" was heard. The steamer had on board a cargo of cotton, piled in bales close to the smokestacks. It was among these bales that the flames spread rapidly, and when Captain George Child saw the impossibility of checking the fire he took the wheel and headed for shore. Just as he did this, some- thing broke, probably the steering ropes which had been reached by the leaping flames.
The craft drifted helplessly like a float- ing torch and every one took to the boats in a panic-stricken mob. The lifeboats were upset in the wild scramble and not one made a ship-shape descent to the water. Little children were dashed into the sea and many women clung in despair to the sides of the rapidly sinking steamer. Men who were able to keep their heads began to toss bales of cotton and other objects into the sea for others to cling to and perhaps float to safety. Captain Charles Hilliard, who happened to be a passenger on the terrible
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voyage, was on his way to Norwich via Stonington, and he succeeded in getting aboard a bale together with another man and the two pushed away into the icy waters. Hilliard's last impressions were of a dead child floating on the water and a mother on the burning steamer crying to him to save her baby. Hilliard's companion soon lost his strength and finally numbed by the cold he slid out of sight beneath the waves. Hil- liard seized a piece of board for a paddle and managed to keep afloat until the next day, when he was picked up by a passing sloop.
More interesting is the story of David Crowley, another survivor. In the intensely bitter cold of that night, David Crowley, the Second Mate, burrowed into a bale of cotton. After many fearful experiences, during which the man who clung to the same bale with him had died from ex- posure, Crowley, having drifted Monday night, Tuesday, Tuesday night and Wednes- day, and covering in that time a distance of more than fifty miles, finally got near enough to the icebound shore of New Gully, Long Island, and then crawled ashore. After walking nearly a mile, he secured much-needed shelter and food. Crowley lived many years after his almost unbe- lievable experience. He was the last sur- vivor of the disaster and it is an interesting fact that the owners of the bale of cotton on which he drifted gave it to him and that he kept the bale in his home in Providence for a long time. Finally on the outbreak of the Civil War, when cotton reached its highest mark, he sold the bale and from it sprang the "Lexington" brand of cloth.
Many contradicting stories have been told of the conduct of the crew of the "Lex- ington," and the ship-master himself was ac- cused of failing to do his duty when the ship was seen to be doomed. Some said that the Captain rushed for the lifeboats when the steering gear failed and that he added to the confusion of the occupants of one of these
boats when the ropes fouled. In spite of the criticisms that were aimed at certain in- dividuals connected with the tragedy, it is most certain that many heroic acts were per- formed by unknown heroes who gave up their lives in a last vain effort to help others "make the shore." The "Lexington" affair marked the last of the storing of cotton and other flimsy material near the boiler, smoke- stack or engine. It also aroused the public to a realization that the Sound steamers were not so safe and home-like as they ap- peared to be, sailing gaily up the bay with flags fluttering and lights agleam. There- after, lifeboats were required in sufficient numbers to take care of the passengers, and efficient fire-fighting engines were in- stalled and frequently tested to determine their reliability.
Although of no great historical signifi- cance, the loss of the steamer, "Lexington," is often mentioned in the history of Rhode Island because of the tremendous effect it had on the citizens of this State. It served as a topic of conversation for years after it happened, and it was only a few years ago that Rhode Islanders talked of "before the War days" or "When the 'Lexington' was burned." It was the custom at the time of this disaster for editorial writers to enshrine the horrible details of a calamity in the lines and stanzas of verse. The following verses appeared in a periodical that was published just after the "Lexington" was lost.
"A fearful cry was heard It rent the evening air, The mighty deep was stirred Up rose the anguished prayer
The firmest heart grew sick and faint, As onward rolled the wild complaint. The mother of her child Was suddenly bereft, 4
The sire in agony, and wild, Prayed for dear ones left;
The scorching fire-the chilling waves,
Open'd widely for the travellers' graves."
"THE OLD STONE BANK"
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1
EDGAR ALLAN POE
NE hot July evening in the year 1845, Edgar Allan Poe was walking slowly along Benefit Street in Providence. He had just delivered a lecture at the Lyceum, and, on his return to the hotel, finding the heat unbearable, he had walked up the hill in search of cooler air. At the corner of Church Street, tired by his recent exertions, he paused and mopped his brow with a hand- kerchief. As he moved on again, cane in one hand and his hat held behind him in his customary fashion, he noticed a woman standing in the doorway of the house on the corner, evidently seeking relief from the heat in the few breezes which occasionally touched the hill. In the light of the moon, Poe could see her face, and, struck by the charm of her beauty, he determined to make her acquaintance at first opportunity.
But it was three years before he was for- mally introduced to her. In the meantime, he had moved to Providence, leaving Bos- ton, where he had gone with his mother after the death of his girl-wife, Virginia Clemm, whom he had married when she was but thirteen and he twenty-six. He had been in Providence for some time before he was able to arrange a meeting with the woman whose image had been in his mind since that night in July.
Their next meeting took place in Sep- tember of the year 1848, and the occasion was a gathering of literary devotees at the home of the woman herself, whose name was Sarah Helen Whitman. She was the daughter of Nicolas and Anna Marsh Power, and had been widowed some years before
by the death of her young husband, after which she had returned to Providence to live with her mother and sister. Helen Whitman, as she was known at the time, was a prominent figure in literary circles. Her home was a meeting-place for the Provi- dence intellectuals, and numbered among her friends were poets, essayists, and think- ers of national repute. She had contributed to several magazines, and, in fact, Poe him- self had praised her work even before he came to know her. She was also a student of spiritualism, and some of her writings were devoted to this subject.
No better example of "love at first sight" can be found than in the case of the romance between Poe and Helen Whitman. The hopes and dreams of Poe, given birth on that night three years before, realized them- selves in actuality, while Mrs. Whitman her- self was immediately fascinated by his pe- culiar charm. In a letter to her the day fol- lowing this meeting-one of seven letters now in the possession of Miss Louise Chace of Providence, which are reputed to be valued at fifty thousand dollars-Poe de- scribed his sensations as he touched her hand for the first time. Later, in one of his better-known poems, "To Helen," he tells of the first time he saw her.
The love letters which followed during the next month reflected the fire and high spirit that the reader finds in many of his tales and poems. They rival, perhaps, the famous "Sonnets from the Portuguese" and the letters of Abelard and Heloise. His passionate, impetuous courtship was too
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much for Mrs. Whitman, and, in spite of the advice of her mother and friends, who believed the couple incompatible-Mrs. Whitman, at forty-two, was six years his senior- she agreed to the wedding Poe so ardently desired.
The pair used to meet at the Athenæum and spend afternoons conversing together behind the stacks. The story is told of how one day, while they were discussing poetry, Helen happened to mention an anonymous poem she had read in the American Review. The poem was Poe's own "Ulahumè", and, finding a copy of the magazine on the shelves, he signed his name beneath the poem. The copy of this magazine has been preserved and can be seen today at the Athenaum. A portrait, incidentally, of Mrs. Whitman can also be seen at the Athenæum.
Their courtship, however, was far from a completely happy one. Mrs. Whitman's friends and relatives did not approve of Poe, and warned her against marriage with a man whose weaknesses and dissipations were so well-known at the time. The fact that he was penniless, in spite of his writ- ings, while she was so wealthy, was another argument advanced by those opposing the union. These warnings had their effect in the end, even if Helen did persist in feeling that she loved him. Poe finally heard ru- mors of what was being said about him, and, fearing that she would break the engage- ment, he took a large dose of laudanum, intending suicide. But it succeeded only in making him ill.
His dreams of a happy marriage, full of inspiration could never come true, although for a time it appeared as if the wedding would take place. He received her consent to a conditional engagement, later banns were published, and a contract was even drawn up in which it was stipulated that Mrs. Whitman, in marrying again, would give up her share in the Power estate; but the engagement was broken almost on the eve of the ceremony.
It was hardly a hopeful situation. Poe, reckless and profligate, barely able to keep himself in food and clothing, was obliged to support the mother of his first wife. Helen, on the other hand, was in ill health, and heart disease constantly threatened to
cut her life short. Furthermore, there was opposition to Poe on the part of Helen's mother and sister.
In December of that year, only three months after the courtship began, Poe came to Providence from New York to lecture at the Lyceum on "American Poetry". He received Helen's agreement to an immedi- ate marriage, but, after the lecture, he fell in with a group of young men at the Earl House, where he was staying, and began drinking. Three nights later, he appeared at the Power home, obviously drunk. There was a scene, and Poe was ejected.
The next morning he sent up an apology, but in the afternoon he learned, upon call- ing at the house, that the engagement was definitely broken. Mrs. Whitman, ill from the excitement of the night before, lay on a couch in a state of semi-consciousness. Dis- regarding Mrs. Power, Poe knelt at Helen's side and frantically begged her to speak to him. Finally, she opened her eyes and asked faintly, "What can I say?"
"Say that you love me," implored Poe.
"I love you," she said, and those were the last words she ever spoke to him. For her mother was careful that the engagement remain forever broken, and Poe returned to New York. Three weeks later, in a wounded tone, he wrote to her, but Mrs. Whitman, fearing that a revival of corre- spondence would lead to something more serious, did not reply. Once, later, a friend tried to arrange their meeting in Lowell, but Mrs. Whitman, learning that Poe was com- ing, left Lowell just before he arrived.
Poe then went to Richmond, Virginia, and entered into a disastrous engagement with a former schoolday sweetheart. His tragic death occurred a little later, after he had been found nearly dead on the streets of Baltimore. Mrs. Whitman, remembering that the fine attributes of Poe had always obscured, for her, his fatal weakness, lived until 1878 in ill health, refusing from time to time the many offers of marriage which came to her even in her old age.
When the news of Poe's death reached his former lover in Providence, she wrote the following verses which were said to have been inspired by him:
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RESURGEMUS
I mourn thee not: no words can tell The solemn calm that tranced my breast When first I knew thy soul had past From earth to its eternal rest;
For doubt and darkness, o'er thy head, Forever waved their Condor wings; And in their murky shadows bred Forms of unutterable things;
And all around thy silent hearth, The glory that once blushed and bloomed Was but a dim-remembered dream Of "the old time entombed."
Those melancholy eyes that seemed To look beyond all time, or, turned On eyes they loved, so softly beamed,- How few their mystic language learned.
How few could read their depths, or know The proud, high heart that dwelt alone In gorgeous palaces of woe, Like Eblis on his burning throne.
For ah! no human heart could brook The darkness of thy doom to share, And not a living eye could look Unscathed upon thy dread despair.
I mourn thee not: life had no lore Thy soul in morphean dews to steep, Love's lost nepenthe to restore, Or bid the avenging sorrow sleep.
Yet, while the night of life shall last, While the slow stars above me roll, In the heart's solitudes I keep A solemn vigil for thy soul.
I tread dim cloistral aisles, where all Beneath are solemn-sounding graves; While o'er the oriel, like a pall, A dark, funereal shadow waves.
There, kneeling by a lampless shrine, Alone amid a place of tombs, My erring spirit pleads for thine Till light along the Orient blooms.
Oh, when thy faults are all forgiven, The vigil of my life outwrought,
In some calm altitude of heaven,- The dream of thy prophetic thought,-
Forever near thee, soul in soul, Near thee forever, yet how far, May our lives reach love's perfect goal In the high order of thy star!
GENERAL AMBROSE E. BURNSIDE
H L ISTORY has been referred to as a series of war cycles. Nations are always either directly or indirectly preparing for war, or are passing through the reconstruc- tion periods that follow wars. What pros- pects the future holds for international har- mony is regarded with sincere hope, but charted history reveals a regular succession of peaks and valleys, with war and peace representing the high and low points. Wars have altered maps beyond recognition; wars have created new nations, crushed out
old; they have stamped out hatred in one part of the world, and have kindled the fires of revolution in another; wars have in- spired heroes, thwarted conspiracy, and de- throned kings. History unfolds itself like a panorama of battle-fields, advances, retreats and parleys, bringing but temporary victory to the survivor.
No stranger struggle for physical suprem- acy is recorded in history than the conflict in arms between the North and South in this country. What force of circumstances,
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what misunderstandings, what fidelity to a cause, that could engage brother against brother, father against son, in mortal com- bat on soil that, only yesterday, had been the quiet home-lands of peace! As in all other struggles that involved this nation, the State of Rhode Island contributed its share of heroes and assistance during the terrible years of the Civil War.
Although he was not born in Rhode Is- land, Ambrose E. Burnside can be justly re- garded as a Rhode Islander, for he spent most of his life in this community and he proudly referred to it as his home. He forms one of the conspicuous figures in the history of the War for the maintenance of the Union. His private virtues won the affec- tion of his friends; his public services and achievements made him the pride and ad- miration of the State. No other man among us has held a larger share of popular esteem.
Ambrose E. Burnside was born in the log cabin on his father's farm near Liberty, Union County, Indiana, on the twenty-third day of May, 1824. Young Ambrose attended a seminary in Liberty where he rapidly acquired a sound knowledge of the practical branches of mathematics, rhetoric, logic and moral philosophy. When he left the semi- nary he was further advanced in education than boys of his age generally are. At 17 years of age he was signed as an apprentice to John E. Dunham, a merchant tailor who resided in Centreville, about fifteen miles from Liberty. At first the errand boy of the shop, he was soon promoted to a seat at the board where he won the approval of his master by his industry and skill. He became an expert tailor but his heart was not in his work, and while he cut and basted, and stitched and pressed he managed to read every book that he could borrow. The appe- tite for knowledge grew by what it fed upon, and he became especially fond of reading the lives of military heroes and the narra- tives of campaigns.
At the termination of his apprenticeship, he worked as a journeyman tailor for a while, and then entered into a partnership under the firm name of "Meyers and Burn- side." Both partners were cranks on the subject of military tactics. They used to study maneuvers with the aid of buttons arranged on their shop-board, and on one
occasion young Burnside patiently worked out a movement "en echelon" by changing the positions of over 500 buttons, one at a time, in the "deployment from line into column." Consequently the young tacti- cian's interest in warfare procured for him an appointment to West Point, and he was graduated from the Academy with the Class of 1847.
He then spent some years in garrison service, being stationed most of the time at Fort Adams, in Newport, R. I. He served as Lieutenant of Artillery in Mexico and dur- ing several Indian uprisings. He later re- signed from the service and from 1853 until 1858 was a manufacturer of firearms in Bristol, R. I., where he invented the Burn- side breech-loading rifle. On the outbreak of the Civil War he entered the Federal Army, and from May to August, 1861, was Colonel of the Rhode Island Volunteers, participating as such in the first Battle of Bull Run. He became Brigadier-General of Volunteers on August 6; was engaged in organizing the "Coast Division" of the Army of the Potomac from October, 1861, to January 1862; and commanded the De- partment of North Carolina during that same year. Success in all the campaigns as- signed to him rapidly paved the way for his appointment to the rank of Major-General of Volunteers. He twice refused command of the Army of Virginia; served under McClellan as Commander of the Ninth Corps in the Maryland campaign against Lee, and was finally placed in command of the Army of the Potomac, although he felt that he was not qualified for the position.
At Fredericksburg he attacked with fool- hardy recklessness and, in general, proved unequal to the task assigned to him. After his defeat on this occasion, he was removed and he assumed command of the Depart- ment of the Ohio, during which time he captured Cumberland Gap, marched into East Tennessee, and occupied Knoxville. Unfortunately he meddled with the politics of those associated with him and serving under him, and soon he was brought into unpleasant publicity as a result. He criti- cized the freedom of the press and con- tinued to look for unnecessary troubles. He served under Grant as Commander of the Ninth Corps in the Richmond campaign,
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taking part in all the important battles dur- ing that time and having charge of mine operations at Petersburg. For his conduct on this latter occasion he was censured and found lacking in ability to bring about the expected successes.
In 1865 Burnside resigned from the serv- ice and subsequently was prominent as a projector and manager of railroads. He was Governor of Rhode Island from 1866 to 1869, and from 1875 until his death was a member of the United States Senate.
General Burnside brought to the service of his country a natural aptitude for mili- tary operations, developed and extended by a thorough military education. His expedi- tion to North Carolina won the hearty ap- probation of authorities; the defense of
Knoxville was an admirable exhibition of military science and skill. As regards, the criticism of this man, many military critics have since contended that his apparent mis- takes could be laid at the doors of others. He rendered invaluable services as a corps commander, but proved unable to cope with the problems and difficulties which fall to the lot of a commanding general. In addi- tion to the qualities of a military leader, he possessed that magnetic power which at- tracted to him the love and confidence of the men under his command. Some affected to criticize him for his gentler qualities which seemed out of harmony with the camp and the field, but how well we know that:
"The bravest are the tenderest, The loving are the daring."
ZEPPELIN'S FIRST FLIGHT
IT is a happy coincidence that, with the arrival in America of the Graf Zeppelin, the largest airship to come across the sea, two Rhode Islanders should have been asso- ciated with it. Their association might seem far removed now, for it happened as long ago as 1863, during the Civil War. The men were James K. and Ezra Allen, Providence balloonists in the service of the Federal Army, and they gave Count Zeppelin his first ride in an aircraft. They attended the birth of an idea-they were perhaps respon- sible for it. In their balloon rode the man who invented the dirigible and after whom this wonder of the skies has been named.
Balloons have had a simple history. They have been in use about 145 years, and reached the peak of their development very shortly after the first one ascended. Until
1866, all balloons were built, run and con- trolled by the same principles established so shortly after the balloon's invention. Then, 62 years ago, Count Zeppelin put ribs in the balloon and later applied a means of locomotion. Even now, the ele- ments remain the same except, of course, that a dirigible can not be folded up and carried away.
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