Washington Wife
Ellen Maury was born at Piedmont, the ancestral home in Charlottesville, Virginia, in 1860. Piedmont, near the campus of the University of Virginia and now a part of the campus, was headquarters of the Maurys, one of America's famous families. The public is conscious of the contributions made by the Maury men to history and geography. Thomas Jefferson records in his memoirs that he was prepared to enter William and Mary College by the Rev. James Maury. Matthew Fontaine Maury's name is a byword, "pathfinder of the sea." But the public is perhaps not informed about the Maury women; surrounded by the culture and the youth of the University of Virginia, they were great record keepers and diarists, and among these Ellen is probably the most talented and assiduous of the lot, and it was this habit that served her well when she went to Washington.
Ellen Maury married James Luther Slayden on June 12, 1883. He was born in Mayfield, Kentucky, June 1, 1853. After his father's death in 1869, he moved with his mother to New Orleans. He was educated in the public schools, and attended Washington and Lee University at Lexington, Virginia. In 1876 he moved to San Antonio, Texas, to become a cotton broker and ranchman, and it was probably there that he met Ellen Maury, who was visiting her sister, Mrs. Jane [Lewis] Maury Maverick. In 1892 Slayden was elected to the state legislature, but did not seek re-election. His business career was brought to an end on August 21, 1896, when his firm of Slayden, Clarkson, and Robards, cotton brokers, went into bankruptcy due to the collapse of cotton prices in 1895. On the day following the assignment, August 22, 1896, he was nominated to stand for Congress from the San Antonio district, and was elected in November. This meant that he and Ellen went to Washington for the opening of Congress in March, 1897, and they returned each session for the following twenty-one years. Their experience in Washington was begun on the eve of the Spanish-American War and ended just at the close of World War I.
History will not record that James L. Slayden was a distinguished congressman. His career was honorable and his action intelligent, but no major legislation bears his name. He looked after the interests of his district in an acceptable manner, and often had the courage to cast unpopular votes. In his opposition to a reckless extension of pension benefits, Slayden said: "The Spanish-American War was not a great war. A large number of our troops took the hazard of watermelons in Georgia and Florida, and fought the malaria and mosquitoes, but very few Spanish. . . . The Spanish-American War yielded comparatively little in heroics, [but] paid the most marvelous dividends in politics and in magazine articles of any war in the history of the country."
Early in his career Slayden became interested in the peace movement, and he retained this interest to the end of his career. It finally cost him his seat in Congress. When he first went to Washington he was made a member of the Military Affairs Committee because of the heavy military installations in and around San Antonio. As his interest in the peace movement developed, his concern with military affairs declined, and he relinquished his place on the Military Affairs Committee. He was a delegate to the Hague Convention just prior to the outbreak of World War I. He was president of the American group of the Interparliamentary Peace Union which was devoted to settling international problems by talking instead of fighting. He was president of the American Peace Society and a trustee of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Mark Goodwin, writing from Washington on Slayden's death in 1924, said his most distinctive service was in drafting an amendment to the naval appropriation bill of 1916 directing the President to invite the nations of Europe to a world-wide conference to provide for a reduction of armaments and the preparation of a code of international law. "The Slayden amendment became the basic idea in the drafting of the League of Nations and was frequently referred to in speeches by President Wilson as 'the mandate of Congress' which was made a part of the covenant."
Then came the election of 1918. World War I was near its end, and the politicians knew it. In the meantime strong opposition to Wilson had developed in Congress, and Wilson decided, or someone decided for him, to purge those who were opposing him. James L. Slayden was a victim of that purge. Since his ideas of peace for the future coincided with those of Wilson, it is difficult to see why Wilson executed him politically. The records do not reveal that Slayden actively opposed Wilson or the war effort. He did keep his head in the midst of war hysteria which was very strong at that time. The real explanation of Wilson's act may be wholly personal, related to the Texas clique that E. M. House took to Washington during the Wilson administration. It may be related to Ellen Maury Slayden's disdain for Wilson and something bordering on contempt for House and his Texas entourage in Washington. Ellen knew Woodrow Wilson when he was a student at the University of Virginia. She did not like him then, and she did not like him any better when he became President and moved to Washington where she had been holding court among the famous personages for many years. She thought him narrow-minded, too much of a Presbyterian, and too much of the schoolteacher. She though his attitude toward Mexico was entirely wrong. When his wife died, Ellen wagered a friend a five-pound box of candy that the President would marry before he left the White House, and she won. She almost wrecked Washington society by conducting a feminine war against Wilson's Cabinet when the Cabinet wives announced that they would return social calls from the wives of other Cabinet members, the Supreme Court judges, and senators, but could not be bothered with social obligations to members of the House of Representatives. The fact that she won this war may not have endeared her to the Wilson set.
Though evidence is lacking that Slayden failed to support the war effort, conditions with which he had to deal may explain why he refrained from war hysteria and clamor for revenge on the Central Powers. The first is that he had long been dedicated to peace. The second is that the German population is and has always been very heavy in the district. Such communities as New Braunfels and Fredricksburg are almost solely German. These people had always been Slayden's friends and supporters, and it was necessary for him to retain their support. It was not in his nature to seek revenge, and to clamor for it now would have ordinarily been political folly.
But the circumstances were by no means ordinary in the summer of 1918. The war fever was at its height, patriotism amounted to fanaticism; the Germans were not numerous enough to elect a congressman, and were too intimidated by the tyranny of war to do so if they could. So by merely holding his position, Slayden lost. The opposition—in this case led by the Texas contingent in Washington—chose Carlos Bee. His qualifications were perfect. He had been in the Texas Senate, had a shock of gray hair, was a good speaker, son of Bernard E. Bee, of an old and respected Texas family. More important than all this was the fact that his wife was the sister of Albert Sidney Burleson, Wilson's postmaster general, a member of the House-Gregory-Burleson clique from Austin.
The telegram was solicited not by Carlos Bee but by the supporters of Alva Pearl Barrett, but Bee was the beneficiary. The timing was perfect because Wilson had decided to make his purge of such members as Representative George Huddleston of Alabama, Senator James K. Vardaman of Mississippi, Senator Thomas W. Hardwick of Georgia, and Representative Francis Lever of South Carolina. The fact that the telegram had to be solicited indicates that Slayden had not already been marked for political execution.
It is interesting to speculate as to whether Wilson himself dictated the answering telegram. Did he really want to get Slayden out of Congress or did he want to get Ellen Maury out of Washington? Did the presence of this little aristocrat who had a social arrogance equal to his intellectual arrogance make him uncomfortable? Did the fact that she knew him, and didn't like him, when he was winning second place in debate at Charlottesville have any influence? Who knows? The telegram reads:
THE WHITE HOUSE WASHINGTON D.C.
JULY 24, 1918
YOUR LETTER RECEIVED THE ADMINISTRATION AS BETWEEN CANDIDATES EQUALLY LOYAL NEVER TAKES PART IN THE LIGHT OF MR. SLAYDEN'S RECORD NO ONE CAN CLAIM HE HAS GIVEN SUPPORT TO THE ADMINISTRATION.
WOODROW WILSON
On July 25, the day after the Wilson telegram, James L. Slayden published the following statement:
For Twenty-two years I have tried faithfully to represent the people of this district and of the whole country in the American Congress. . . . I was not one of those who sought to plunge the country into war while expecting to remain in the security of private life. However, the President of the United States has said, in a telegram to a local newspaper, that I have not supported his Administration. No matter how false the statements made to the President that procured this telegram, my continued candidacy for Congress, in view of it, will appear to put me in opposition to those charged with the prosecution of the war, at a time when every good American must support the country regardless of his personal fortunes. I therefore announce my withdrawal from the race for Congress.
James L. Slayden
[It was the supporters of a third candidate, A. P. Barrett, who sent the telegram. Ironically, he was defeated by Carlos Bee. The decision lay in the hands of the German voters to whom Slayden's strength went. In the election of 1920 Slayden attempted a comeback. Both Bee and Slayden were defeated by Harry M. Wurzbach, a Republican.]
It was March 3, 1919, that the Slaydens caught the train to Texas, knowing that a long political career had ended. There seems little doubt that he had been a casualty of the crossfire of politics. The harried Wilson had been guilty of an injustice. According to Mark Goodwin, Slayden "always thought that Mr. Wilson regretted having sent the telegram."
If James L. Slayden escapes the oblivion that shrouds most congressmen, it will be because of the diminutive Ellen—less than five feet tall—who had been his companion throughout his long service in Washington. As a Maury she had membership in one of the distinguished American families, a family that has spread the name Maury all over the country. The Maurys were related to the Lewises, of Lewis and Clark fame. The Langhorne sisters, the Gibson girls, were cousins, and that includes Lady Astor. Ellen Maury's sister, Jane, married Albert Maverick, of another famous family. Jane was the mother of the late Maury Maverick, who went to Congress from Slayden's San Antonio district.'
Since the Slaydens had no children, Ellen was free to write for newspapers and magazines, to serve as secretary to her husband, and to exercise her sophisticated charms on Washington society.
We have her word for it that she never attended a real school a day in her life but that she was highly literate from wide reading and good remembering none could doubt. Her early notebooks were studded with quotations from the best writers. She contributed to Century, to the New York papers, and was the first society editor of the San Antonio Express.
Never until she went to Washington had she had a real outlet for her born talent, that of a reporter with all the social graces, a keen hard intelligence, and apparently a complete awareness of the drama going on around her. Her background was perfect for the role she was to play in a great triangle from the Maury homestead of Piedmont in Virginia to the Maverick clan in Texas to the Capitol in Washington, where all the political and social forces of the nation met to engage in the great game of strut and compromise which is the art of government in a democracy. She was enough of a democrat to be acceptable in Texas, enough of an aristocrat to please the Virginians; and a combination of personal charm, wit, and design made her much sought after in Washington. There was just enough snob in her to make her intriguing and a little challenging in all three places. What she had above all else—and she was fully conscious that she had it—was social acceptance. She quickly mastered the Washington protocol, and the family legend tells that she taught many newcomers to Washington about napery, silver, calling procedure, and who sat next to whom at dinner. It is doubtful that she was ever caught in a social error.
It must be remembered that when she went to Washington women were supposed to be seen more than heard. She played this role as best she could, considering her nature and talents. She never intruded herself in front of J., but she built a background for him that would make any politician proud. The men—and perhaps the women too—had to go by him to get to her, and they did. It is a family story that they reached Washington with about $50, but even so she converted a rather dreary rented apartment into a place of charm and elegance. Her household effects, now distributed among the Mavericks and the Maurys, from Virginia to Texas, are distinctive, the brasses, the silver, the samovars, the braziers, and the furniture. Some of her comments on the coldness and lack of charm in the great houses of Washington indicate her desire to put some personality into these impersonal places.
Ellen Maury Slayden was all feminine, and she wanted other women to be feminine too. As a social arbiter, she was uncompromising. She could not endure the hackneyed social phrases. The formal speech of the Victorian age was breaking down, and she did not like what was taking its place. The stock reply of "just fine" in response to the common inquiry of "How are you?" she would not endure among her nieces. "Don't say that," she would plead.
"What should I say, Aunt Ellen?"
"Say 'Very well, thank you.'"
One niece recalls a trip on the San Antonio trolley. A young lady sitting beside Ellen began to make her toilet—in public. She combed her hair, touched up her lips, and powdered her face. Aunt Ellen looked at her appraisingly. "Young lady," she said coolly, "you forgot something."
"What did I forget?" asked the puzzled girl.
"You haven't brushed your teeth."
But Ellen was not all Victorian. She believed in woman suffrage but was irked by the bad manners and bad dress of the professional suffragettes. She did not favor prohibition, not because she was from the beer town of San Antonio but probably because she was from Virginia where they know how to drink wine and hold hard liquor. Though she was very fond of Mrs. Bryan, her strictures on Bryan's grape-juice functions in Washington and her description of the contempt of the imported European caterers for the stuff they had to serve is a masterly job of reporting, with the reporter's preference showing.
What the public did not know about this little woman who knew everybody who was anybody is that she was a combination of Dr. Boswell and Samuel Pepys. For twenty-two years she kept cases on Washington official society, relieved now and then by some comedy or pathos from Texas or Virginia. While she was being gracious to a senator or congressman, a diplomat or scholar, she was appraising him with feminine realism. When she went home from some reception or dinner, she wrote down in her notebook what went on there. In some instances she did not wait to go home, but made her notes on the menu cards or programs. The notebooks were filled, and the stock of them grew to formidable proportions by the time she left Washington in 1919. She seems to have had no idea of writing a book, until she returned to San Antonio at the age of fifty-nine.
She had seven more years to live, but the lingering illness that brought her death took about two of these. She must have transmitted her notes into the book during the five years from 1919 to 1924. She did a chapter for each of the twenty-two years she was in Washington, and brought the story to a dramatic close with the scene on the train bringing the Slaydens home.
It is remarkable that her manuscript had to wait nearly half a century for a publisher. She did not have time to seek a publisher, and on her death she left the manuscript to Maury Maverick. Maury was just beginning a tempestuous career as an attorney and politician, and his life was too exciting for him to undertake marketing a memoir by a woman. There is evidence that he sent it to one magazine publisher, but it was the wrong one. In fact, many publishers might have shied away from it at the time. For one thing, her comments on people still living might have caused unpleasantness. For another, the people—and the publishers—were a little tired of what went on between 1898 and 1918. The Republican years had been relieved of unutterable dullness only by the antics of Theodore Roosevelt. Wilson brought some hope, but his domestic program was blasted by a world catastrophe. The frenzy of war and the ecstasy of victory—sardonically recorded here—were followed by disillusionment that was at its height when Ellen Slayden finished her story, when the world she knew was falling down in the days of bootlegging, walkathons, and flagpole sittings, when women were flappers instead of ladies, and men were exhibiting their egos in silk shirts. It was an era of bad taste and bad manners, to be ended by the stock market crash of 1929. During the depression following the crash, no one wanted to publish a book and few wanted to read one. It is significant that when this manuscript was brought to light in 1961, it was accepted by the first publisher to examine it. The editors at Harper & Row have cut some of the more trivial material from the original manuscript, and in a few instances they have inserted entries from Ellen Slayden's original, hand-written notebooks—anecdotes which she evidently felt would be indiscreet to publish in her time.
Readers of the journal need not, should not, expect to find their current political opinions confirmed or all their social views supported by this daughter of a Virginian and wife of a Kentuckian residing in Washington, Virginia and Texas in the first quarter of the twentieth century. The historic value of her narrative is that it reveals an age as seen by a woman of awareness, sensitivity and amazing candor. When she gets through with Theodore Roosevelt or William Howard Taft or Woodrow Wilson or "Colonel" E. M. House or Porfirio Díaz, and many others of that day, there is no doubt as to her opinion of them. She may not leave them great, but she leaves them, every one, quite human.
Washington Wife is among the best contemporaneous records of the period between the Spanish-American War—which announced that the United States was a world power—and World War I, which defined the duties and fixed the cost of holding first place. Ellen Slayden not only recorded the social life of Washington, Texas and Virginia, but she took note of almost every historical event of importance in the nation. Though her touch was light, her observations were intelligent, and always personal. Five books have portrayed this period, or a part of it, and all are indeed notable. They are The Autobiography of Lincoln Steffens, The Letters of Archibald Butt, Only Yesterday by Frederick Lewis Allen, Our Times by Mark Sullivan, and 42 Years in the White House by Ike Hoover. Washington Wife belongs with this group, but in this distinguished company it is unique. It is the only account written by a woman, it is the only view of national and world affairs that gives the feminine point of view, the only one that deals to any extent with the feminine contingent in the national capital.
Walter Prescott Webb
Austin, Texas
Ellen Maury was born at Piedmont, the ancestral home in Charlottesville, Virginia, in 1860. Piedmont, near the campus of the University of Virginia and now a part of the campus, was headquarters of the Maurys, one of America's famous families. The public is conscious of the contributions made by the Maury men to history and geography. Thomas Jefferson records in his memoirs that he was prepared to enter William and Mary College by the Rev. James Maury. Matthew Fontaine Maury's name is a byword, "pathfinder of the sea." But the public is perhaps not informed about the Maury women; surrounded by the culture and the youth of the University of Virginia, they were great record keepers and diarists, and among these Ellen is probably the most talented and assiduous of the lot, and it was this habit that served her well when she went to Washington.
Ellen Maury married James Luther Slayden on June 12, 1883. He was born in Mayfield, Kentucky, June 1, 1853. After his father's death in 1869, he moved with his mother to New Orleans. He was educated in the public schools, and attended Washington and Lee University at Lexington, Virginia. In 1876 he moved to San Antonio, Texas, to become a cotton broker and ranchman, and it was probably there that he met Ellen Maury, who was visiting her sister, Mrs. Jane [Lewis] Maury Maverick. In 1892 Slayden was elected to the state legislature, but did not seek re-election. His business career was brought to an end on August 21, 1896, when his firm of Slayden, Clarkson, and Robards, cotton brokers, went into bankruptcy due to the collapse of cotton prices in 1895. On the day following the assignment, August 22, 1896, he was nominated to stand for Congress from the San Antonio district, and was elected in November. This meant that he and Ellen went to Washington for the opening of Congress in March, 1897, and they returned each session for the following twenty-one years. Their experience in Washington was begun on the eve of the Spanish-American War and ended just at the close of World War I.
History will not record that James L. Slayden was a distinguished congressman. His career was honorable and his action intelligent, but no major legislation bears his name. He looked after the interests of his district in an acceptable manner, and often had the courage to cast unpopular votes. In his opposition to a reckless extension of pension benefits, Slayden said: "The Spanish-American War was not a great war. A large number of our troops took the hazard of watermelons in Georgia and Florida, and fought the malaria and mosquitoes, but very few Spanish. . . . The Spanish-American War yielded comparatively little in heroics, [but] paid the most marvelous dividends in politics and in magazine articles of any war in the history of the country."
Early in his career Slayden became interested in the peace movement, and he retained this interest to the end of his career. It finally cost him his seat in Congress. When he first went to Washington he was made a member of the Military Affairs Committee because of the heavy military installations in and around San Antonio. As his interest in the peace movement developed, his concern with military affairs declined, and he relinquished his place on the Military Affairs Committee. He was a delegate to the Hague Convention just prior to the outbreak of World War I. He was president of the American group of the Interparliamentary Peace Union which was devoted to settling international problems by talking instead of fighting. He was president of the American Peace Society and a trustee of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Mark Goodwin, writing from Washington on Slayden's death in 1924, said his most distinctive service was in drafting an amendment to the naval appropriation bill of 1916 directing the President to invite the nations of Europe to a world-wide conference to provide for a reduction of armaments and the preparation of a code of international law. "The Slayden amendment became the basic idea in the drafting of the League of Nations and was frequently referred to in speeches by President Wilson as 'the mandate of Congress' which was made a part of the covenant."
Then came the election of 1918. World War I was near its end, and the politicians knew it. In the meantime strong opposition to Wilson had developed in Congress, and Wilson decided, or someone decided for him, to purge those who were opposing him. James L. Slayden was a victim of that purge. Since his ideas of peace for the future coincided with those of Wilson, it is difficult to see why Wilson executed him politically. The records do not reveal that Slayden actively opposed Wilson or the war effort. He did keep his head in the midst of war hysteria which was very strong at that time. The real explanation of Wilson's act may be wholly personal, related to the Texas clique that E. M. House took to Washington during the Wilson administration. It may be related to Ellen Maury Slayden's disdain for Wilson and something bordering on contempt for House and his Texas entourage in Washington. Ellen knew Woodrow Wilson when he was a student at the University of Virginia. She did not like him then, and she did not like him any better when he became President and moved to Washington where she had been holding court among the famous personages for many years. She thought him narrow-minded, too much of a Presbyterian, and too much of the schoolteacher. She though his attitude toward Mexico was entirely wrong. When his wife died, Ellen wagered a friend a five-pound box of candy that the President would marry before he left the White House, and she won. She almost wrecked Washington society by conducting a feminine war against Wilson's Cabinet when the Cabinet wives announced that they would return social calls from the wives of other Cabinet members, the Supreme Court judges, and senators, but could not be bothered with social obligations to members of the House of Representatives. The fact that she won this war may not have endeared her to the Wilson set.
Though evidence is lacking that Slayden failed to support the war effort, conditions with which he had to deal may explain why he refrained from war hysteria and clamor for revenge on the Central Powers. The first is that he had long been dedicated to peace. The second is that the German population is and has always been very heavy in the district. Such communities as New Braunfels and Fredricksburg are almost solely German. These people had always been Slayden's friends and supporters, and it was necessary for him to retain their support. It was not in his nature to seek revenge, and to clamor for it now would have ordinarily been political folly.
But the circumstances were by no means ordinary in the summer of 1918. The war fever was at its height, patriotism amounted to fanaticism; the Germans were not numerous enough to elect a congressman, and were too intimidated by the tyranny of war to do so if they could. So by merely holding his position, Slayden lost. The opposition—in this case led by the Texas contingent in Washington—chose Carlos Bee. His qualifications were perfect. He had been in the Texas Senate, had a shock of gray hair, was a good speaker, son of Bernard E. Bee, of an old and respected Texas family. More important than all this was the fact that his wife was the sister of Albert Sidney Burleson, Wilson's postmaster general, a member of the House-Gregory-Burleson clique from Austin.
The telegram was solicited not by Carlos Bee but by the supporters of Alva Pearl Barrett, but Bee was the beneficiary. The timing was perfect because Wilson had decided to make his purge of such members as Representative George Huddleston of Alabama, Senator James K. Vardaman of Mississippi, Senator Thomas W. Hardwick of Georgia, and Representative Francis Lever of South Carolina. The fact that the telegram had to be solicited indicates that Slayden had not already been marked for political execution.
It is interesting to speculate as to whether Wilson himself dictated the answering telegram. Did he really want to get Slayden out of Congress or did he want to get Ellen Maury out of Washington? Did the presence of this little aristocrat who had a social arrogance equal to his intellectual arrogance make him uncomfortable? Did the fact that she knew him, and didn't like him, when he was winning second place in debate at Charlottesville have any influence? Who knows? The telegram reads:
THE WHITE HOUSE WASHINGTON D.C.
JULY 24, 1918
YOUR LETTER RECEIVED THE ADMINISTRATION AS BETWEEN CANDIDATES EQUALLY LOYAL NEVER TAKES PART IN THE LIGHT OF MR. SLAYDEN'S RECORD NO ONE CAN CLAIM HE HAS GIVEN SUPPORT TO THE ADMINISTRATION.
WOODROW WILSON
On July 25, the day after the Wilson telegram, James L. Slayden published the following statement:
For Twenty-two years I have tried faithfully to represent the people of this district and of the whole country in the American Congress. . . . I was not one of those who sought to plunge the country into war while expecting to remain in the security of private life. However, the President of the United States has said, in a telegram to a local newspaper, that I have not supported his Administration. No matter how false the statements made to the President that procured this telegram, my continued candidacy for Congress, in view of it, will appear to put me in opposition to those charged with the prosecution of the war, at a time when every good American must support the country regardless of his personal fortunes. I therefore announce my withdrawal from the race for Congress.
James L. Slayden
[It was the supporters of a third candidate, A. P. Barrett, who sent the telegram. Ironically, he was defeated by Carlos Bee. The decision lay in the hands of the German voters to whom Slayden's strength went. In the election of 1920 Slayden attempted a comeback. Both Bee and Slayden were defeated by Harry M. Wurzbach, a Republican.]
It was March 3, 1919, that the Slaydens caught the train to Texas, knowing that a long political career had ended. There seems little doubt that he had been a casualty of the crossfire of politics. The harried Wilson had been guilty of an injustice. According to Mark Goodwin, Slayden "always thought that Mr. Wilson regretted having sent the telegram."
If James L. Slayden escapes the oblivion that shrouds most congressmen, it will be because of the diminutive Ellen—less than five feet tall—who had been his companion throughout his long service in Washington. As a Maury she had membership in one of the distinguished American families, a family that has spread the name Maury all over the country. The Maurys were related to the Lewises, of Lewis and Clark fame. The Langhorne sisters, the Gibson girls, were cousins, and that includes Lady Astor. Ellen Maury's sister, Jane, married Albert Maverick, of another famous family. Jane was the mother of the late Maury Maverick, who went to Congress from Slayden's San Antonio district.'
Since the Slaydens had no children, Ellen was free to write for newspapers and magazines, to serve as secretary to her husband, and to exercise her sophisticated charms on Washington society.
We have her word for it that she never attended a real school a day in her life but that she was highly literate from wide reading and good remembering none could doubt. Her early notebooks were studded with quotations from the best writers. She contributed to Century, to the New York papers, and was the first society editor of the San Antonio Express.
Never until she went to Washington had she had a real outlet for her born talent, that of a reporter with all the social graces, a keen hard intelligence, and apparently a complete awareness of the drama going on around her. Her background was perfect for the role she was to play in a great triangle from the Maury homestead of Piedmont in Virginia to the Maverick clan in Texas to the Capitol in Washington, where all the political and social forces of the nation met to engage in the great game of strut and compromise which is the art of government in a democracy. She was enough of a democrat to be acceptable in Texas, enough of an aristocrat to please the Virginians; and a combination of personal charm, wit, and design made her much sought after in Washington. There was just enough snob in her to make her intriguing and a little challenging in all three places. What she had above all else—and she was fully conscious that she had it—was social acceptance. She quickly mastered the Washington protocol, and the family legend tells that she taught many newcomers to Washington about napery, silver, calling procedure, and who sat next to whom at dinner. It is doubtful that she was ever caught in a social error.
It must be remembered that when she went to Washington women were supposed to be seen more than heard. She played this role as best she could, considering her nature and talents. She never intruded herself in front of J., but she built a background for him that would make any politician proud. The men—and perhaps the women too—had to go by him to get to her, and they did. It is a family story that they reached Washington with about $50, but even so she converted a rather dreary rented apartment into a place of charm and elegance. Her household effects, now distributed among the Mavericks and the Maurys, from Virginia to Texas, are distinctive, the brasses, the silver, the samovars, the braziers, and the furniture. Some of her comments on the coldness and lack of charm in the great houses of Washington indicate her desire to put some personality into these impersonal places.
Ellen Maury Slayden was all feminine, and she wanted other women to be feminine too. As a social arbiter, she was uncompromising. She could not endure the hackneyed social phrases. The formal speech of the Victorian age was breaking down, and she did not like what was taking its place. The stock reply of "just fine" in response to the common inquiry of "How are you?" she would not endure among her nieces. "Don't say that," she would plead.
"What should I say, Aunt Ellen?"
"Say 'Very well, thank you.'"
One niece recalls a trip on the San Antonio trolley. A young lady sitting beside Ellen began to make her toilet—in public. She combed her hair, touched up her lips, and powdered her face. Aunt Ellen looked at her appraisingly. "Young lady," she said coolly, "you forgot something."
"What did I forget?" asked the puzzled girl.
"You haven't brushed your teeth."
But Ellen was not all Victorian. She believed in woman suffrage but was irked by the bad manners and bad dress of the professional suffragettes. She did not favor prohibition, not because she was from the beer town of San Antonio but probably because she was from Virginia where they know how to drink wine and hold hard liquor. Though she was very fond of Mrs. Bryan, her strictures on Bryan's grape-juice functions in Washington and her description of the contempt of the imported European caterers for the stuff they had to serve is a masterly job of reporting, with the reporter's preference showing.
What the public did not know about this little woman who knew everybody who was anybody is that she was a combination of Dr. Boswell and Samuel Pepys. For twenty-two years she kept cases on Washington official society, relieved now and then by some comedy or pathos from Texas or Virginia. While she was being gracious to a senator or congressman, a diplomat or scholar, she was appraising him with feminine realism. When she went home from some reception or dinner, she wrote down in her notebook what went on there. In some instances she did not wait to go home, but made her notes on the menu cards or programs. The notebooks were filled, and the stock of them grew to formidable proportions by the time she left Washington in 1919. She seems to have had no idea of writing a book, until she returned to San Antonio at the age of fifty-nine.
She had seven more years to live, but the lingering illness that brought her death took about two of these. She must have transmitted her notes into the book during the five years from 1919 to 1924. She did a chapter for each of the twenty-two years she was in Washington, and brought the story to a dramatic close with the scene on the train bringing the Slaydens home.
It is remarkable that her manuscript had to wait nearly half a century for a publisher. She did not have time to seek a publisher, and on her death she left the manuscript to Maury Maverick. Maury was just beginning a tempestuous career as an attorney and politician, and his life was too exciting for him to undertake marketing a memoir by a woman. There is evidence that he sent it to one magazine publisher, but it was the wrong one. In fact, many publishers might have shied away from it at the time. For one thing, her comments on people still living might have caused unpleasantness. For another, the people—and the publishers—were a little tired of what went on between 1898 and 1918. The Republican years had been relieved of unutterable dullness only by the antics of Theodore Roosevelt. Wilson brought some hope, but his domestic program was blasted by a world catastrophe. The frenzy of war and the ecstasy of victory—sardonically recorded here—were followed by disillusionment that was at its height when Ellen Slayden finished her story, when the world she knew was falling down in the days of bootlegging, walkathons, and flagpole sittings, when women were flappers instead of ladies, and men were exhibiting their egos in silk shirts. It was an era of bad taste and bad manners, to be ended by the stock market crash of 1929. During the depression following the crash, no one wanted to publish a book and few wanted to read one. It is significant that when this manuscript was brought to light in 1961, it was accepted by the first publisher to examine it. The editors at Harper & Row have cut some of the more trivial material from the original manuscript, and in a few instances they have inserted entries from Ellen Slayden's original, hand-written notebooks—anecdotes which she evidently felt would be indiscreet to publish in her time.
Readers of the journal need not, should not, expect to find their current political opinions confirmed or all their social views supported by this daughter of a Virginian and wife of a Kentuckian residing in Washington, Virginia and Texas in the first quarter of the twentieth century. The historic value of her narrative is that it reveals an age as seen by a woman of awareness, sensitivity and amazing candor. When she gets through with Theodore Roosevelt or William Howard Taft or Woodrow Wilson or "Colonel" E. M. House or Porfirio Díaz, and many others of that day, there is no doubt as to her opinion of them. She may not leave them great, but she leaves them, every one, quite human.
Washington Wife is among the best contemporaneous records of the period between the Spanish-American War—which announced that the United States was a world power—and World War I, which defined the duties and fixed the cost of holding first place. Ellen Slayden not only recorded the social life of Washington, Texas and Virginia, but she took note of almost every historical event of importance in the nation. Though her touch was light, her observations were intelligent, and always personal. Five books have portrayed this period, or a part of it, and all are indeed notable. They are The Autobiography of Lincoln Steffens, The Letters of Archibald Butt, Only Yesterday by Frederick Lewis Allen, Our Times by Mark Sullivan, and 42 Years in the White House by Ike Hoover. Washington Wife belongs with this group, but in this distinguished company it is unique. It is the only account written by a woman, it is the only view of national and world affairs that gives the feminine point of view, the only one that deals to any extent with the feminine contingent in the national capital.
Walter Prescott Webb
Austin, Texas
For a People's Peace
Each day we see new signs of the approach of peace. In all points essential for armistice the terms may even now be agreed upon in secret by the chief belligerents. The world will hardly be notified when the actual quit signal is given. At any rate this intimate affair, so purely diplomatic, will be out of reach of the popular will.
But later on in the long open peace conference where all things must be determined that are essential for the future peace of the world the people want control. And if we are ready for full democracy the people will have control. After the immense catastrophe of war is ended, terms may seem of slight importance to the exhausted proletariat. When an armistice is called the joy of all will be so great that we may temporarily forget to guard our interests against the reactionary and military forces already organized in every nation and eager to dictate terms that will insure their own future power. Let us take steps to guard against this mistake. If we want influence then, let us organize for control now because we must be ready to guide into democratic channels all the deliberations of that deeply significant peace commission which can and will alter forever our whole international situation.
The growth of the people's movements in all nations would have a direct influence towards ending the war if unhampered international relations were possible. We are not permitted free communication with the English, French, Russian or Italian people's movements. Separated as we are then—each nation to itself—the people must take national action to gain control of our international relations in the future.
Peace as the public is to know of it cannot come until Germany reforms. In his public utterances President Wilson has maintained a consistent argument. He will remain consistent. We know not what they are, but certain proofs of reform Germany will have to furnish. "It is so nominated in the bond." Therefore the people of the world anxiously await President Wilson's next word defining his requirements. Perhaps he is not yet sure himself what to require. Perhaps he wishes to leave this point undefined until the British government is ready for peace.
The German cabinet has fallen with the loss of the Reichstag majority—a degree of responsibility impossible to our own cabinet—But this is not enough. Must the kaiser go? Must Germany become a republic? President Wilson has not said so. Meanwhile many minds are searching for the most desirable guarantee American can possibly ask of Germany for its promises at the peace table. When can we feel sure that the German people will force the German government to keep its word? And is there any fair demand we can make that they can grant quickly? Complete changes in the form of government take time and the world cannot wait.
Some of us want peace more than we want democracy in Germany. We feel so sure that democratization will everywhere follow upon peace! But the sufficiency of Germany's reform is a vital and a timely speculation. America's prompt clearing up of this point would be a valuable contribution toward the renewal of sanity in the world.
In order to have the greatest faith in will and power of the German people to hold their government in line in the future can we do better than to let the German people have a direct voice in the naming of their peace commissioners? Can we perhaps cause the German government to grant its citizens the right to vote for the German delegates to the commission that will draw up the terms of peace? Then we could be sure that the decisions arrived at by their own elected representatives would be enforced by the people. And if the German government passed this supreme test of democracy could we not predict its ultimate reform?
Already a Russian faction has demanded an elected peace commission—startling experiment in democracy! What questions it will give us all to solve! Can the whole people of any nation be trusted to vote for the persons best fitted to represent the interests of that nation? The popular electorate may not secure the most expert or best informed persons—experts can be hired when needed and information bought—but the people will surely chose those whom they can trust to represent them. And if peace commissioners represent the people of any nation they will represent the interests of all humanity. Consequently the permanent just peace for which we all struggle will be safer in their hands than with any conceivable choice of representatives our rulers can make for us.
Let us urge our government to set a new precedent and hold an election to choose representatives for the approaching conference. Surely our government with its census list and its post offices can quickly take an advisory referendum. Let us have ready chosen and fully prepared five of our best citizens to contribute to that potent group to be chosen soon by someone.
If such an official vote is taken and its results faithfully followed by President Wilson and by Congress in their appointments of the American peace commissioners our example will help liberate the world from that old autocratic internationalism under which we suffer equally with monarchies. Between nations democracy has not been developed. This advance in our democracy used as a lever to raise the people's power in Germany would be indeed efficient psychology! Such political methods of conquering the world for democracy need not be abandoned because our country is at war. On the contrary a referendum would give the nation more faith in its own democracy and a higher patriotism.
Suppose we officially invite the German people to elect peace commissioners to meet elected commissioners from the United States. If the German government allows its citizens to vote, peace conferences can begin at once. If not, the German people will at least have a definite goal in their present efforts to liberalize Germany. Their struggle can be sharp and clear, not destroyed by wildness and anarchy. Now they know not what to seek.
Let us join with Russia and ask all the allied governments to elect their peace commissioners. If they will not all consent at least Russia and the United States can agree to elect their representatives and set the other nations a good example.
We need no bloody revolutions in any country. The world has shed blood enough. But the people have an unshakable determination sooner or later to have their kind of peace. Therefore let the government take warning in time and cut the Gordian knot of tangled and impossible national ambitions by giving the choice of peacemakers directly into the people's hands. A commission chosen any other way will stand on shaky ground. But the people will abide by the decisions of a representative Peace Commission because from it alone can we get what we want—the People's Peace.
Lola Maverick Lloyd
October 6, 1917
Each day we see new signs of the approach of peace. In all points essential for armistice the terms may even now be agreed upon in secret by the chief belligerents. The world will hardly be notified when the actual quit signal is given. At any rate this intimate affair, so purely diplomatic, will be out of reach of the popular will.
But later on in the long open peace conference where all things must be determined that are essential for the future peace of the world the people want control. And if we are ready for full democracy the people will have control. After the immense catastrophe of war is ended, terms may seem of slight importance to the exhausted proletariat. When an armistice is called the joy of all will be so great that we may temporarily forget to guard our interests against the reactionary and military forces already organized in every nation and eager to dictate terms that will insure their own future power. Let us take steps to guard against this mistake. If we want influence then, let us organize for control now because we must be ready to guide into democratic channels all the deliberations of that deeply significant peace commission which can and will alter forever our whole international situation.
The growth of the people's movements in all nations would have a direct influence towards ending the war if unhampered international relations were possible. We are not permitted free communication with the English, French, Russian or Italian people's movements. Separated as we are then—each nation to itself—the people must take national action to gain control of our international relations in the future.
Peace as the public is to know of it cannot come until Germany reforms. In his public utterances President Wilson has maintained a consistent argument. He will remain consistent. We know not what they are, but certain proofs of reform Germany will have to furnish. "It is so nominated in the bond." Therefore the people of the world anxiously await President Wilson's next word defining his requirements. Perhaps he is not yet sure himself what to require. Perhaps he wishes to leave this point undefined until the British government is ready for peace.
The German cabinet has fallen with the loss of the Reichstag majority—a degree of responsibility impossible to our own cabinet—But this is not enough. Must the kaiser go? Must Germany become a republic? President Wilson has not said so. Meanwhile many minds are searching for the most desirable guarantee American can possibly ask of Germany for its promises at the peace table. When can we feel sure that the German people will force the German government to keep its word? And is there any fair demand we can make that they can grant quickly? Complete changes in the form of government take time and the world cannot wait.
Some of us want peace more than we want democracy in Germany. We feel so sure that democratization will everywhere follow upon peace! But the sufficiency of Germany's reform is a vital and a timely speculation. America's prompt clearing up of this point would be a valuable contribution toward the renewal of sanity in the world.
In order to have the greatest faith in will and power of the German people to hold their government in line in the future can we do better than to let the German people have a direct voice in the naming of their peace commissioners? Can we perhaps cause the German government to grant its citizens the right to vote for the German delegates to the commission that will draw up the terms of peace? Then we could be sure that the decisions arrived at by their own elected representatives would be enforced by the people. And if the German government passed this supreme test of democracy could we not predict its ultimate reform?
Already a Russian faction has demanded an elected peace commission—startling experiment in democracy! What questions it will give us all to solve! Can the whole people of any nation be trusted to vote for the persons best fitted to represent the interests of that nation? The popular electorate may not secure the most expert or best informed persons—experts can be hired when needed and information bought—but the people will surely chose those whom they can trust to represent them. And if peace commissioners represent the people of any nation they will represent the interests of all humanity. Consequently the permanent just peace for which we all struggle will be safer in their hands than with any conceivable choice of representatives our rulers can make for us.
Let us urge our government to set a new precedent and hold an election to choose representatives for the approaching conference. Surely our government with its census list and its post offices can quickly take an advisory referendum. Let us have ready chosen and fully prepared five of our best citizens to contribute to that potent group to be chosen soon by someone.
If such an official vote is taken and its results faithfully followed by President Wilson and by Congress in their appointments of the American peace commissioners our example will help liberate the world from that old autocratic internationalism under which we suffer equally with monarchies. Between nations democracy has not been developed. This advance in our democracy used as a lever to raise the people's power in Germany would be indeed efficient psychology! Such political methods of conquering the world for democracy need not be abandoned because our country is at war. On the contrary a referendum would give the nation more faith in its own democracy and a higher patriotism.
Suppose we officially invite the German people to elect peace commissioners to meet elected commissioners from the United States. If the German government allows its citizens to vote, peace conferences can begin at once. If not, the German people will at least have a definite goal in their present efforts to liberalize Germany. Their struggle can be sharp and clear, not destroyed by wildness and anarchy. Now they know not what to seek.
Let us join with Russia and ask all the allied governments to elect their peace commissioners. If they will not all consent at least Russia and the United States can agree to elect their representatives and set the other nations a good example.
We need no bloody revolutions in any country. The world has shed blood enough. But the people have an unshakable determination sooner or later to have their kind of peace. Therefore let the government take warning in time and cut the Gordian knot of tangled and impossible national ambitions by giving the choice of peacemakers directly into the people's hands. A commission chosen any other way will stand on shaky ground. But the people will abide by the decisions of a representative Peace Commission because from it alone can we get what we want—the People's Peace.
Lola Maverick Lloyd
October 6, 1917
Lola Maverick Lloyd, internationally-known peace advocate and feminist, became ... in 1915, a founder with Jane Addams and others of the Women's International League for Peace and Freedom. She served on its national executive committee until 1943. In 1916-17 she was a member of the international committee which sought immediate mediation of the war in Europe. She continued her peace activity as leader and participant in various commissions and meetings in the United States and Europe for the rest of her life.
In 1914 she became active in the National Woman's Party, which won women's suffrage in 1920. She was also a member of the socialist Party for a time. For several years she headed the Women's Consultative Committee, recognized by the League of Nations, which worked internationally for women's complete legal equality with men. Also a strong believer in world federation, she was co-founder in 1937 and later International Chairman of the Campaign for World Government, which proposed a non-military universal federation with a world parliament. She was also an accomplished artist, having studied pastels and sculpture in Paris.
The Family of John Lewis, Pioneer
Frazier/Cowell/Fisher
In 1914 she became active in the National Woman's Party, which won women's suffrage in 1920. She was also a member of the socialist Party for a time. For several years she headed the Women's Consultative Committee, recognized by the League of Nations, which worked internationally for women's complete legal equality with men. Also a strong believer in world federation, she was co-founder in 1937 and later International Chairman of the Campaign for World Government, which proposed a non-military universal federation with a world parliament. She was also an accomplished artist, having studied pastels and sculpture in Paris.
The Family of John Lewis, Pioneer
Frazier/Cowell/Fisher
Recollections of Samuel Maverick of Pendleton
As I saw and knew Mr. Maverick in my childhood, it would seem that anything a child would observe would be of small value. However there is not a recollection in childhood more vivid and positive than that I have of Mr. Samuel Maverick, which may have been the result of his marked personality.
Pendleton seems to have been called "Old Pendleton" even in Ma's youth. The town was settled mostly by Virginians. Mr. Maverick and my grandfather, Mr. Taliaferro, were always the best of friends. My fathers land joined that of Samuel Maverick, who lived a mile further on in another big white house with piazzas and arches between the tall columns. There were high oaks around it and extensive vineyards back of it, orchards of fruit of imported varieties and acres of all kinds of berries. These imported fruits, it is said, he introduced in upper South Carolina.
In my earliest recollections Mr. Maverick lived alone with his faithful house servants. Other slaves lived in their quarters, as was the custom on Southern plantations. Mr. Maverick was known as a very wealthy man, owning land in every state then in the Union, city property, and big amounts of money out at interest.
In person Mr. Maverick was tall, his brow was prominent, with heavy eyebrows, very searching eyes. His manner was reserved, almost sombre. I would have been afraid of him, but he noticed children in such a friendly and kindly way. Acquaintances spoke of Mr. Maverick as a man of thought, reading, reticent, very courteous and eccentric, of all men the least ostentatious. He wore always a pale-colored coat and broad-brimmed low-crown whitish hat. He rode in a buggy, driving a grey horse and passed our home every day. The cook told the hour by his passing, so methodical was he. "He passed at seven and now it is twelve, because Mr. Maverick is passing to dinner."
I went with my parents to visit Mr. Maverick and I was charged to not step on the flowers or on the borders of his flowers. Mr. Maverick was kind, but particular, and I did walk straight on, awed by those piercing eyes and heavy brows. There were no grounds like his in the whole country. There was quaint furniture, pictures, etc. I remember on time when he ordered refreshments. His housekeeper, a tall slave, named Margaret, brought in things served from carved silver-covered dishes, which my mother admired, gorgeous blue china - must have been old Wedgewood - the figures on the plates so real. No china since seen has ever approached these dishes, so deeply, darkly blue. Our carriage was filled with fruit and flowers to take home, and Mr. Maverick never forgot his neighbors when he killed fresh meat. A basket and note came with his respects. This was a custom among the neighbors.
Two little girls of Mr. Maverick's had died and . . . Mr. Maverick was silent in sorrow and the circumstance was often mentioned among his friends as an illustration of his unobtrusive affection and profound sentiment. Mr. Maverick's only son, Samuel Augustus, had been taken prisoner, and his father was bowed with grief. In the presence of others he received the news that his son was free. Mr. Maverick, overwhelmed, went down prostrate, and laid his face on the earth in humble gratitude. This, like other things, showed the devotional depths of this silent man.
I think it was in 1846 when a Negro came running, breathless, saying "Old Mr. Maverick was down bad off!" My parents and others found Mr. Maverick paralyzed. Letters were sent to his faraway children; willings hands and hearts of dear old Pendleton, which are dust now, never left Mr. Maverick.
Mr. Maverick never spoke or walked again, but with his hands made signs and was understood. He seemed well and was rolled about in his chair by his valet. Wherever his daughter, Mrs. Van Wyck, went she took her father with her, who smiled and seem to enjoy the company. The style was to go from home to home of your friends and spend the day. He entertained his friends at very formal and elegant dinners. I have seen gorgeous flocks of pea fowls give their wild screams and fly to the top of Montpelier and rest on the majestic oaks around the grounds.
One night we were startled by the servants saying there was a red light over Mr. Maverick's home, Montpelier. Our famiy and others found Mr. Maverick and all the family in night-clothes sitting on the beautiful lawn. But few things were saved. We are told how the Grandpa pointed to each child, as if to say "They are all saved. They are all here." The family stayed some with us and other friends until a temporary home could be prepared, and near the same spot a new home was built. Mr. Maverick in his chair in the yard loooked on and directed the workmen. He would smile, point to the house and then to his little granddaughter as much as to say, "It is your." "It is mine," she would say, and would nod and smile. The new home was also called Montpelier, a home of charm and hospitality.
Mr. Maverick was paralyzed in 1846 and died in 1852. I well remember his death and funeral. He was interred near his home and a monument marks the spot. Mr. Maverick had one son, Samuel Augustus Maverick, who visited Pendleton after his father's death. He was a prominent lawyer of San Antonio, Texas, where his descendents still live.
Mrs. Sarah Boyles Williams (1926)
Mary A. Maverick's Account of Samuel Maverick of Pendleton
Samuel Maverick (1772-1852), father of Samuel Augustus Maverick, was born in Charleston, South Carolina, where he spent most of his life. He was one of ten children, all the others dying, principally of Yellow Fever, which was called the West India or "Stranger's Fever."
On account of his father's absence, fighting in the revolutionary army, and the destruction of their home by the British, his mother took the children to Providence, Rhode Island, to visit her parents, the Turpins. They were completely impoverished by the war (of the Revolution) but they returned to Charleston soon after the close of the war. They paid for a horse to pull the cart, in which they traveled part of the time, $30,000 in Continental money.
Soon after returning to Charleston his father died, and he was thrown entirely on his own resources until quite a boy. He was apprenticed by his mother to his uncle William Turpin, a leading merchant in Charleston, with whom he remained until he was 21 years old, when he established a business for himself. In this he succeeded, and in time became the leading merchant in Charleston, making shipments to China and other foreign countries.
He was the first to ship cotton bales from the U.S. to Europe. When he was thirty years old he married Elizabeth Anderson, daughter of General Robert Anderson, of revolutionary fame. About five years prior to that time his widowed mother had married General Robert Anderson himself. General Robert Anderson lived in Pendleton District, near the village of Pendleton, which is now in the county of Anderson, named after him. Samuel Maverick bought a place up there, where he had two famous vineyards, noted all over the country, and here he spent his summers.
His children were Samuel A., Caroline, born 1805, Elizabeth Anderson, born 1807, Robert Anderson, born about 1810, and Lydia Ann, born 1814. Caroline and Robert Anderson died in Charleston.
When Samuel Maverick retired from business he settle permanently in Pendleton. Mr. Maverick and I visited him there in March 1837, where he lived in a very fine house.
He used every effort in his power to persuade my husband from returning to Texas. He offered him everything he had not to go, but notwithstanding Mr. Maverick would go, and when we left October 14th, 1837, he followed us to the Tugelo River, where the old General Robert Anderson house stood and he was very much affected when we bid him good-bye, and there we named our baby boy, our first-born, Sam, after him.
Mary A. Maverick
Memoirs
As I saw and knew Mr. Maverick in my childhood, it would seem that anything a child would observe would be of small value. However there is not a recollection in childhood more vivid and positive than that I have of Mr. Samuel Maverick, which may have been the result of his marked personality.
Pendleton seems to have been called "Old Pendleton" even in Ma's youth. The town was settled mostly by Virginians. Mr. Maverick and my grandfather, Mr. Taliaferro, were always the best of friends. My fathers land joined that of Samuel Maverick, who lived a mile further on in another big white house with piazzas and arches between the tall columns. There were high oaks around it and extensive vineyards back of it, orchards of fruit of imported varieties and acres of all kinds of berries. These imported fruits, it is said, he introduced in upper South Carolina.
In my earliest recollections Mr. Maverick lived alone with his faithful house servants. Other slaves lived in their quarters, as was the custom on Southern plantations. Mr. Maverick was known as a very wealthy man, owning land in every state then in the Union, city property, and big amounts of money out at interest.
In person Mr. Maverick was tall, his brow was prominent, with heavy eyebrows, very searching eyes. His manner was reserved, almost sombre. I would have been afraid of him, but he noticed children in such a friendly and kindly way. Acquaintances spoke of Mr. Maverick as a man of thought, reading, reticent, very courteous and eccentric, of all men the least ostentatious. He wore always a pale-colored coat and broad-brimmed low-crown whitish hat. He rode in a buggy, driving a grey horse and passed our home every day. The cook told the hour by his passing, so methodical was he. "He passed at seven and now it is twelve, because Mr. Maverick is passing to dinner."
I went with my parents to visit Mr. Maverick and I was charged to not step on the flowers or on the borders of his flowers. Mr. Maverick was kind, but particular, and I did walk straight on, awed by those piercing eyes and heavy brows. There were no grounds like his in the whole country. There was quaint furniture, pictures, etc. I remember on time when he ordered refreshments. His housekeeper, a tall slave, named Margaret, brought in things served from carved silver-covered dishes, which my mother admired, gorgeous blue china - must have been old Wedgewood - the figures on the plates so real. No china since seen has ever approached these dishes, so deeply, darkly blue. Our carriage was filled with fruit and flowers to take home, and Mr. Maverick never forgot his neighbors when he killed fresh meat. A basket and note came with his respects. This was a custom among the neighbors.
Two little girls of Mr. Maverick's had died and . . . Mr. Maverick was silent in sorrow and the circumstance was often mentioned among his friends as an illustration of his unobtrusive affection and profound sentiment. Mr. Maverick's only son, Samuel Augustus, had been taken prisoner, and his father was bowed with grief. In the presence of others he received the news that his son was free. Mr. Maverick, overwhelmed, went down prostrate, and laid his face on the earth in humble gratitude. This, like other things, showed the devotional depths of this silent man.
I think it was in 1846 when a Negro came running, breathless, saying "Old Mr. Maverick was down bad off!" My parents and others found Mr. Maverick paralyzed. Letters were sent to his faraway children; willings hands and hearts of dear old Pendleton, which are dust now, never left Mr. Maverick.
Mr. Maverick never spoke or walked again, but with his hands made signs and was understood. He seemed well and was rolled about in his chair by his valet. Wherever his daughter, Mrs. Van Wyck, went she took her father with her, who smiled and seem to enjoy the company. The style was to go from home to home of your friends and spend the day. He entertained his friends at very formal and elegant dinners. I have seen gorgeous flocks of pea fowls give their wild screams and fly to the top of Montpelier and rest on the majestic oaks around the grounds.
One night we were startled by the servants saying there was a red light over Mr. Maverick's home, Montpelier. Our famiy and others found Mr. Maverick and all the family in night-clothes sitting on the beautiful lawn. But few things were saved. We are told how the Grandpa pointed to each child, as if to say "They are all saved. They are all here." The family stayed some with us and other friends until a temporary home could be prepared, and near the same spot a new home was built. Mr. Maverick in his chair in the yard loooked on and directed the workmen. He would smile, point to the house and then to his little granddaughter as much as to say, "It is your." "It is mine," she would say, and would nod and smile. The new home was also called Montpelier, a home of charm and hospitality.
Mr. Maverick was paralyzed in 1846 and died in 1852. I well remember his death and funeral. He was interred near his home and a monument marks the spot. Mr. Maverick had one son, Samuel Augustus Maverick, who visited Pendleton after his father's death. He was a prominent lawyer of San Antonio, Texas, where his descendents still live.
Mrs. Sarah Boyles Williams (1926)
Mary A. Maverick's Account of Samuel Maverick of Pendleton
Samuel Maverick (1772-1852), father of Samuel Augustus Maverick, was born in Charleston, South Carolina, where he spent most of his life. He was one of ten children, all the others dying, principally of Yellow Fever, which was called the West India or "Stranger's Fever."
On account of his father's absence, fighting in the revolutionary army, and the destruction of their home by the British, his mother took the children to Providence, Rhode Island, to visit her parents, the Turpins. They were completely impoverished by the war (of the Revolution) but they returned to Charleston soon after the close of the war. They paid for a horse to pull the cart, in which they traveled part of the time, $30,000 in Continental money.
Soon after returning to Charleston his father died, and he was thrown entirely on his own resources until quite a boy. He was apprenticed by his mother to his uncle William Turpin, a leading merchant in Charleston, with whom he remained until he was 21 years old, when he established a business for himself. In this he succeeded, and in time became the leading merchant in Charleston, making shipments to China and other foreign countries.
He was the first to ship cotton bales from the U.S. to Europe. When he was thirty years old he married Elizabeth Anderson, daughter of General Robert Anderson, of revolutionary fame. About five years prior to that time his widowed mother had married General Robert Anderson himself. General Robert Anderson lived in Pendleton District, near the village of Pendleton, which is now in the county of Anderson, named after him. Samuel Maverick bought a place up there, where he had two famous vineyards, noted all over the country, and here he spent his summers.
His children were Samuel A., Caroline, born 1805, Elizabeth Anderson, born 1807, Robert Anderson, born about 1810, and Lydia Ann, born 1814. Caroline and Robert Anderson died in Charleston.
When Samuel Maverick retired from business he settle permanently in Pendleton. Mr. Maverick and I visited him there in March 1837, where he lived in a very fine house.
He used every effort in his power to persuade my husband from returning to Texas. He offered him everything he had not to go, but notwithstanding Mr. Maverick would go, and when we left October 14th, 1837, he followed us to the Tugelo River, where the old General Robert Anderson house stood and he was very much affected when we bid him good-bye, and there we named our baby boy, our first-born, Sam, after him.
Mary A. Maverick
Memoirs
Memories of Jim Maverick
I was born December 27, 1890 at our home at 218 Ave. E. and it is said that I rode in San Antonio's first Battle of Flowers Parade. I don't remember these two events, - as I was only 5 months old when that First Parade took place. But I can still remember that big Victoria carriage and the team of fine Kentucky carriage horses we still had in later years. My mother - Mama, sat in the forward-facing seat with me in her lap. Next to her sat her sister, Mrs. James L. Slayden, who had inspired the society ladies of San Antonio to have the parade, honoring the battle of San Jacinto - like a flower-battle parade she had seen in Valencia, Spain. High up front rode black Mr. Billups in the driver's seat.
For a number of years the Parade always started from in front of our home, and it was confined to Alamo Plaza with half of the participants going one way and half in the opposite direction and throwing flowers at each other as they passed.
Our home stood on Avenue E. next door to where the Medical Arts Landmark Building now stands. It was torn down by the city about 1909 when Travis St. was run thru from N. Alamo to Avenue E, and then on east thru our house to E. Houston St.
PANIC
No sooner had the Battle of Flowers Festival ended when the Great Panic of 1891 reached Texas and San Antonio. The U.S. Treasury had no plan at that time to rush in emergency funds if "a run" was started - and banks by the thousands had to close because they could not pay all their depositors in cash.
Uncle Sam Maverick's bank had to close its doors, and he never was a wealthy man again. His bank was at the corner of Alamo Plaza and Houston St. where the Woolworth store is now. It was the tallest building in Texas.
A few years later the Maverick brothers and their mother, Mrs. Mary Adams Maverick advertised in the San Antonio papers that they would pay off any loss suffered by any depositer when the bank closed, - and they paid every legitimate claim in full.
My father also went bankrupt during the Great Panic of 1891. He was engaged in developing West End, (now Woodlawn) and building what is now Woodlawn Lake, and drilling 3 artesian wells to keep the Lake full. His credit was extended and when the banks closed he turned in all his property except the homestead, and declared bankruptcy. Two or three years later the property lost was worth 3 times what the debts had been. Father was never again the wealthy person he had always been, but he was faithful and true, and The Best Man Who Ever Lived.
THE CHILI QUEENS
Every evening about dusk, tables and benches would come into being on Alamo Plaza, and lanterns would be lit and soon a crowd of hungry people would appear ready for supper. Each table would be presided over by two or three highly decorated Mexican girls. A good big meal served to the music of guitars and singers could be had for 15¢.
And the Medicine Shows that came to town were wonderful.
The corner now occupied by the Medical Arts Building was in the 1890's a monument works yard where tomb-stones were made. It was often rented out at night to Medicine Men to hold their night-time shows. I remember wonderful shows there. All of these shows had a group of chorus girls in scanty skirt and tights. When the speaker had gotten his audience up to fever heat over the medicine that was guaranteed to cure anything from Diabetes to toothache, the girls would run down amongst the crowd with big baskets of big bottles of pink medicine at the bargain price of $1.00. There was a hypnotist and a comedy team, and the girls sang and danced.
THE CARNIVALS
Every year the Carnival took place in April. Alamo Plaza was covered with side shows and games of skill and chance. I remember a 40-foot ladder standing in front of the Alamo with a small platform at the top. A man would climb the ladder and dive into a 5-foot tub of water.
On the 1st block of N. Alamo Street there was a hotel about where the Post Office trucks now drive in and under. Next to that, going north stood Volmer's Livery Stable. In the street in front of these were 2 of the best carnival attractions: - A high narrow wooden stairway, 53 steps, with a platform at the top. On the platform sat a man on a heavy bicycle, and there was another platform.
At intervals an announcer would step out on the lower platform with this to say: "Ladies & Gentlemen: I will now introduce you to Mr. Charles G. Kilpatrick, originator of the loop-the-loop. He will now give you a reproduction of his famous ride down the West Steps of the Capitol in Washington, D.C.- Mr. Kilpatrick are you ready? - "I am ready"! "Well then GO!", and Mr. Kilpatrick would come thundering down the stairs and on thru a roped-off land almost to Houston Street before he could stop.
Next to the stairway stood a large metal loop-the-loop, and at regular intervals Mr. Kilpatrick would mount a very heavy bicycle at the top of high steep incline and come down and around the loop. This was a very dangerous feat as there were no nets to catch the rider or protect the onlookers in case of an accident. The crowd always gaver thunderous applause.
EARLY DAYS
Our fine big home at 218 Avenue E was 2-story made of cut stone with basement below and cupalo on top, and I think my earliest remembrance is of a scene in an upstairs front room. I stood with my back to the window, facing my mother. She was sewing on a machine and there was a "sewing woman" at another Singer machine nearby. I said in a plaintive voice, "Mama, I want some pants". She promptly replied, "All right, we'll make you some pants." I assume from this conversation that I had been wearing dresses until that time. Mama and the sewing woman made all of the clothes for the younger children.
In 1897 I started to public school - at 3rd Ward School at the corner of Avenue E and 4th Street just two blocks from home. Other members of the family also started to public school that year; - they had been attending German - English private school on S. Alamo St.
Born at the beginning of the Great Panic year, and continually in some kind of an accident - no wonder that some of the family members sometimes called me "Calamity Jim".
When I was 8 years old, I suffered the greatest accident injury of my life. I was across Avenue E from 3rd Ward School in the yard of the Kampman home where some construction was taking place. Several of us 2nd graders were looking at a big vat of boiling raw lime being slaked. One little boy threw a big rock into the vat, and the lime splashed right into my big wide-open eyes. The workmen came running, and might have avoided most of the damage, had they doused me good with water - but no, one of them picked me up and carried me all the way home. I was totally blind for a month. After that my left eye regained almost normal sight, and my right eye about 1/3 normal vision. When I reached 80 years, the right eye became totally blind. At 91 my left eye has about 1/3 vision.
In 1895 to 1900 San Antonio became quite an unhealthful place to live in. All of the old irrigation ditches of canals still ran thru the city and they were a menace, and not properly card for by the Health Dept. The Alamo Ditch formed the back line of our lot, and it was a source of mosquitos and flies. My mother circulated a petition and was successful in having it closed. There were no screens in San Antonio, and of course no air-conditioning.
Mother tried to take her children to some cooler more healthful spot for a long vacation in July or August. There were a number of outbreaks of Malaria and even Yellow Fever. I remember mother taking us and putting us on the last train to Kerrville one night when it was reported that Yellow Fever was in San Antonio. There was 4 of us smaller fry in charge of our older sister, and we stayed at the Kerrville Hotel.
When money was available, mother took us back in the summer to her home in Charlottesville, Virginia.
CHARLOTTESVILLE
In July 1901 Mama & Papa and several of us children went back to Charlottesville. I stayed in Virginia with Grandma & Grandpa Maury, while the rest of the family went on to Washington. Aunt Ellen Slayden (later, author of the book "Washington Wife") and her husband, Congressman James L. Slayden would be their hosts, so they expected to be favored visitors, and to meet President McKinley.
When my family came back to Charlottesville, on their way home, I begged to remain with my grandparents. A family of my 1st cousins lived nearby the ancient plantation of my grandparents, and there were cottages with negro employees - where I often took advantage of a good meal.
Hardly had my family left for home, however, when I was sorry I was not home with my brothers and sisters and parents, instead of my grandparents and the negro cook's 2 little girls. Grandpa, Jesse Lewis Maury was 93 years old, and very mild of manner - I never knew him to be impatient or disagreeable, although his wife, Lucy Price Maury, who was some 16 years younger than he, sometimes gave him a hard time.
I was encouraged to plant a garden, and I remembered the peanuts I planted. Every morning early the plants would be full of blossoms. The negro man told me that you had to go out early before the sun hit the blossoms and cover them with earth or you would get no peanuts. I did my best to follow their instructions - which of course was a play on my own ignorance.
Grandma gave me a beautiful Damson Plum Tree, from which I picked nearly a bushel of delicious plums which I took to town and sold to a grocery store.
I bought a nice new 2 3/4 pound axe and became quite a good wood-cutter. It took lots of wood to keep the fire-places and the big kitchen stove going during much of the year. I went with the men up the mountain to cut wood and haul it back home.
My playmates most of the time were Madge and Tiney - 2 little negro girls, the daughters of the cook. Madge was about 9 years old and Tiney, a little cripple, about 8. Both of them were very bright although neither had ever gone to school.
The cook lived in a 2-story house separate from the main house, but connected by a "covered way" some 50 or 60 feet long. Food was prepared in the big kitchen and then carried up the covered way to the big dining room. The cook's salary was room and board for herself and 2 daughters and $5.00 cash a month.
Although Grandpa was 93 years old, he went horseback riding every day if weather permitted. He would climb the smoke house steps to a little platform about 3 steps high. A negro man would lean forward his fine gaited mare, and he would step astride and ride through the beautiful grounds of the yard and the nearby orchard.
Grandpa's plantation was named Piedmont and it had evidently changed only slightly since the Confederacy. Although in Grandfather's name, other members of the family recognized "Brother" Reuben's right to hold and care for and live on the property. He was my mother's oldest brother. He seemed always in a good humor and was a bachelor. He had 1 glass eye which he kept in a glass of water at night.
The Price Maury family were my 1st cousins. Uncle Price was an architect and builder and he had a mill that ground corn or wheat and took part of the corn meal or flour in payment. The mill looked like it was 100 years old. There was a dam in the creek. From this a stream of water ran down the bank to a big water wheel, which turned a big 3 ton mill-stone inside the mill. I don't think Uncle Price was much of a money-maker, but his wife, Aunt Lizzie (Stribling) was from San Antonio, Texas and she had money to buy Thorobred race horses, which were so different from Grandpa's gaited riding horses.
There were 4 girls (I think) in the Price Maury family and one boy and they were all very handsome. Louis was about my age, and Fontaine a year older than I. I liked Louis and I loved Fontaine. She and I would go riding together bareback on the same horse.
School started about September 1st and I was enrolled in the Charlottesville Public School. I went to the 3rd grade first but cousin Judith Maury went to see the teachers and insisted that I be put in the 4th grade. I can't remember to save my neck how I got to school and back every day, but I think the Price Maury's took me, and brought me home. It was about a 2 1/2 mile trip.
I saw my first automobile in Charlottesville in 1901. It was on the main street and everyone rushed out from the stores to see it pass. It was pulling uphill and cloud of steam was shooting out the back; it was a steamer. I think it was a year before I saw another automobile.
The Horse Show was the big event of the year in Charlottesville and my cousin Eleanor Maury was one of the best and most beautiful riders to take part in it.
BACK HOME
At last the Congress closed its sessions and Aunt Ellen and Uncle Slayden came to Piedmont and got me and took me home. It was a long trip on the Southern Ry to New Orleans, then on the Southern Pacific to San Antonio; - about 3 days on the Pullman cars. Home was like heaven to me.
Next day I got on a bicycle (which I had never learned to ride in Virginia) and rode 2 blocks up the street where I was run into by an American Express wagon. I managed to pick myself and the bicycle up, and get home with no broken bones.
In 1910 or earlier, Alamo Plaza was paved with hexigon sawed blocks of mesquite wood as were also several of the principal streets. These blocks had been soaked in asphalt and were set on a layer of sand over a hard rolled base, and they made an excellent pavement, at least for a time. When the big flood came to San Antonio in September 1921, water stood in some streets for 2 days and the wood blocks came to the surface and floated away. They were never replaced or used again. (During the flood, water stood 7 to 9 feet deep in the lobby of the Gunter Hotel.)
In the early 1900's San Antonio somehow got the reputation of being a good place for Tuberculosis patients to be cured, and people with lung disease came here from many places in the north and east. My older brother Reuben (about 21) caught the disease, and changed the lifestyle of our family. Reuben was the handsomest member of our family - with curly black hair and fine features. He was in love with a girl - Amy Herff - and wanted to marry her. Mother did everything in her power to help Reuben get well.
The doctor advised us to move to the country, and Uncle Willie helped out by deeding to mother 173 acres of fenced land just outside the old city limits to the northwest on Babcock Road. Mother named the place "Sunshine Ranch".
SUNSHINE RANCH
Father had a small house built and a barn & stable and started at once to drill a deep well. At 600 feet deep we struck the Edwards Lime and a good supply of good water which rose to within 175 feet of the surface. A big windmill with a wheel 20 feet in diameter was installed, and a 12,000 gallon cypress tank. Our new home was 200 feet higher than Alamo Plaza, and we had a fine view of the city.
Reuben and I were the first members of the family to come to live on the new place. I was 15 years of age. We had a German man, Mr. Reimchisel to cook for us and take care of the mules and horses and plow the field, which was cleared of mesquite by some Mexicans who came with their families and camped on the land.
A little later Father had a big 2-story house built, and the rest of the family - except the older married members - all moved out to start a new life at Sunshine Ranch.
Things went as well at Sunshine Ranch as could be expected - except for Brother Reuben. The hot summer sun made his fever worse instead of better. Mother felt that her first duty was to care for Reuben and she took him the Cloudcroft for several months, but he continued to deteriorate so she then took him to a sanitarium at Saranac Lake, N.Y. where he died.
His body was brought back and buried in the family plot on East Commerce St. It was the first of my loved ones to die, and was the saddest day of my life.
There were no schools near Sunshine Ranch, so we drove a team of horses to the "ambulance", or later just a one-horse buggy to Elmira St. Grade School and Main Avenue High. We rented a stable in town and fed the horses hay while we were in classes.
Father still worked as manager of the Maverick Land Office and he drove a horse and buggy to town for several years before getting an automobile.
We bought our first automobile about 1907 or 1908. It was a little two-passenger car with acetalene lights. I can't remember the name of the car. It had an acetalene tank on one running board. You put ground acetalene and water in the tank. If you drove at night you lit the headlights with a match.
Father bought several registered Jersey cows, and I had saved $35 with which I bought a registered heifer calf, and this was the beginning of the Sunshine Ranch Dairy Farm. A good man was employed and a home built for him. He milked the cows, cooled the milk and delivered it to Joske Bros. store 4 times a week. They had a big soda fountain and advertised home-made ice cream made from milk and cream from Sunshine Ranch.
We younger boys helped milk the cows. I got up every morning at 5 o'clock and helped milk before washing up, having breakfast and going to school. I did not feel that this was a hardship. Boys were supposed to work in those days.
I liked working with the purebred cattle and decided to be a dairy farmer. In 1908 I quit high school before graduation and went to A & M College to study Dairy Husbandry. After one year I left there for the University of Wisconsin, where, after 3 years I graduated with a Bachelor's degree in Agriculture.
I then worked for a year for Certified Dairy Farm in Oglesby, Illinois, supplying Certified Milk to that town and to the city of Elgin, Illinois.
ADULT YEARS
When I finally got back home, I found mother still working with the dairy cow business to make money that would help all of her 11 children go to college. Surely nobody in the world ever had a better mother than our mother was.
Mother was very generous and very hospitable. She had many parties. For her 50th Wedding Anniversary a big dance pavillion was built in the yard and an estimated thousand guests attended. For many years she had a standing invitation for friends to drop in about 5:30 Sunday afternoons for a light supper. Sometimes there was baked Virginia ham or a cold roast, but always good homemade bread and butter and plenty of good milk were the mainstay. No liquor was served.
I decided to go into the certified milk and dairy farming business. I borrowed money and built a modern dairy barn, a milk house with refrigerating equipment and 8 small homes for employees. Dr. Dudley Jackson and Dr. P.I. Nixon organized the Bexar County Certified Milk Commission to see that Sunshine Ranch lived up to all sanitary and health standards.
Toward the end of September 1919, I met the lovely girl who was to be my wife. Three months later, on December 27, 1919 (my birthday) we were married. She was Hazel Carey Davis, who had been orphaned at 2 years of age by the death of her mother, and had been raised by her grandparents in Columbus, Texas. She was a school-teacher in a one-teacher rural school and living with her uncle and aunt in Boerne.
We were married in St. Mark's Episcopal Church in a morning wedding and we went to New Orleans for our Honeymoon.
On our return we moved into the vacant house of sister Agatha Welsh for about a year. Then we started to build a home of our own. There must have been a depression at that time because I remember the low wages I paid the 3 carpenters. The head man was a real expert builder. He got $5.00 a day, and the other two $4.00 each. They walked over 6 miles a day to and from work.
We lived happily in our Sunshine Ranch home for nearly 60 years. We had many parties at our home, and many happy days, - the happiest of these was when Hazel Dean, Ellen and Jamie were born.
Early in our married life we went on a wonderful hunting and fishing trip to Alaska, as guests of my college friend, Arnold Fitger.
Over the years I took part in a number of Little Theatre plays. I had the title role in their 2nd production: "The Queen's Husband". We showed at the Green Gate Theatre, on College Street, until the City built the Little Theatre Building in San Pedro Park. Later I took part in a number of operettas, staged by Mrs. Lewis Crams-Beck and others. I sang only short comic songs generally with a girl chorus. Mine was usually the principal comedian's part.
In later years, starting in 1954 Hazel and I did a great deal of traveling, making one trip to South American and 7 or 8 visits to Europe; we went around the world twice, - visiting a total of 48 countries. It was a very enjoyable period in our senior life.
Hazel was a wonderful wife and mother, and a beautiful woman, with lovely complexion, but she was not as strong as I. About the end of 1974 she fell and crushed her shoulder, and then in another fall she broke a hip. Complications set in, with Arthritis, and in spite of the best hospital care, she died on July 27, 1979.
My eyes are failing and as I bring these lines to a close I am having a hard time doing anything useful for others, but must wait as patiently as possible for my Maker to call me Home.
James Slayden Maverick
January 21, 1982
I was born December 27, 1890 at our home at 218 Ave. E. and it is said that I rode in San Antonio's first Battle of Flowers Parade. I don't remember these two events, - as I was only 5 months old when that First Parade took place. But I can still remember that big Victoria carriage and the team of fine Kentucky carriage horses we still had in later years. My mother - Mama, sat in the forward-facing seat with me in her lap. Next to her sat her sister, Mrs. James L. Slayden, who had inspired the society ladies of San Antonio to have the parade, honoring the battle of San Jacinto - like a flower-battle parade she had seen in Valencia, Spain. High up front rode black Mr. Billups in the driver's seat.
For a number of years the Parade always started from in front of our home, and it was confined to Alamo Plaza with half of the participants going one way and half in the opposite direction and throwing flowers at each other as they passed.
Our home stood on Avenue E. next door to where the Medical Arts Landmark Building now stands. It was torn down by the city about 1909 when Travis St. was run thru from N. Alamo to Avenue E, and then on east thru our house to E. Houston St.
PANIC
No sooner had the Battle of Flowers Festival ended when the Great Panic of 1891 reached Texas and San Antonio. The U.S. Treasury had no plan at that time to rush in emergency funds if "a run" was started - and banks by the thousands had to close because they could not pay all their depositors in cash.
Uncle Sam Maverick's bank had to close its doors, and he never was a wealthy man again. His bank was at the corner of Alamo Plaza and Houston St. where the Woolworth store is now. It was the tallest building in Texas.
A few years later the Maverick brothers and their mother, Mrs. Mary Adams Maverick advertised in the San Antonio papers that they would pay off any loss suffered by any depositer when the bank closed, - and they paid every legitimate claim in full.
My father also went bankrupt during the Great Panic of 1891. He was engaged in developing West End, (now Woodlawn) and building what is now Woodlawn Lake, and drilling 3 artesian wells to keep the Lake full. His credit was extended and when the banks closed he turned in all his property except the homestead, and declared bankruptcy. Two or three years later the property lost was worth 3 times what the debts had been. Father was never again the wealthy person he had always been, but he was faithful and true, and The Best Man Who Ever Lived.
THE CHILI QUEENS
Every evening about dusk, tables and benches would come into being on Alamo Plaza, and lanterns would be lit and soon a crowd of hungry people would appear ready for supper. Each table would be presided over by two or three highly decorated Mexican girls. A good big meal served to the music of guitars and singers could be had for 15¢.
And the Medicine Shows that came to town were wonderful.
The corner now occupied by the Medical Arts Building was in the 1890's a monument works yard where tomb-stones were made. It was often rented out at night to Medicine Men to hold their night-time shows. I remember wonderful shows there. All of these shows had a group of chorus girls in scanty skirt and tights. When the speaker had gotten his audience up to fever heat over the medicine that was guaranteed to cure anything from Diabetes to toothache, the girls would run down amongst the crowd with big baskets of big bottles of pink medicine at the bargain price of $1.00. There was a hypnotist and a comedy team, and the girls sang and danced.
THE CARNIVALS
Every year the Carnival took place in April. Alamo Plaza was covered with side shows and games of skill and chance. I remember a 40-foot ladder standing in front of the Alamo with a small platform at the top. A man would climb the ladder and dive into a 5-foot tub of water.
On the 1st block of N. Alamo Street there was a hotel about where the Post Office trucks now drive in and under. Next to that, going north stood Volmer's Livery Stable. In the street in front of these were 2 of the best carnival attractions: - A high narrow wooden stairway, 53 steps, with a platform at the top. On the platform sat a man on a heavy bicycle, and there was another platform.
At intervals an announcer would step out on the lower platform with this to say: "Ladies & Gentlemen: I will now introduce you to Mr. Charles G. Kilpatrick, originator of the loop-the-loop. He will now give you a reproduction of his famous ride down the West Steps of the Capitol in Washington, D.C.- Mr. Kilpatrick are you ready? - "I am ready"! "Well then GO!", and Mr. Kilpatrick would come thundering down the stairs and on thru a roped-off land almost to Houston Street before he could stop.
Next to the stairway stood a large metal loop-the-loop, and at regular intervals Mr. Kilpatrick would mount a very heavy bicycle at the top of high steep incline and come down and around the loop. This was a very dangerous feat as there were no nets to catch the rider or protect the onlookers in case of an accident. The crowd always gaver thunderous applause.
EARLY DAYS
Our fine big home at 218 Avenue E was 2-story made of cut stone with basement below and cupalo on top, and I think my earliest remembrance is of a scene in an upstairs front room. I stood with my back to the window, facing my mother. She was sewing on a machine and there was a "sewing woman" at another Singer machine nearby. I said in a plaintive voice, "Mama, I want some pants". She promptly replied, "All right, we'll make you some pants." I assume from this conversation that I had been wearing dresses until that time. Mama and the sewing woman made all of the clothes for the younger children.
In 1897 I started to public school - at 3rd Ward School at the corner of Avenue E and 4th Street just two blocks from home. Other members of the family also started to public school that year; - they had been attending German - English private school on S. Alamo St.
Born at the beginning of the Great Panic year, and continually in some kind of an accident - no wonder that some of the family members sometimes called me "Calamity Jim".
When I was 8 years old, I suffered the greatest accident injury of my life. I was across Avenue E from 3rd Ward School in the yard of the Kampman home where some construction was taking place. Several of us 2nd graders were looking at a big vat of boiling raw lime being slaked. One little boy threw a big rock into the vat, and the lime splashed right into my big wide-open eyes. The workmen came running, and might have avoided most of the damage, had they doused me good with water - but no, one of them picked me up and carried me all the way home. I was totally blind for a month. After that my left eye regained almost normal sight, and my right eye about 1/3 normal vision. When I reached 80 years, the right eye became totally blind. At 91 my left eye has about 1/3 vision.
In 1895 to 1900 San Antonio became quite an unhealthful place to live in. All of the old irrigation ditches of canals still ran thru the city and they were a menace, and not properly card for by the Health Dept. The Alamo Ditch formed the back line of our lot, and it was a source of mosquitos and flies. My mother circulated a petition and was successful in having it closed. There were no screens in San Antonio, and of course no air-conditioning.
Mother tried to take her children to some cooler more healthful spot for a long vacation in July or August. There were a number of outbreaks of Malaria and even Yellow Fever. I remember mother taking us and putting us on the last train to Kerrville one night when it was reported that Yellow Fever was in San Antonio. There was 4 of us smaller fry in charge of our older sister, and we stayed at the Kerrville Hotel.
When money was available, mother took us back in the summer to her home in Charlottesville, Virginia.
CHARLOTTESVILLE
In July 1901 Mama & Papa and several of us children went back to Charlottesville. I stayed in Virginia with Grandma & Grandpa Maury, while the rest of the family went on to Washington. Aunt Ellen Slayden (later, author of the book "Washington Wife") and her husband, Congressman James L. Slayden would be their hosts, so they expected to be favored visitors, and to meet President McKinley.
When my family came back to Charlottesville, on their way home, I begged to remain with my grandparents. A family of my 1st cousins lived nearby the ancient plantation of my grandparents, and there were cottages with negro employees - where I often took advantage of a good meal.
Hardly had my family left for home, however, when I was sorry I was not home with my brothers and sisters and parents, instead of my grandparents and the negro cook's 2 little girls. Grandpa, Jesse Lewis Maury was 93 years old, and very mild of manner - I never knew him to be impatient or disagreeable, although his wife, Lucy Price Maury, who was some 16 years younger than he, sometimes gave him a hard time.
I was encouraged to plant a garden, and I remembered the peanuts I planted. Every morning early the plants would be full of blossoms. The negro man told me that you had to go out early before the sun hit the blossoms and cover them with earth or you would get no peanuts. I did my best to follow their instructions - which of course was a play on my own ignorance.
Grandma gave me a beautiful Damson Plum Tree, from which I picked nearly a bushel of delicious plums which I took to town and sold to a grocery store.
I bought a nice new 2 3/4 pound axe and became quite a good wood-cutter. It took lots of wood to keep the fire-places and the big kitchen stove going during much of the year. I went with the men up the mountain to cut wood and haul it back home.
My playmates most of the time were Madge and Tiney - 2 little negro girls, the daughters of the cook. Madge was about 9 years old and Tiney, a little cripple, about 8. Both of them were very bright although neither had ever gone to school.
The cook lived in a 2-story house separate from the main house, but connected by a "covered way" some 50 or 60 feet long. Food was prepared in the big kitchen and then carried up the covered way to the big dining room. The cook's salary was room and board for herself and 2 daughters and $5.00 cash a month.
Although Grandpa was 93 years old, he went horseback riding every day if weather permitted. He would climb the smoke house steps to a little platform about 3 steps high. A negro man would lean forward his fine gaited mare, and he would step astride and ride through the beautiful grounds of the yard and the nearby orchard.
Grandpa's plantation was named Piedmont and it had evidently changed only slightly since the Confederacy. Although in Grandfather's name, other members of the family recognized "Brother" Reuben's right to hold and care for and live on the property. He was my mother's oldest brother. He seemed always in a good humor and was a bachelor. He had 1 glass eye which he kept in a glass of water at night.
The Price Maury family were my 1st cousins. Uncle Price was an architect and builder and he had a mill that ground corn or wheat and took part of the corn meal or flour in payment. The mill looked like it was 100 years old. There was a dam in the creek. From this a stream of water ran down the bank to a big water wheel, which turned a big 3 ton mill-stone inside the mill. I don't think Uncle Price was much of a money-maker, but his wife, Aunt Lizzie (Stribling) was from San Antonio, Texas and she had money to buy Thorobred race horses, which were so different from Grandpa's gaited riding horses.
There were 4 girls (I think) in the Price Maury family and one boy and they were all very handsome. Louis was about my age, and Fontaine a year older than I. I liked Louis and I loved Fontaine. She and I would go riding together bareback on the same horse.
School started about September 1st and I was enrolled in the Charlottesville Public School. I went to the 3rd grade first but cousin Judith Maury went to see the teachers and insisted that I be put in the 4th grade. I can't remember to save my neck how I got to school and back every day, but I think the Price Maury's took me, and brought me home. It was about a 2 1/2 mile trip.
I saw my first automobile in Charlottesville in 1901. It was on the main street and everyone rushed out from the stores to see it pass. It was pulling uphill and cloud of steam was shooting out the back; it was a steamer. I think it was a year before I saw another automobile.
The Horse Show was the big event of the year in Charlottesville and my cousin Eleanor Maury was one of the best and most beautiful riders to take part in it.
BACK HOME
At last the Congress closed its sessions and Aunt Ellen and Uncle Slayden came to Piedmont and got me and took me home. It was a long trip on the Southern Ry to New Orleans, then on the Southern Pacific to San Antonio; - about 3 days on the Pullman cars. Home was like heaven to me.
Next day I got on a bicycle (which I had never learned to ride in Virginia) and rode 2 blocks up the street where I was run into by an American Express wagon. I managed to pick myself and the bicycle up, and get home with no broken bones.
In 1910 or earlier, Alamo Plaza was paved with hexigon sawed blocks of mesquite wood as were also several of the principal streets. These blocks had been soaked in asphalt and were set on a layer of sand over a hard rolled base, and they made an excellent pavement, at least for a time. When the big flood came to San Antonio in September 1921, water stood in some streets for 2 days and the wood blocks came to the surface and floated away. They were never replaced or used again. (During the flood, water stood 7 to 9 feet deep in the lobby of the Gunter Hotel.)
In the early 1900's San Antonio somehow got the reputation of being a good place for Tuberculosis patients to be cured, and people with lung disease came here from many places in the north and east. My older brother Reuben (about 21) caught the disease, and changed the lifestyle of our family. Reuben was the handsomest member of our family - with curly black hair and fine features. He was in love with a girl - Amy Herff - and wanted to marry her. Mother did everything in her power to help Reuben get well.
The doctor advised us to move to the country, and Uncle Willie helped out by deeding to mother 173 acres of fenced land just outside the old city limits to the northwest on Babcock Road. Mother named the place "Sunshine Ranch".
SUNSHINE RANCH
Father had a small house built and a barn & stable and started at once to drill a deep well. At 600 feet deep we struck the Edwards Lime and a good supply of good water which rose to within 175 feet of the surface. A big windmill with a wheel 20 feet in diameter was installed, and a 12,000 gallon cypress tank. Our new home was 200 feet higher than Alamo Plaza, and we had a fine view of the city.
Reuben and I were the first members of the family to come to live on the new place. I was 15 years of age. We had a German man, Mr. Reimchisel to cook for us and take care of the mules and horses and plow the field, which was cleared of mesquite by some Mexicans who came with their families and camped on the land.
A little later Father had a big 2-story house built, and the rest of the family - except the older married members - all moved out to start a new life at Sunshine Ranch.
Things went as well at Sunshine Ranch as could be expected - except for Brother Reuben. The hot summer sun made his fever worse instead of better. Mother felt that her first duty was to care for Reuben and she took him the Cloudcroft for several months, but he continued to deteriorate so she then took him to a sanitarium at Saranac Lake, N.Y. where he died.
His body was brought back and buried in the family plot on East Commerce St. It was the first of my loved ones to die, and was the saddest day of my life.
There were no schools near Sunshine Ranch, so we drove a team of horses to the "ambulance", or later just a one-horse buggy to Elmira St. Grade School and Main Avenue High. We rented a stable in town and fed the horses hay while we were in classes.
Father still worked as manager of the Maverick Land Office and he drove a horse and buggy to town for several years before getting an automobile.
We bought our first automobile about 1907 or 1908. It was a little two-passenger car with acetalene lights. I can't remember the name of the car. It had an acetalene tank on one running board. You put ground acetalene and water in the tank. If you drove at night you lit the headlights with a match.
Father bought several registered Jersey cows, and I had saved $35 with which I bought a registered heifer calf, and this was the beginning of the Sunshine Ranch Dairy Farm. A good man was employed and a home built for him. He milked the cows, cooled the milk and delivered it to Joske Bros. store 4 times a week. They had a big soda fountain and advertised home-made ice cream made from milk and cream from Sunshine Ranch.
We younger boys helped milk the cows. I got up every morning at 5 o'clock and helped milk before washing up, having breakfast and going to school. I did not feel that this was a hardship. Boys were supposed to work in those days.
I liked working with the purebred cattle and decided to be a dairy farmer. In 1908 I quit high school before graduation and went to A & M College to study Dairy Husbandry. After one year I left there for the University of Wisconsin, where, after 3 years I graduated with a Bachelor's degree in Agriculture.
I then worked for a year for Certified Dairy Farm in Oglesby, Illinois, supplying Certified Milk to that town and to the city of Elgin, Illinois.
ADULT YEARS
When I finally got back home, I found mother still working with the dairy cow business to make money that would help all of her 11 children go to college. Surely nobody in the world ever had a better mother than our mother was.
Mother was very generous and very hospitable. She had many parties. For her 50th Wedding Anniversary a big dance pavillion was built in the yard and an estimated thousand guests attended. For many years she had a standing invitation for friends to drop in about 5:30 Sunday afternoons for a light supper. Sometimes there was baked Virginia ham or a cold roast, but always good homemade bread and butter and plenty of good milk were the mainstay. No liquor was served.
I decided to go into the certified milk and dairy farming business. I borrowed money and built a modern dairy barn, a milk house with refrigerating equipment and 8 small homes for employees. Dr. Dudley Jackson and Dr. P.I. Nixon organized the Bexar County Certified Milk Commission to see that Sunshine Ranch lived up to all sanitary and health standards.
Toward the end of September 1919, I met the lovely girl who was to be my wife. Three months later, on December 27, 1919 (my birthday) we were married. She was Hazel Carey Davis, who had been orphaned at 2 years of age by the death of her mother, and had been raised by her grandparents in Columbus, Texas. She was a school-teacher in a one-teacher rural school and living with her uncle and aunt in Boerne.
We were married in St. Mark's Episcopal Church in a morning wedding and we went to New Orleans for our Honeymoon.
On our return we moved into the vacant house of sister Agatha Welsh for about a year. Then we started to build a home of our own. There must have been a depression at that time because I remember the low wages I paid the 3 carpenters. The head man was a real expert builder. He got $5.00 a day, and the other two $4.00 each. They walked over 6 miles a day to and from work.
We lived happily in our Sunshine Ranch home for nearly 60 years. We had many parties at our home, and many happy days, - the happiest of these was when Hazel Dean, Ellen and Jamie were born.
Early in our married life we went on a wonderful hunting and fishing trip to Alaska, as guests of my college friend, Arnold Fitger.
Over the years I took part in a number of Little Theatre plays. I had the title role in their 2nd production: "The Queen's Husband". We showed at the Green Gate Theatre, on College Street, until the City built the Little Theatre Building in San Pedro Park. Later I took part in a number of operettas, staged by Mrs. Lewis Crams-Beck and others. I sang only short comic songs generally with a girl chorus. Mine was usually the principal comedian's part.
In later years, starting in 1954 Hazel and I did a great deal of traveling, making one trip to South American and 7 or 8 visits to Europe; we went around the world twice, - visiting a total of 48 countries. It was a very enjoyable period in our senior life.
Hazel was a wonderful wife and mother, and a beautiful woman, with lovely complexion, but she was not as strong as I. About the end of 1974 she fell and crushed her shoulder, and then in another fall she broke a hip. Complications set in, with Arthritis, and in spite of the best hospital care, she died on July 27, 1979.
My eyes are failing and as I bring these lines to a close I am having a hard time doing anything useful for others, but must wait as patiently as possible for my Maker to call me Home.
James Slayden Maverick
January 21, 1982
The Texas Mavericks.
To the Editor of The Republic.
Dallas, Tex., Nov. 19. -- In a recent letter from your correspondent at this place, on political matters in Texas, a great wrong, doubtless unintentional, is done to the patriarch of the Maverick family in San Antonio. It is asserted in substance that he came at an early day to Texas, became a stock raiser, and from branding all the yearling calves found unbranded on the range, such animals became known as "Mavericks," implying of course, that such branding was done regardless of rightful ownership. Allow me to correct this statement.
This branch of the Maverick family removed from Massachusetts to South Carolina, and in 1835 Samuel A. Maverick, a native to the latter State, came to Texas. He signed the Texas Declaration of Independence, and many times served in both branches of the Legislature, in which I was repeatedly his colleague. A more honorable man never sat in our councils. He was a noble man, and the head of a noble family.
He acquired much land and also many cattle, but paid no attention to the latter, or so little that they scattered over a large scope of country. In time this became so notorious that in their spring hunts or "round-ups," the people on that frontier came to regard all yearlings found with Maverick's cattle as legitimate prey, facetiously styling every unbranded yearling so found a "maverick," and appropriating it as such. In this way his herd, in a few years, virtually became extinct. In all this time, indeed from 1837 till his death a few years ago, Mr. Maverick lived in San Antonio, while his cattle, as before stated, were at large on the frontier. Instead of grasping the stock of other people, by sheer neglect and indifference Mr. Maverick allowed other people to appropriate his own young cattle till his herd ceased to be.
I have not seen a member of the family since 1861, but know these statements to be true, and am unwilling to remain silent when the memory of so true and good a man is thus placed in a false light. Your correspondent was simply misinformed as to the origin of the term "maverick." It may be added that Mr. M. left a handsome estate to his family, than which none in Texas has ever stood higher for integrity and moral worth.
To the Editor of The Republic.
Dallas, Tex., Nov. 19. -- In a recent letter from your correspondent at this place, on political matters in Texas, a great wrong, doubtless unintentional, is done to the patriarch of the Maverick family in San Antonio. It is asserted in substance that he came at an early day to Texas, became a stock raiser, and from branding all the yearling calves found unbranded on the range, such animals became known as "Mavericks," implying of course, that such branding was done regardless of rightful ownership. Allow me to correct this statement.
This branch of the Maverick family removed from Massachusetts to South Carolina, and in 1835 Samuel A. Maverick, a native to the latter State, came to Texas. He signed the Texas Declaration of Independence, and many times served in both branches of the Legislature, in which I was repeatedly his colleague. A more honorable man never sat in our councils. He was a noble man, and the head of a noble family.
He acquired much land and also many cattle, but paid no attention to the latter, or so little that they scattered over a large scope of country. In time this became so notorious that in their spring hunts or "round-ups," the people on that frontier came to regard all yearlings found with Maverick's cattle as legitimate prey, facetiously styling every unbranded yearling so found a "maverick," and appropriating it as such. In this way his herd, in a few years, virtually became extinct. In all this time, indeed from 1837 till his death a few years ago, Mr. Maverick lived in San Antonio, while his cattle, as before stated, were at large on the frontier. Instead of grasping the stock of other people, by sheer neglect and indifference Mr. Maverick allowed other people to appropriate his own young cattle till his herd ceased to be.
I have not seen a member of the family since 1861, but know these statements to be true, and am unwilling to remain silent when the memory of so true and good a man is thus placed in a false light. Your correspondent was simply misinformed as to the origin of the term "maverick." It may be added that Mr. M. left a handsome estate to his family, than which none in Texas has ever stood higher for integrity and moral worth.
Respectfully,
JOHN HENRY BROWN.
Its Curious Though Natural Origin, Which
Has Given Rise to a Thousand Fables.
An Authentic Statement.
To the Editor of The Republic.
St. Louis, Nov. 16.--In response to your request I herewith submit an account of the origin of the term "Maverick" as applied to unbranded young cattle. I endeavor to give the authentic account, and at the same time make it as brief as possible.
To begin with definitions, the term is applied where cattle of various owners promiscuously mingle on the common range, that is to say, where fencing is not the rule. The cows bear the brand of their owner, and the calves are known by the brands of the cows. Calves are branded as soon as found, but invariably some are not found and branded in time. The calf becoming independent soon leaves the cow and sets up for itself. If unbranded who is the owner? Who can tell? It becomes impossible to decide the question of ownership, but right here one thing does happen -- the unbranded beast adopts a name and is know as a "maverick" -- meaning "nobody's calf." Now, how did, how could this term originate? Why, simply enough, through the inattention of a cattle owner by the name of Maverick, who was known in a wide region of Southwest Texas for not branding more than one-third of his calves and leaving the other two-thirds to become the common property of the range.
Now for the story of the facts as they actually occurred. Hon. Samuel A. Maverick, a citizen of San Antonio, Texas, was, during 1845, temporarily residing at Decrow's Point, on Matagorda Bay. He was a lawyer with a strong propensity for speculation in real estate. In fact, all the enterprising men in Texas of that day went more or less wild over real estate at 5 and 10 cents per acre. An interesting volume could be written on the land craze of that period. During that year (1845) a neighbor being indebted to Mr. Maverick in the sum of $1,200 paid the debt in cattle, transferring 400 animals at $3 per head. Cattle were cheap in those days, the hides only being cashable in the foreign markets. Mr. Maverick did not want the cattle, but as it was a case of cattle or nothing, he passively received them and left them in charge of a colored family, nominally slave, but essentially free, while he and his family returned to San Antonio. In the year 1853 the cattle were removed from the Gulf coast to Conquista, on the east bank of the San Antonio river, 50 miles below San Antonio. Here, as before, under the distinguished management of the colored family, who really were not to blame, as they had no interest in the outcome, the cattle were left to graze, to fatten, to multiply and to wander away. Mr. Maverick was absorbed in real estate and no doubt enjoyed the reflection that he was not encumbered by either the cattle or their managers. Right here a cattleman would say, "You needn't spin the balance of that yarn, I see the upshot," but I shall continue to the end if it takes a dozen bronchos!
About one-third of the calves were branded, and the branding iron was kept so cold and rusty that in 1856 the entire plant or "brand" was estimated at only 400 head, the original number. To the ingenious minded the explanation will occur when it is stated that the branding of "mavericks" was perfectly "square" in those days, although the occupation had not been distinctly named. To restate it, the cows wore brand ornaments, the calves were unadorned - - becoming independent and straying off, the calves soon acquired the requisite ornamentation.
Now the neighbors shrewdly surmised these calves to be Maverick's, and so they called them "mavericks" -- but did they continue to recognize them as such? Ah, no; they hastened to burn into their tender hides their own brands, and the beasts were Maverick's ("mavericks") no longer. The reader should bear in mind that no owner could know his own cattle on the range except by the brand and so the first brand settled the question of ownership. Thus the unbranded stray calves in those days were dubbed "mavericks," for they were most likely Maverick's, at least in that neck of the woods. The humorous neighbors who profited by Mr. Maverick's indirect liberality, thus jokingly gave him the credit of it and while they secured the profits he was permitted to acquire the experience. Indeed they hesitated not to bestow his name upon the unbranded yearlings, for, although a neighbor might have admitted, "a stray by any other name would be my meat," still by applying the right name at the right moment he thereby erected a wide-spreading monument of gratitude to his benefactor.
The name took, and spread and filled an "aching void," for today the cowboy would be lonesome if he couldn't call a "maverick" a "maverick."
About the year 1856, after 11 years of experience in the cattle business, Mr. Maverick sold the entire brand, 400 head, "as they ran," to Mr. A. Toutant Beauregard, a brother of the distinguished general. Mr. Beauregard, however, paid him $6 per head, and Mr. Maverick retired from the venture, thoroughly experienced against similar investments, but with an apparent profit of 100 per cent and the unique distinction of having his name bestowed upon a very dear friend of the human race. Mr. Maverick, all statements to the contrary notwithstanding, was never a cattle king, for, with the exception of the herd mentioned and a few necessary cowponies, he never owned any cattle or horses.
To complete the account and satisfy the reader, I add a short sketch of Mr. Maverick. He was born in Charlestown, S. C., in the year 1803, was given a collegiate education at Yale, and secured his law diploma at Winchester, Va. In 1835 he visited Texas, then a province of Mexico, and was in San Antonio when the Texas revolution burst forth. He joined General Houston's army and in December, 1835, under Ben Milam, he took part in the storming and capture of San Antonio by the Texan army. He adopted San Antonio as his home and, together with Don Jose Antonio Navarro, was elected a member from that town, of the first Congress of the Republic, the Congress which declared the independence of Texas from Mexico. In 1842, he and many other prominent citizens during a session of the District Court at San Antonio, were captured by the Mexican General, Woll, and marched under many hardships to the Castle of Perote, a fortified town on the road from Vera Cruz to the City of Mexico. There the prisoners were kept under ball and chain, save when they worked in the quarries. He was a member of the last Congress of the Republic, which effected the admission of Texas into the Union. He served many terms thereafter in each house of the Legislature, never seeking any of the positions mentioned, but patiently and often under protest, accepting the duties thrust upon him by his fellow-citizens. This is mentioned as a matter of fact merely -- his old friends will bear me out when I say of him, he was not noted for egotism. He lived a life full of trusts, of business and adventures, and died in 1870 in the midst of his family.
Mr. Editor, I have been careful in this account to state only what I believe to be strictly true and capable of proof. I am one of the sons of Mr. Maverick, and it is natural that I should wish the true story to prevail. To the stockmen of the West I submit this account and would remind them that of the thousand and one versions of the story only one can be correct. Be assured this is the true account.
St. Louis, Nov. 16.--In response to your request I herewith submit an account of the origin of the term "Maverick" as applied to unbranded young cattle. I endeavor to give the authentic account, and at the same time make it as brief as possible.
To begin with definitions, the term is applied where cattle of various owners promiscuously mingle on the common range, that is to say, where fencing is not the rule. The cows bear the brand of their owner, and the calves are known by the brands of the cows. Calves are branded as soon as found, but invariably some are not found and branded in time. The calf becoming independent soon leaves the cow and sets up for itself. If unbranded who is the owner? Who can tell? It becomes impossible to decide the question of ownership, but right here one thing does happen -- the unbranded beast adopts a name and is know as a "maverick" -- meaning "nobody's calf." Now, how did, how could this term originate? Why, simply enough, through the inattention of a cattle owner by the name of Maverick, who was known in a wide region of Southwest Texas for not branding more than one-third of his calves and leaving the other two-thirds to become the common property of the range.
Now for the story of the facts as they actually occurred. Hon. Samuel A. Maverick, a citizen of San Antonio, Texas, was, during 1845, temporarily residing at Decrow's Point, on Matagorda Bay. He was a lawyer with a strong propensity for speculation in real estate. In fact, all the enterprising men in Texas of that day went more or less wild over real estate at 5 and 10 cents per acre. An interesting volume could be written on the land craze of that period. During that year (1845) a neighbor being indebted to Mr. Maverick in the sum of $1,200 paid the debt in cattle, transferring 400 animals at $3 per head. Cattle were cheap in those days, the hides only being cashable in the foreign markets. Mr. Maverick did not want the cattle, but as it was a case of cattle or nothing, he passively received them and left them in charge of a colored family, nominally slave, but essentially free, while he and his family returned to San Antonio. In the year 1853 the cattle were removed from the Gulf coast to Conquista, on the east bank of the San Antonio river, 50 miles below San Antonio. Here, as before, under the distinguished management of the colored family, who really were not to blame, as they had no interest in the outcome, the cattle were left to graze, to fatten, to multiply and to wander away. Mr. Maverick was absorbed in real estate and no doubt enjoyed the reflection that he was not encumbered by either the cattle or their managers. Right here a cattleman would say, "You needn't spin the balance of that yarn, I see the upshot," but I shall continue to the end if it takes a dozen bronchos!
About one-third of the calves were branded, and the branding iron was kept so cold and rusty that in 1856 the entire plant or "brand" was estimated at only 400 head, the original number. To the ingenious minded the explanation will occur when it is stated that the branding of "mavericks" was perfectly "square" in those days, although the occupation had not been distinctly named. To restate it, the cows wore brand ornaments, the calves were unadorned - - becoming independent and straying off, the calves soon acquired the requisite ornamentation.
Now the neighbors shrewdly surmised these calves to be Maverick's, and so they called them "mavericks" -- but did they continue to recognize them as such? Ah, no; they hastened to burn into their tender hides their own brands, and the beasts were Maverick's ("mavericks") no longer. The reader should bear in mind that no owner could know his own cattle on the range except by the brand and so the first brand settled the question of ownership. Thus the unbranded stray calves in those days were dubbed "mavericks," for they were most likely Maverick's, at least in that neck of the woods. The humorous neighbors who profited by Mr. Maverick's indirect liberality, thus jokingly gave him the credit of it and while they secured the profits he was permitted to acquire the experience. Indeed they hesitated not to bestow his name upon the unbranded yearlings, for, although a neighbor might have admitted, "a stray by any other name would be my meat," still by applying the right name at the right moment he thereby erected a wide-spreading monument of gratitude to his benefactor.
The name took, and spread and filled an "aching void," for today the cowboy would be lonesome if he couldn't call a "maverick" a "maverick."
About the year 1856, after 11 years of experience in the cattle business, Mr. Maverick sold the entire brand, 400 head, "as they ran," to Mr. A. Toutant Beauregard, a brother of the distinguished general. Mr. Beauregard, however, paid him $6 per head, and Mr. Maverick retired from the venture, thoroughly experienced against similar investments, but with an apparent profit of 100 per cent and the unique distinction of having his name bestowed upon a very dear friend of the human race. Mr. Maverick, all statements to the contrary notwithstanding, was never a cattle king, for, with the exception of the herd mentioned and a few necessary cowponies, he never owned any cattle or horses.
To complete the account and satisfy the reader, I add a short sketch of Mr. Maverick. He was born in Charlestown, S. C., in the year 1803, was given a collegiate education at Yale, and secured his law diploma at Winchester, Va. In 1835 he visited Texas, then a province of Mexico, and was in San Antonio when the Texas revolution burst forth. He joined General Houston's army and in December, 1835, under Ben Milam, he took part in the storming and capture of San Antonio by the Texan army. He adopted San Antonio as his home and, together with Don Jose Antonio Navarro, was elected a member from that town, of the first Congress of the Republic, the Congress which declared the independence of Texas from Mexico. In 1842, he and many other prominent citizens during a session of the District Court at San Antonio, were captured by the Mexican General, Woll, and marched under many hardships to the Castle of Perote, a fortified town on the road from Vera Cruz to the City of Mexico. There the prisoners were kept under ball and chain, save when they worked in the quarries. He was a member of the last Congress of the Republic, which effected the admission of Texas into the Union. He served many terms thereafter in each house of the Legislature, never seeking any of the positions mentioned, but patiently and often under protest, accepting the duties thrust upon him by his fellow-citizens. This is mentioned as a matter of fact merely -- his old friends will bear me out when I say of him, he was not noted for egotism. He lived a life full of trusts, of business and adventures, and died in 1870 in the midst of his family.
Mr. Editor, I have been careful in this account to state only what I believe to be strictly true and capable of proof. I am one of the sons of Mr. Maverick, and it is natural that I should wish the true story to prevail. To the stockmen of the West I submit this account and would remind them that of the thousand and one versions of the story only one can be correct. Be assured this is the true account.
GEORGE M. MAVERICK.
Note. -- These two articles were published in the St. Louis Republic November, 1889 -- the first article at the solicitation of the editor, who wished to atone for an erroneous, not to say atrocious, account just previously published in his paper. The second was spontaneously and generously contributed by Mr. Brown, historian of Texas. He had not consulted any of the family and therefore fell into slight error, which, however, did not affect the value of his article.
Mr. Maverick, although his name remained "in the business," never owned any other stock of cattle or horses than the one mentioned.
The Mavericks, John and Samuel, were present at the founding of Charleston, S. C., 1680, and John was a member of the first parliament or legislature of Carolina.
Mr. Maverick, although his name remained "in the business," never owned any other stock of cattle or horses than the one mentioned.
The Mavericks, John and Samuel, were present at the founding of Charleston, S. C., 1680, and John was a member of the first parliament or legislature of Carolina.
GEO. M. MAVERICK.
San Antonio, Texas, April 1905.
The Mavericks
In America where the ball keeps rolling, there are few families, who, from generation to generation, keep at the top of our civilization. One of these families, certainly, are the Mavericks, who after generations of solid position in Old England, became leaders in New England. "The Godly Mr. John Maverick" died in Boston. He was succeeded by his son Samuel, who received a grant of Noddles Island, now East Boston. His "Brief Description of New England" is in the British Museum today. Samuel's son, who died in the Barbadoes in 1673, left a son, Nathaniel, and other children, and from this branch of the family are descended the Mavericks of South Carolina and of Texas.
It is a notable fact that the first blood shed in the Revolutionary War was that of Samuel Maverick, Samuel Gray, James Caldwell and Crispus Attucks.
Samuel Maverick, of South Carolina, married Elizabeth Anderson, daughter of the General of Revolutionary note. Their son Samuel Augustus Maverick was born at Pendleton, South Carolina, in 1803. Samuel Maverick is said to have sent ventures to the Celestial Empire and to have shipped the first bale of cotton from America to Europe. He was a prominent merchant of Charleston, and lived at "Montpelier." He was one of the largest land proprietors in the State of South Carolina.
Samuel Augustus Maverick "was a man of education, culture and refinement, and left the impress of his splendid character and personality" upon the State of Texas. A graduate of Yale, having studied law under Henry St. George Tucker of Virginia, and with experience in having attended to his father's properties in Alabama, Tennessee, and Georgia, he left his home in March of 1835, and arrived at Brazoria, Texas, at the end of April. He arrived at San Antonio on September 8, 1835. From the very beginning his policy was to concentrate all of his belongings in Texas. "Valuable properties in New York and Tuscaloosa, Ala., were sold, together with lands in various parts of the country given him by his father," and all the proceeds invested in Texas lands. Indeed, he is reputed to have owned at one time, a territory extending from San Antonio to the Mexican border; and whole islands in the Gulf of Mexico. Upon his arrival in San Antonio he witnessed Ugartechea's and Cos' barracks in Military Plaza; and Cos' turning the Alamo into a fort in November of '35. Within several weeks, however, Mr. Maverick was arrested by order of the Mexican Commander, Col. Domingo Ugartachea, and guarded in the John W. Smith house, where he had been boarding. He was released by order of General Cos on December 3d.
"Through the battle of Concepcion, and the Grass Fight, Maverick and Smith carried on a smuggled correspondence with their friends through the aid of a bright and trustworthy boy, and, after General Cos had superseded Ugartachea, they managed to escape and joined the besiegers" under General Edward Burleson, and encouraged an immediate attack on San Antonio. "When Ben R. Milam led a division of the Texas troops into San Antonio, December 5th, he (Maverick) acted as guide to the troops, moving down Soledad Street; being familiar with the streets and alleys he was able and did render great service to the troops." It was he who caught the body of Milam, shot by a sharpshooter, in the court of the Veramendi House.
Mr. Maverick's was almost a solitary escape from the Alamo massacre. He was sent by those unfortunate men, only four days before the Mexican advance, as their representative in the convention which declared Independence. "The Alamo was already invested when the convention assembled at Washington on the Brazos, on the 2nd day of March, and the declaration signed that day by the members present, received on the day following the signature of the Bexar delegates who had been delayed by high waters." The other delegates from Bexar were Jose Antonio Navarro, and Francisco Ruiz. The patriot, Antonio Menchaca, had been sent, by the council in San Antonio, to guide his family into safety, to avoid the personal wrath of Santa Ana.
William Menefee, another of the signers of the Texas Declaration of Independence, the first judge of jurisdiction of Colorado, said of Mr. Maverick:
"He was one of the most polished members of the Washington Convention. He had been educated in the best schools of the country and his manners and general deportment indicated a refined nature. Mr. Maverick made no effort to display his polite learning, but it so dominated his nature that one could not help feeling it in his presence. Not only was he a man of superior mental training, but he was a man of tact and ability. His course at Old Washington was that of a diplomat and statesman. He watched the proceedings closely and gave his assent to every proposition looking to the establishment of our independent Government. He was a cautious man and counseled prudence to speech and act. He recognized that whatever the convention did would but make Santa Anna more determined to crush opposition to his programme of subjugation. He was familiar with the prevailing sentiment in the United States, regarding the Revolution and he emphasized the necessity of cultivating that sentiment. 'Let our acts prove to the world that we are sincere patriots,' he said in a brief address before the Convention, 'and we need not fear the result. The people of the United States fought for the same character of freedom and independence for which we are battling and they will sustain us as long as our fight is just. Let us not deviate from the programme mapped out by our leaders and the God of War will give us the Victory.'"
Another signer of the Declaration of Independence, Colonel Stephen W. Blount, a San Augustine settler, prominently identified with the development of Eastern Texas, said that he was convinced by Mr. Maverick's several short, crisp talks before the Convention, that he was "a man of determined will, unyielding when advocating what he believed to be right, and uncompromising in favor of a definite programme of separation from Mexico."
"After the battle of San Jacinto, Mr. Maverick returned to Alabama. While there he married Miss Mary Ann Adams, a Virginian by birth, a daughter of William Lewis and Agatha (Strother) Adams. This marriage took place August 4, 1836. The marriage ceremony was performed by Rev. Dr. Mathers of Christ's Episcopal Church, at her widowed mother's home on her plantation three miles north of Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Their first child, a son, Samuel Maverick, was born May 14, 1837, while on a visit to Mr. Maverick's father at 'Montpelier,' in South Carolina. From there Mr. Maverick returned to Texas bringing his wife and infant child with him."
Their first home in San Antonio was the Cassiano house between the Plazas. From there they moved to the property just north of the Veramendi House, which they rented from the Huizar family. Early in 1839 they moved into their own home at the northeast corner of Commerce and Soledad Streets, at Main Plaza (at site of the present Kampmann Building).
In 1835 Mr. Maverick took out his law license in San Antonio and until 1842 was one of Jack Hays' Minute Men, who often followed the trail of the marauding Indians. On January 8, 1839, Mr. Maverick took office as Mayor of San Antonio. From '41 to '42, he was City Treasurer; he was elected Alderman from '42 to '44, and was on the Board when Seguin advised of General Vasquez' raid on San Antonio. At this time Mr. Maverick took his family to the Brazos where they remained for several years, but he returned to San Antonio, and was there when General Woll captured it in September, and took the court and American citizens as prisoners to the Castle of Perote, in Mexico. A Perote Prisoner, with ball and chain, Mr. Maverick was made to labor on the streets and on the public works. When he refused to work, he was confined in the castle dungeon. With W. E. Jones, he represented the Bexar prisoners, in their Memorial to Santa Anna. "While they were here many attempts were made to bribe them with promises of offices and favor, and Mr. Maverick particularly, was approached on account of his influence in Bexar; but he, like his companions in captivity, had naught but scorn for their offers, which utterly failed to seduce them from their faith and allegiance to Texas."
On March 30, 1843, Mr. Maverick, W. E. Jones and Judge Anderson Hutchinson were finally released in the City of Mexico by Santa Anna, through the intercession of General Waddy Thompson, then United States Minister to Mexico, a native of South Carolina, and a connection by marriage of Mr. Maverick's.
While in Perote Prison, Mr. Maverick was elected to the Senate of the Seventh Congress of the Republic of Texas. He was re-elected a member of the Eighth Congress, the last session of the last Congress of the Republic. Mr. Maverick then attended the March term of the District Court in San Antonio; returned to his family in April; and shortly after, started off on a visit to South Carolina.
"Mr. Maverick was a member of the Convention of 1845, which framed the Constitution for the State, preparatory to its entrance into the Union. He afterwards served as a member of the State Legislature."
Mr. Maverick was one of the Commissioners who accompanied Captain Jack Hays, in August, 1845, in opening up an overland route from San Antonio to El Paso. They left with 50 men and 15 Delaware Indian guides, on Sunday, August 27, to run out the new route to Chihuahua. Of this expedition Captain Hays said: "It was an experience that tested our nerves and power of endurance. One who has never passed through such an experience cannot imagine how depressed one feels when he realizes that he is lost and far from those things necessary to sustain life. The bleak mountain ridges seemed to unite in one vast vista of desolation, and sky and floating clouds appeared to frown upon us. But with brave hearts and determined wills we trudged along, hoping that every hour would bring relief. Discouraged, worn and fatigued, we came upon some friendly Indians, whom we employed to guide us out of the desert fastness. We were kindly received at San Alazario and after replenishing our almost exhausted supplies, we completed our journey without any further delay."
After the cholera epidemic in '49, the Mavericks moved their home to an old house on Alamo Plaza; by the end of 1850, a new house of stone was built, considerably larger and more comfortable than the old quarters. This was at the site of the present Gibbs Building.
After attending Legislature in Austin, 1853, Mr. Maverick accompanied several surveying parties.
Mr. Maverick's connection with the cattle industry began "after his return from the Mexican captivity. He found his family in poor health upon his return, and carried them to the coast, at Decro's Point, where he purchased property, built, and lived for over 4 years." He and his family returned from the peninsula to San Antonio in October of 1847.
"He bought a stock of cattle from a Mr. Tilton, on Matagorda Peninsula, and in 1854 brought them, with the aid of his two sons and several herders, to his place at Conquista, on the San Antonio river, 50 miles south of San Antonio. Jacals, enclosures and pens were erected here and a negro man placed in charge, with several Mexican helpers. Great results were expected, but the venture proved a steady loss, through the negligence and general bad habits of the negro manager, who did not brand the cattle and allowed them to stray away, and in 1855 Mr. Maverick sold out his entire holding, brands and rights to Mr. Toutant de Beauregard, who lived near his ranch. Many of the cattle were on the range, unbranded, and it was in the contract that Mr. Beauregard was to hunt them himself, only a specified number having been turned over on the ranch. Beauregard's men hunted and branded cattle in many counties, and when an unbranded animal was found, it was spoken of as "Maverick's" or "a Maverick." Thus the name Maverick as applied to unmarked stock originated."
The Mavericks were not Puritans; nor were they Pilgrim Fathers. The first Samuel of Massachusetts was a loyal royalist; his opinions did not satisfy the Puritans. He was one of the four commissioners to settle the affairs of New England and to reduce the Dutch, in what is now New York. With no success among the Puritans, he settled in New York, where he was granted a house on Broad Way, 1669. The Mavericks in San Antonio were among the first to build the Episcopal Church. Samuel Augustus Maverick donated four city lots for the purpose, August 24, 1858. He also presented a cannon found on the homestead, in the grounds of the Alamo. It was cast into a bell weighing 526 pounds, by Messrs. Mencely & Co., of Troy, New York. This vestry bell at St. Mark's Church bears the inscription "Ye must be born again... I also have been born again from works of death to words of life, through Christ's eternal merit." On the opposite side is a five pointed or Texas star enclosing the dates 1813-1836, the first having reference to the year during the revolution of Mexico against Spain when the first cannon was dismounted and buried and the later date having reference only to its being found in the grounds of the Alamo rendered famous in history that year.
In industry and progress of another nature, Mr. Maverick was also active. In 1858 he was elected a director of the S. A. & M. G. Railroad.
The following year he lead the celebration for Texas Independence.
Mr. Maverick loved the Union, and ever thought it sacred. The Secession Convention of 1861 compelled him to take his choice for or against his kith and kin. He did a simple, straightforward, unselfish act, an act which nevertheless gave him deep pain: he cast his vote for secession. In February, with the Honorable Thomas J. Devine and Dr. (afterwards Colonel) Philip N. Luckett, he was appointed a commissioner to demand the surrender of the army and garrison at San Antonio and other points. That he performed this delicate duty of procuring the removal of the United States troops from the State of Texas, without bloodshed and with little inconvenience or humiliation to the officers and men who had so long been friends among us, is one of his highest titles to respect and gratitude.
"With this closed the public functions of Mr. Maverick, which he had exercised in various capacities from the memorable day when he affixed his signature to the Declaration of Independence, and always with credit to himself and advantage to his constituents; his public services in either House, in conventions, or in any capacity whatever, being rendered with disinterestedness and freedom from all personal and party consideration..." Mr. Maverick retired to private life and to the conduct of a successful business he had built up in San Antonio.
Not strong or well, Mr. Maverick wrote his will in the fall of 1869. In the spring of the following year, he became feeble. He died September 2, 1870, leaving to the inheritors of his name, a heritage "richer than broad lands, more precious than fine gold—the name of a just, an upright and a conscientious man, of one who never compromised with his convictions, who never bowed the knee to expediency;" a name that had long been "a synonym for honor, integrity and truth." When Mr. Maverick died, he was said by some, to have been one of the largest landowners in the United States.
To the Alamo Literary Society he left the signal honor of having inscribed his name on the roll of its founders, and the task of rearing on the site, a lot on Houston Street, which the society owed to his munificence, an edifice which might do honor to the donor and credit to the young Association, which had held its first meeting January 6, 1860.
"Few men left a greater impress on the State than Samuel Augustus Maverick, and few men who took part in establishing the Republic of Texas contributed more to its achievement."
When a new County was created from Kinney County in the year 1856, it was named in honor of Samuel Augustus Maverick, a signer of the Declaration of Independence of Texas.
Of the sons of Samuel A. Maverick, the oldest, Sam, was educated at Edinburgh, Scotland. In 1871 he married Sallie Frost, daughter of Thomas Frost, of Tennessee. In 1861 he enlisted in the First Texas Cavalry, under Colonel Henry McCulloch. He served on the Indian frontier. With Mr. Kroeger he succeeded Brackenridge and Stapp in the lumber business (1872-78). He was President of the Debating Society, San Antonio; and organizer of a new dramatic club, 1879. He was the donor of $5,000 to build bath houses in San Antonio. His residence, facing Maverick Park, near the old Sunset Freight Depot, was built in 1881. The Maverick Building on Houston Street housed the Aransas Pass offices in days of railroad infancy here. "It was a skyscraper in its day, dominating the business district in that section of the city." The Maverick Bank Building, at the Southwest corner of Alamo Plaza and Houston Street, was begun in May, 1884. Sam Maverick's portrait was painted in oil, by San Antonio's pioneer portrait painter, Iwonski, as an active Terry Ranger. His oldest son, Samuel, was born in 1872.
Lewis Antonio Maverick, 2nd son of Samuel Augustus Maverick, was born in San Antonio, March 23, 1839, and thus claimed distinction as being the first American boy born in this city to permanent American settlers. He was educated at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. He organized Company "E" for the 32nd Texas Cavalry, commanded by Colonel Woods, and served as Major in the Confederate Army. He married his cousin, Ada Bradley, daughter of John Bradley and his wife Anne Lewis Bradley, aunt of Mrs. Maverick, Lewis Antonio's mother. They settled near Austin. Lewis Antonio Maverick died June 16, 1866, leaving no issue. His widow married, 1870, Jacob Frederick Waelder, his second wife. St. Matthew's window, in St. Mark's Episcopal church, is a memorial to Lewis Antonio Maverick.
George Madison Maverick, son of Samuel Augustus Maverick, was born September 7, 1845. He was educated at the Universities of North Carolina and Virginia. He served in his brother Lewis' Company "E" of the 32nd Cavalry. He was active in the Irving Club (1870), organized for scientific purposes. In May of 1873, he made the first really definite proposition regarding the water question, which had been in constant agitation from the date of the Cholera, 1866; though it fell through. He married, 1872, Mary Elizabeth, daughter of John Vance and his wife Rowena Badwin Vance, of Castroville. He was active in building up San Antonio in 1877, at which time he erected Military Headquarters here. Four years later he erected a store, the "George Block" on Houston Street, adjoining the Vance House; and at that time arranged to build the Opera House. He was also active in promoting a Rockport-Fredricksburg Railroad. He was a 32nd degree Mason of the Scottish Rite. He practiced law in St. Louis, Mo. His daughter, Rowena, Mrs. Green, widow of Robert B. Green, one of the most loved of all of Bexar County's public men, is prominent in San Antonio life today. His son George Vance Maverick, died in 1926, aged 46 years. Another son, Lewis, is in California, absorbed in constructive educational work.
William Houston Maverick, son of Samuel Augustus Maverick, was born December 24, 1847. He, also, was educated at the Universities of North Carolina and Virginia. He mustered in the Confederate Army in January, 1865, aged 17 years. He married, 1873, Emilie Virginia, daughter of General Robert H. Chilton, of Virginia. He acquired the "Ledger," San Antonio's first daily newspaper (1856), soon after Michael Burke had seceded Vanderlip and Hewitt; and left its management to John A. Logan, with headquarters in the historic old Vermanendi House. He served as Alderman in San Antonio, 1878. During this year his residence was completed. In 1882 he contributed to San Antonio's progress, with four new stores in the Crockett Block. He died in 1923. His son William Chilton Maverick was an active citizen, and resided in Philadelphia in recent years; he died in 1932, aged 57 years. His son, Dr. Augustus, practiced medicine in Vienna, Austria, and in Philadelphia. His son Lewis, one of Roosevelt's Rough Riders and guide to Pershing's expedition, is well known in San Antonio. His son Robert, one of San Antonio's most distinguished citizens, was a member of the Diplomatic Service of the United States.
Mary Brown Maverick, daughter of Samuel Augustus Maverick, was born June 17, 1851. She was educated at Staunton, Virginia, which place was founded by one of her ancestors, in the Lewis line; and also at Mrs. Ogden Hoffman's School for Young Ladies in New York City. She was the wife of the Honorable Edwin H. Terrell, United States Minister to Belgium.
Albert Maverick, the youngest of the happy family of Samuel Augustus Maverick, was born May 7, 1854. He too was educated at the University of Virginia. After a trip to Europe, he married, 1877, Jane L. Maury, daughter of Jesse L. Maury of Charlottesville, Virginia, and sister of the late Mrs. James L. Slayden, of distinction in Washington, D. C. He, too, is a progressive citizen of San Antonio, and was instrumental in the early 80's in building activities in the business center. He is a pioneer for the conservation of the natural beauty of our city, having publicly objected to the destruction of cypress trees as early as 1882. Among his numerous family, who live in union at Sunshine Ranch, are Albert Maverick, Jr., our present Bexar County Tax Collector.
Maury Maverick was admitted to the practice of law at the age of 20. He entered the United States Army, Training Camp, May 8, 1917, and was commissioned Second Lieutenant twelve days later. He served in the 157th Infantry, Camp Kearny, California. In France he served in the 1st Division of the 28th Infantry, entering the battle of St. Mihiel, 1917, as First Lieutenant. He was commander of Co. G, 28th Infantry, in the Argonne Forest; was wounded October 4, 1918, gassed October 3, 1918 and was not discharged from the hospital (Fort Sam Houston) until September 7, 1919. Maury Maverick was cited for "gallantry in action and extremely meritorious service." He was decorated with the Purple Heart, Silver Star for gallantry in action, and has a war service medal with three clasps. After the World War he returned to San Antonio and was elected President of the San Antonio Bar Association. He became a part owner of Hillyer-Deutsch-Jarratt Co., and later organized the Kelly-Maverick Co. He was elected Tax Collector in 1930, in which office he has instituted many reforms. He has reorganized the automobile department, eliminating fees amounting to approximately $25,000 a year. He has conducted the office at a net saving of some $10,000 to $15,000 a year. He fought the Stoner system, which would have raised both urban and farm taxes. He has obtained a special ruling whereby citizens can get homestead exemption, even though not originally claimed. He has brought the new deal to San Antonio by securing the Labor Board for us. He has done "more for the highways of Bexar County than any other citizen. It is principally through his efforts the large expenditures have been made in Bexar County." Maury Maverick is well-known to the Bureau of Public Roads, Washington, D. C., which is the high unit of highways. With his actual military experience, he has high standing and will undoubtedly become a member of the Military Affairs Committee immediately upon being elected. Through the relations of his uncle, James L. Slayden, who was in Congress for about 20 years, Maury Maverick will have immediate entree in Washington, D. C., which will prove of definite advantage to his constituents. A man with his background, and with his own personality, and direct way of dealing, is a candidate who should receive the unanimous support of all true Texans. San Antonio should give its wholehearted support to Maury Maverick, a real San Antonian, and one who will get things done for Texas.
Frederick C. Chabot, 1934
In America where the ball keeps rolling, there are few families, who, from generation to generation, keep at the top of our civilization. One of these families, certainly, are the Mavericks, who after generations of solid position in Old England, became leaders in New England. "The Godly Mr. John Maverick" died in Boston. He was succeeded by his son Samuel, who received a grant of Noddles Island, now East Boston. His "Brief Description of New England" is in the British Museum today. Samuel's son, who died in the Barbadoes in 1673, left a son, Nathaniel, and other children, and from this branch of the family are descended the Mavericks of South Carolina and of Texas.
It is a notable fact that the first blood shed in the Revolutionary War was that of Samuel Maverick, Samuel Gray, James Caldwell and Crispus Attucks.
Samuel Maverick, of South Carolina, married Elizabeth Anderson, daughter of the General of Revolutionary note. Their son Samuel Augustus Maverick was born at Pendleton, South Carolina, in 1803. Samuel Maverick is said to have sent ventures to the Celestial Empire and to have shipped the first bale of cotton from America to Europe. He was a prominent merchant of Charleston, and lived at "Montpelier." He was one of the largest land proprietors in the State of South Carolina.
Samuel Augustus Maverick "was a man of education, culture and refinement, and left the impress of his splendid character and personality" upon the State of Texas. A graduate of Yale, having studied law under Henry St. George Tucker of Virginia, and with experience in having attended to his father's properties in Alabama, Tennessee, and Georgia, he left his home in March of 1835, and arrived at Brazoria, Texas, at the end of April. He arrived at San Antonio on September 8, 1835. From the very beginning his policy was to concentrate all of his belongings in Texas. "Valuable properties in New York and Tuscaloosa, Ala., were sold, together with lands in various parts of the country given him by his father," and all the proceeds invested in Texas lands. Indeed, he is reputed to have owned at one time, a territory extending from San Antonio to the Mexican border; and whole islands in the Gulf of Mexico. Upon his arrival in San Antonio he witnessed Ugartechea's and Cos' barracks in Military Plaza; and Cos' turning the Alamo into a fort in November of '35. Within several weeks, however, Mr. Maverick was arrested by order of the Mexican Commander, Col. Domingo Ugartachea, and guarded in the John W. Smith house, where he had been boarding. He was released by order of General Cos on December 3d.
"Through the battle of Concepcion, and the Grass Fight, Maverick and Smith carried on a smuggled correspondence with their friends through the aid of a bright and trustworthy boy, and, after General Cos had superseded Ugartachea, they managed to escape and joined the besiegers" under General Edward Burleson, and encouraged an immediate attack on San Antonio. "When Ben R. Milam led a division of the Texas troops into San Antonio, December 5th, he (Maverick) acted as guide to the troops, moving down Soledad Street; being familiar with the streets and alleys he was able and did render great service to the troops." It was he who caught the body of Milam, shot by a sharpshooter, in the court of the Veramendi House.
Mr. Maverick's was almost a solitary escape from the Alamo massacre. He was sent by those unfortunate men, only four days before the Mexican advance, as their representative in the convention which declared Independence. "The Alamo was already invested when the convention assembled at Washington on the Brazos, on the 2nd day of March, and the declaration signed that day by the members present, received on the day following the signature of the Bexar delegates who had been delayed by high waters." The other delegates from Bexar were Jose Antonio Navarro, and Francisco Ruiz. The patriot, Antonio Menchaca, had been sent, by the council in San Antonio, to guide his family into safety, to avoid the personal wrath of Santa Ana.
William Menefee, another of the signers of the Texas Declaration of Independence, the first judge of jurisdiction of Colorado, said of Mr. Maverick:
"He was one of the most polished members of the Washington Convention. He had been educated in the best schools of the country and his manners and general deportment indicated a refined nature. Mr. Maverick made no effort to display his polite learning, but it so dominated his nature that one could not help feeling it in his presence. Not only was he a man of superior mental training, but he was a man of tact and ability. His course at Old Washington was that of a diplomat and statesman. He watched the proceedings closely and gave his assent to every proposition looking to the establishment of our independent Government. He was a cautious man and counseled prudence to speech and act. He recognized that whatever the convention did would but make Santa Anna more determined to crush opposition to his programme of subjugation. He was familiar with the prevailing sentiment in the United States, regarding the Revolution and he emphasized the necessity of cultivating that sentiment. 'Let our acts prove to the world that we are sincere patriots,' he said in a brief address before the Convention, 'and we need not fear the result. The people of the United States fought for the same character of freedom and independence for which we are battling and they will sustain us as long as our fight is just. Let us not deviate from the programme mapped out by our leaders and the God of War will give us the Victory.'"
Another signer of the Declaration of Independence, Colonel Stephen W. Blount, a San Augustine settler, prominently identified with the development of Eastern Texas, said that he was convinced by Mr. Maverick's several short, crisp talks before the Convention, that he was "a man of determined will, unyielding when advocating what he believed to be right, and uncompromising in favor of a definite programme of separation from Mexico."
"After the battle of San Jacinto, Mr. Maverick returned to Alabama. While there he married Miss Mary Ann Adams, a Virginian by birth, a daughter of William Lewis and Agatha (Strother) Adams. This marriage took place August 4, 1836. The marriage ceremony was performed by Rev. Dr. Mathers of Christ's Episcopal Church, at her widowed mother's home on her plantation three miles north of Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Their first child, a son, Samuel Maverick, was born May 14, 1837, while on a visit to Mr. Maverick's father at 'Montpelier,' in South Carolina. From there Mr. Maverick returned to Texas bringing his wife and infant child with him."
Their first home in San Antonio was the Cassiano house between the Plazas. From there they moved to the property just north of the Veramendi House, which they rented from the Huizar family. Early in 1839 they moved into their own home at the northeast corner of Commerce and Soledad Streets, at Main Plaza (at site of the present Kampmann Building).
In 1835 Mr. Maverick took out his law license in San Antonio and until 1842 was one of Jack Hays' Minute Men, who often followed the trail of the marauding Indians. On January 8, 1839, Mr. Maverick took office as Mayor of San Antonio. From '41 to '42, he was City Treasurer; he was elected Alderman from '42 to '44, and was on the Board when Seguin advised of General Vasquez' raid on San Antonio. At this time Mr. Maverick took his family to the Brazos where they remained for several years, but he returned to San Antonio, and was there when General Woll captured it in September, and took the court and American citizens as prisoners to the Castle of Perote, in Mexico. A Perote Prisoner, with ball and chain, Mr. Maverick was made to labor on the streets and on the public works. When he refused to work, he was confined in the castle dungeon. With W. E. Jones, he represented the Bexar prisoners, in their Memorial to Santa Anna. "While they were here many attempts were made to bribe them with promises of offices and favor, and Mr. Maverick particularly, was approached on account of his influence in Bexar; but he, like his companions in captivity, had naught but scorn for their offers, which utterly failed to seduce them from their faith and allegiance to Texas."
On March 30, 1843, Mr. Maverick, W. E. Jones and Judge Anderson Hutchinson were finally released in the City of Mexico by Santa Anna, through the intercession of General Waddy Thompson, then United States Minister to Mexico, a native of South Carolina, and a connection by marriage of Mr. Maverick's.
While in Perote Prison, Mr. Maverick was elected to the Senate of the Seventh Congress of the Republic of Texas. He was re-elected a member of the Eighth Congress, the last session of the last Congress of the Republic. Mr. Maverick then attended the March term of the District Court in San Antonio; returned to his family in April; and shortly after, started off on a visit to South Carolina.
"Mr. Maverick was a member of the Convention of 1845, which framed the Constitution for the State, preparatory to its entrance into the Union. He afterwards served as a member of the State Legislature."
Mr. Maverick was one of the Commissioners who accompanied Captain Jack Hays, in August, 1845, in opening up an overland route from San Antonio to El Paso. They left with 50 men and 15 Delaware Indian guides, on Sunday, August 27, to run out the new route to Chihuahua. Of this expedition Captain Hays said: "It was an experience that tested our nerves and power of endurance. One who has never passed through such an experience cannot imagine how depressed one feels when he realizes that he is lost and far from those things necessary to sustain life. The bleak mountain ridges seemed to unite in one vast vista of desolation, and sky and floating clouds appeared to frown upon us. But with brave hearts and determined wills we trudged along, hoping that every hour would bring relief. Discouraged, worn and fatigued, we came upon some friendly Indians, whom we employed to guide us out of the desert fastness. We were kindly received at San Alazario and after replenishing our almost exhausted supplies, we completed our journey without any further delay."
After the cholera epidemic in '49, the Mavericks moved their home to an old house on Alamo Plaza; by the end of 1850, a new house of stone was built, considerably larger and more comfortable than the old quarters. This was at the site of the present Gibbs Building.
After attending Legislature in Austin, 1853, Mr. Maverick accompanied several surveying parties.
Mr. Maverick's connection with the cattle industry began "after his return from the Mexican captivity. He found his family in poor health upon his return, and carried them to the coast, at Decro's Point, where he purchased property, built, and lived for over 4 years." He and his family returned from the peninsula to San Antonio in October of 1847.
"He bought a stock of cattle from a Mr. Tilton, on Matagorda Peninsula, and in 1854 brought them, with the aid of his two sons and several herders, to his place at Conquista, on the San Antonio river, 50 miles south of San Antonio. Jacals, enclosures and pens were erected here and a negro man placed in charge, with several Mexican helpers. Great results were expected, but the venture proved a steady loss, through the negligence and general bad habits of the negro manager, who did not brand the cattle and allowed them to stray away, and in 1855 Mr. Maverick sold out his entire holding, brands and rights to Mr. Toutant de Beauregard, who lived near his ranch. Many of the cattle were on the range, unbranded, and it was in the contract that Mr. Beauregard was to hunt them himself, only a specified number having been turned over on the ranch. Beauregard's men hunted and branded cattle in many counties, and when an unbranded animal was found, it was spoken of as "Maverick's" or "a Maverick." Thus the name Maverick as applied to unmarked stock originated."
The Mavericks were not Puritans; nor were they Pilgrim Fathers. The first Samuel of Massachusetts was a loyal royalist; his opinions did not satisfy the Puritans. He was one of the four commissioners to settle the affairs of New England and to reduce the Dutch, in what is now New York. With no success among the Puritans, he settled in New York, where he was granted a house on Broad Way, 1669. The Mavericks in San Antonio were among the first to build the Episcopal Church. Samuel Augustus Maverick donated four city lots for the purpose, August 24, 1858. He also presented a cannon found on the homestead, in the grounds of the Alamo. It was cast into a bell weighing 526 pounds, by Messrs. Mencely & Co., of Troy, New York. This vestry bell at St. Mark's Church bears the inscription "Ye must be born again... I also have been born again from works of death to words of life, through Christ's eternal merit." On the opposite side is a five pointed or Texas star enclosing the dates 1813-1836, the first having reference to the year during the revolution of Mexico against Spain when the first cannon was dismounted and buried and the later date having reference only to its being found in the grounds of the Alamo rendered famous in history that year.
In industry and progress of another nature, Mr. Maverick was also active. In 1858 he was elected a director of the S. A. & M. G. Railroad.
The following year he lead the celebration for Texas Independence.
Mr. Maverick loved the Union, and ever thought it sacred. The Secession Convention of 1861 compelled him to take his choice for or against his kith and kin. He did a simple, straightforward, unselfish act, an act which nevertheless gave him deep pain: he cast his vote for secession. In February, with the Honorable Thomas J. Devine and Dr. (afterwards Colonel) Philip N. Luckett, he was appointed a commissioner to demand the surrender of the army and garrison at San Antonio and other points. That he performed this delicate duty of procuring the removal of the United States troops from the State of Texas, without bloodshed and with little inconvenience or humiliation to the officers and men who had so long been friends among us, is one of his highest titles to respect and gratitude.
"With this closed the public functions of Mr. Maverick, which he had exercised in various capacities from the memorable day when he affixed his signature to the Declaration of Independence, and always with credit to himself and advantage to his constituents; his public services in either House, in conventions, or in any capacity whatever, being rendered with disinterestedness and freedom from all personal and party consideration..." Mr. Maverick retired to private life and to the conduct of a successful business he had built up in San Antonio.
Not strong or well, Mr. Maverick wrote his will in the fall of 1869. In the spring of the following year, he became feeble. He died September 2, 1870, leaving to the inheritors of his name, a heritage "richer than broad lands, more precious than fine gold—the name of a just, an upright and a conscientious man, of one who never compromised with his convictions, who never bowed the knee to expediency;" a name that had long been "a synonym for honor, integrity and truth." When Mr. Maverick died, he was said by some, to have been one of the largest landowners in the United States.
To the Alamo Literary Society he left the signal honor of having inscribed his name on the roll of its founders, and the task of rearing on the site, a lot on Houston Street, which the society owed to his munificence, an edifice which might do honor to the donor and credit to the young Association, which had held its first meeting January 6, 1860.
"Few men left a greater impress on the State than Samuel Augustus Maverick, and few men who took part in establishing the Republic of Texas contributed more to its achievement."
When a new County was created from Kinney County in the year 1856, it was named in honor of Samuel Augustus Maverick, a signer of the Declaration of Independence of Texas.
Of the sons of Samuel A. Maverick, the oldest, Sam, was educated at Edinburgh, Scotland. In 1871 he married Sallie Frost, daughter of Thomas Frost, of Tennessee. In 1861 he enlisted in the First Texas Cavalry, under Colonel Henry McCulloch. He served on the Indian frontier. With Mr. Kroeger he succeeded Brackenridge and Stapp in the lumber business (1872-78). He was President of the Debating Society, San Antonio; and organizer of a new dramatic club, 1879. He was the donor of $5,000 to build bath houses in San Antonio. His residence, facing Maverick Park, near the old Sunset Freight Depot, was built in 1881. The Maverick Building on Houston Street housed the Aransas Pass offices in days of railroad infancy here. "It was a skyscraper in its day, dominating the business district in that section of the city." The Maverick Bank Building, at the Southwest corner of Alamo Plaza and Houston Street, was begun in May, 1884. Sam Maverick's portrait was painted in oil, by San Antonio's pioneer portrait painter, Iwonski, as an active Terry Ranger. His oldest son, Samuel, was born in 1872.
Lewis Antonio Maverick, 2nd son of Samuel Augustus Maverick, was born in San Antonio, March 23, 1839, and thus claimed distinction as being the first American boy born in this city to permanent American settlers. He was educated at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. He organized Company "E" for the 32nd Texas Cavalry, commanded by Colonel Woods, and served as Major in the Confederate Army. He married his cousin, Ada Bradley, daughter of John Bradley and his wife Anne Lewis Bradley, aunt of Mrs. Maverick, Lewis Antonio's mother. They settled near Austin. Lewis Antonio Maverick died June 16, 1866, leaving no issue. His widow married, 1870, Jacob Frederick Waelder, his second wife. St. Matthew's window, in St. Mark's Episcopal church, is a memorial to Lewis Antonio Maverick.
George Madison Maverick, son of Samuel Augustus Maverick, was born September 7, 1845. He was educated at the Universities of North Carolina and Virginia. He served in his brother Lewis' Company "E" of the 32nd Cavalry. He was active in the Irving Club (1870), organized for scientific purposes. In May of 1873, he made the first really definite proposition regarding the water question, which had been in constant agitation from the date of the Cholera, 1866; though it fell through. He married, 1872, Mary Elizabeth, daughter of John Vance and his wife Rowena Badwin Vance, of Castroville. He was active in building up San Antonio in 1877, at which time he erected Military Headquarters here. Four years later he erected a store, the "George Block" on Houston Street, adjoining the Vance House; and at that time arranged to build the Opera House. He was also active in promoting a Rockport-Fredricksburg Railroad. He was a 32nd degree Mason of the Scottish Rite. He practiced law in St. Louis, Mo. His daughter, Rowena, Mrs. Green, widow of Robert B. Green, one of the most loved of all of Bexar County's public men, is prominent in San Antonio life today. His son George Vance Maverick, died in 1926, aged 46 years. Another son, Lewis, is in California, absorbed in constructive educational work.
William Houston Maverick, son of Samuel Augustus Maverick, was born December 24, 1847. He, also, was educated at the Universities of North Carolina and Virginia. He mustered in the Confederate Army in January, 1865, aged 17 years. He married, 1873, Emilie Virginia, daughter of General Robert H. Chilton, of Virginia. He acquired the "Ledger," San Antonio's first daily newspaper (1856), soon after Michael Burke had seceded Vanderlip and Hewitt; and left its management to John A. Logan, with headquarters in the historic old Vermanendi House. He served as Alderman in San Antonio, 1878. During this year his residence was completed. In 1882 he contributed to San Antonio's progress, with four new stores in the Crockett Block. He died in 1923. His son William Chilton Maverick was an active citizen, and resided in Philadelphia in recent years; he died in 1932, aged 57 years. His son, Dr. Augustus, practiced medicine in Vienna, Austria, and in Philadelphia. His son Lewis, one of Roosevelt's Rough Riders and guide to Pershing's expedition, is well known in San Antonio. His son Robert, one of San Antonio's most distinguished citizens, was a member of the Diplomatic Service of the United States.
Mary Brown Maverick, daughter of Samuel Augustus Maverick, was born June 17, 1851. She was educated at Staunton, Virginia, which place was founded by one of her ancestors, in the Lewis line; and also at Mrs. Ogden Hoffman's School for Young Ladies in New York City. She was the wife of the Honorable Edwin H. Terrell, United States Minister to Belgium.
Albert Maverick, the youngest of the happy family of Samuel Augustus Maverick, was born May 7, 1854. He too was educated at the University of Virginia. After a trip to Europe, he married, 1877, Jane L. Maury, daughter of Jesse L. Maury of Charlottesville, Virginia, and sister of the late Mrs. James L. Slayden, of distinction in Washington, D. C. He, too, is a progressive citizen of San Antonio, and was instrumental in the early 80's in building activities in the business center. He is a pioneer for the conservation of the natural beauty of our city, having publicly objected to the destruction of cypress trees as early as 1882. Among his numerous family, who live in union at Sunshine Ranch, are Albert Maverick, Jr., our present Bexar County Tax Collector.
Maury Maverick was admitted to the practice of law at the age of 20. He entered the United States Army, Training Camp, May 8, 1917, and was commissioned Second Lieutenant twelve days later. He served in the 157th Infantry, Camp Kearny, California. In France he served in the 1st Division of the 28th Infantry, entering the battle of St. Mihiel, 1917, as First Lieutenant. He was commander of Co. G, 28th Infantry, in the Argonne Forest; was wounded October 4, 1918, gassed October 3, 1918 and was not discharged from the hospital (Fort Sam Houston) until September 7, 1919. Maury Maverick was cited for "gallantry in action and extremely meritorious service." He was decorated with the Purple Heart, Silver Star for gallantry in action, and has a war service medal with three clasps. After the World War he returned to San Antonio and was elected President of the San Antonio Bar Association. He became a part owner of Hillyer-Deutsch-Jarratt Co., and later organized the Kelly-Maverick Co. He was elected Tax Collector in 1930, in which office he has instituted many reforms. He has reorganized the automobile department, eliminating fees amounting to approximately $25,000 a year. He has conducted the office at a net saving of some $10,000 to $15,000 a year. He fought the Stoner system, which would have raised both urban and farm taxes. He has obtained a special ruling whereby citizens can get homestead exemption, even though not originally claimed. He has brought the new deal to San Antonio by securing the Labor Board for us. He has done "more for the highways of Bexar County than any other citizen. It is principally through his efforts the large expenditures have been made in Bexar County." Maury Maverick is well-known to the Bureau of Public Roads, Washington, D. C., which is the high unit of highways. With his actual military experience, he has high standing and will undoubtedly become a member of the Military Affairs Committee immediately upon being elected. Through the relations of his uncle, James L. Slayden, who was in Congress for about 20 years, Maury Maverick will have immediate entree in Washington, D. C., which will prove of definite advantage to his constituents. A man with his background, and with his own personality, and direct way of dealing, is a candidate who should receive the unanimous support of all true Texans. San Antonio should give its wholehearted support to Maury Maverick, a real San Antonian, and one who will get things done for Texas.
Frederick C. Chabot, 1934
The Maverick Family.
Some twenty years since, looking over the late Col. Joseph L. Chester's MS. catalog of Oxford graduates, my attention was drawn by him to the name of "John Maverick, 1595, Exeter College, from Devon, Minister."
Foster's Catalogue, much fuller in detail, reads as follows:
"Maverick, John of Devon cler. fil., Exeter Coll., matric. 24 Oct. 1595, aged 18; B.A. 8 July 1577; M.A. 7 July 1603; then in orders, rector of Beaworthy (s.w. of Hatherly), Devon, 1615. (See Foster's Index Eccl.)."
This was undoubtedly "the godly Mr. Maverick," whom Roger Clap, born on the Devonshire coast, at Salcomb (between Sidmouth and Branscomb), speaks of as living "forty miles off," and who, after establishing a congregation at Dorchester, N. E., died Feb. 3, 1636-7, being, according to Winthrop, "near sixty years of age."
Though we hear nothing of his wife, she is alluded to in 1665, by Col. Cartwright, in his "Memorial [Clarendon Papers, N. Y. Hist. Soc. Coll., 1869, p. 108.] concerning the Massachusets," who observes:
"If any of the commissioners think it more convenient for them to stay in those parts, that they may haue leue to do so. For Mr. Maverick hath his mother, wife, children & brothers living there, and nether estate, nor employment here."
And Samuel Maverick, writing from Rhode Island Oct. 9, 1668, to Secretary Sir William Morice, says that his mother "presents her humble service." (See Sainsbury's Calendar of Colonial Papers, vol. 3, p. 415, No 1288). This Secretary Morice, who died in Dec. 1676 aged 74, was son of Jevan Morice, fellow of All Saints College, Oxford of an ancient Welsh family, doctor of laws and chancellor of Exeter, Devon, in 1594, and ancestor of the extinct Baronets Morice of Werrington, Devon, on the borders of Cornwall, a few miles s.w. of Beaworthy.
The widow Maverick, in 1668, must have been well advanced in years, since by his own deposition [Suffolk Deeds, iv. 328.], taken in December, 1665, her son Samuel was then "aged 63 yeares or therabouts."
Samuel, the eldest son of the Rev. John Maverick, born about 1602, had settled in New England as early as 1624, near the confluence of Charles and Mystic Rivers, where with the help of his neighbor David Thomson, he had built a small fort. He was an episcopalian and loyalist, and frequently embroiled with the colonial government; finally, after one of his several voyages to the old country, he was, in April 1664, appointed on of the four Royal Commissioners to visit the colonies and inquire into grievances. For his services he received from the Duke of York, through a grant from Gov. Lovelace, a certain house and lot in New York City, on the Broadway. This gift he acknowledges in a letter of Oct. 15, 1669, to Col. Rich. Nicolls, his associate in the Commission, and we hear not of him again till in a deed of Mar. 15, 1676 (recorded Albany, L.1, p. 133), his trustees, John Laurence and Matthias Nicolls, of New York, confirm to William Vander Scheuren this same property on Broadway, which the latter had bought from the Deacons of the City, by whom it had been purchased at a public sale made for the benefit of Maverick’s daughter, Mary, wife of Rev. Francis Hooke of Kittery. Neither the time nor place of Maverick’s death, nor the depository of his will have, as yet, ascertained. No records of so early a date are preserved by the Dutch Church, who evidently held the lot for a short period, but, after a careful examination of conveyances in the City Register’s office, the writer has satisfactorily located the position of the Maverick Lot. May 30, 1667, Gov. Nicolls granted a lot on Broadway to Adam Onckelbach, which is described in later deeds as bounded south by house and lot of William Vander Scheuren, and which finally in October 1784, when known as No. 52 Broadway, was sold to John Jay, Esq., the future governor, who here erected a fine stone mansion. At this time the lot adjoining to the south was in the tenure and occupation of John Sliddell, save some 64 feet on the easterly of New Street end, which had been sold in 1683 by Vander Scheuren to William Post. Slidell’s sons in 1819 sold the greater portion of the lot, facing on Broadway, with a frontage of 21 1/3 ft, and a depth of 110 ft, to Robert Lenox; while the remaining few inches, with a lot adjoining to the south, known as No. 48, was sold by them on the same date to David Gelston. From the foregoing facts we gather that the original Maverick Lot was 26 1/4 feet wide, located on the easterly side of Broadway, running through to New Street, and beginning 125 feet south from the Church Street (afterwards Garden Street, and now Exchange Place); and that it corresponded with the present No. 50 Broadway.
Though extinct in the New England States, the Maverick family has existed for the past one hundred and fifty years in New York City, where Andrew Maverick, a young painter, 24 years of age, was admitted freeman July 17, 1753; his name occurring on the Poll List of Feb., 1761. He was baptized at the New Brick Church, Boston, Feb. 9, 1728-9; one of the numerous family of John Maverick (Paul, Elias, Rev. John), an importer of hard woods on Middle Street (now Hanover St.), at the sign of the "Cabinet and Chest of Drawers," John’s grandson Samuel (son of Samuel deceased), an apprentice of Mr. Isaac Greenwood, ivory turner &c., was mortally wounded, March 5, 1770, in the Boston Massacre. Andrew, who came to New York, married about 1754 Sarah, dau. of Peter and Bethia Ruston or Rushton, and Mr. Rushton, in a will of 1765, proved Aug. 14, 1767, leaves his entire estate, after the death of his wife Bethia, to his grandson Peter Rushton Maverick [Dr John Greenwood of N.Y. writing in Nov., 1803 to P. R. Maverick, alludes to a lot on Middle St., Boston, belonging to the estate of his late father, Isaac G., and which adjoined land of Maverick's grandfather.] The latter, born in the city April 11, 1755, a silver-smith, etcher and engraver, was in Aug. 1775 an Ensign in Capt. M. Minthorn’s Co., of Col. John Jay’s 2d Reg’t of N.Y. Militia, and on July 23, 1788, represented the Engravers in the N.Y. Federal Procession; he died in Dec. 1811, and was succeeded by his three talented sons, Samuel, Andrew and Peter.
The name Maverick, one of unusual occurrence, is akin doubtless to Morris, Morrice, or Maurice; we get nearer to it in the original Welsh Mawr-rwyee, "a valiant hero."
Nath. Maureick, chief clerk of the Town Clerk, London, died 24 November, 1630, and John Mavericke was a settler located in Charleston, S. C., in 1672.
One other name is given by Foster:
"Maverick, Radford of Devon, pleb., Exeter Coll. matric. 17 Nov. 1581 aged 20; rector of Trusham (n. of Chudleigh), 1586, and vicar of Islington, Devon 1597. (See Foster's Index Eccl.)."
Isaac J. Greenwood
N. E. Historical and Geneological Register
April, 1894
* * *
Alexander Maverick, b 27 Sep 1497, Awliscombe, Devonshire, m 1520, Awliscombe, Judith Combe, b c1500, Awliscombe
Rev. Robert Maverick, b 14 Feb 1523/4, Awliscombe, m 1548, Awliscombe, Willemotte Bull (b 26 May 1526, Awliscombe), d 14 Nov 1573, Awliscombe
Rev. Peter Maverick, b c1550, Awliscombe, m 7 Nov 1577, Dorothy Tucke (b 1559, d 15 Dec 1607), d shortly before 3 Feb 1616/17
Rev. John Maverick, b 28 Dec 1578, Awliscombe, m 28 Oct 1600, Alsington, now Islington, Mary Gye (daughter of Robert Gye and Grace Dowrish, b 28 Oct 1580, Sanford, d after 9 Oct 1666), d 3 Feb 1635/6, Dorchester
Samuel Maverick, b c1602, Awliscombe, emigrated in 1624 aboard the Katherine, making landfall at present-day Weymouth, Mass, m after 1627 Amias (Aymes) Cole (Colle, b c1593, Plymouth, Devonshire, d after 1672), d after 1670
Nathaniel Maverick, b 1629, emigrated to St. Lucy's, Barbados shortly before 1656, d 1673/74, Barbados
John Maverick, b 1649-55, emigrated in early 1670/71 from Barbados to Charles town, South Carolina aboard the John & Thomas, d c1700
Samuel Maverick, b 1675-80, Charleston
Samuel Stone Maverick, b c1715, Charleston, m 12 July 1741, Catherine Coyer (b 1720, London), d 3 Oct 1799, Charleston
Capt. Samuel Maverick, b 3 Jan 1742, Charleston, m 5 Mar 1772, Charleston, Lydia Turpin (daughter of Capt. Joseph Turpin and Mary Brown, d 19 Jan 1803, Pendleton), d 3 Jan 1784, Providence
Samuel Maverick, b 30 Dec 1772, Charleston, m 5 Oct 1802, Pendleton, South Carolina, Elizabeth Anderson (d 27/28 Sep 1818), d Apr 1852, Pendleton
Samuel A. Maverick, b 23 July 1803, Pendleton, m 4 Aug 1836, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, Mary Adams (b 16 Mar 1818, Tuscaloosa, d 24 Feb 1898, San Antonio, Texas), d 2 Sep 1870, San Antonio
Albert Maverick, b 14 Aug 1853, Charlottesville, Virginia, m 20 Mar 1877, Piedmont, Virginia, Jane Lewis Maury (b 14 Dec 1858, d 15 Feb 1954), d 24 Jan 1947, San Antonio
Albert Maverick, Jr., b 7 May 1884, San Antonio, m Lillian Williams (b 19 Jul 1890, d 15 Sep 1973), d 19 Mar 1962, San Antonio
Lillian Williams Maverick, b 1 Aug 1912, San Antonio, m 6 Dec 1932, San Antonio, James Thomas Padgitt, b 8 Aug 1906, Dallas
Willie Day Padgitt, b 24 Feb 1940, Port Arthur, Texas, m 8 Sep 1962, San Antonio, Hal Goggan Kuntz (b 29 Dec 1937), divorced, d 24 Sep 1993, San Antonio]
Some twenty years since, looking over the late Col. Joseph L. Chester's MS. catalog of Oxford graduates, my attention was drawn by him to the name of "John Maverick, 1595, Exeter College, from Devon, Minister."
Foster's Catalogue, much fuller in detail, reads as follows:
"Maverick, John of Devon cler. fil., Exeter Coll., matric. 24 Oct. 1595, aged 18; B.A. 8 July 1577; M.A. 7 July 1603; then in orders, rector of Beaworthy (s.w. of Hatherly), Devon, 1615. (See Foster's Index Eccl.)."
This was undoubtedly "the godly Mr. Maverick," whom Roger Clap, born on the Devonshire coast, at Salcomb (between Sidmouth and Branscomb), speaks of as living "forty miles off," and who, after establishing a congregation at Dorchester, N. E., died Feb. 3, 1636-7, being, according to Winthrop, "near sixty years of age."
Though we hear nothing of his wife, she is alluded to in 1665, by Col. Cartwright, in his "Memorial [Clarendon Papers, N. Y. Hist. Soc. Coll., 1869, p. 108.] concerning the Massachusets," who observes:
"If any of the commissioners think it more convenient for them to stay in those parts, that they may haue leue to do so. For Mr. Maverick hath his mother, wife, children & brothers living there, and nether estate, nor employment here."
And Samuel Maverick, writing from Rhode Island Oct. 9, 1668, to Secretary Sir William Morice, says that his mother "presents her humble service." (See Sainsbury's Calendar of Colonial Papers, vol. 3, p. 415, No 1288). This Secretary Morice, who died in Dec. 1676 aged 74, was son of Jevan Morice, fellow of All Saints College, Oxford of an ancient Welsh family, doctor of laws and chancellor of Exeter, Devon, in 1594, and ancestor of the extinct Baronets Morice of Werrington, Devon, on the borders of Cornwall, a few miles s.w. of Beaworthy.
The widow Maverick, in 1668, must have been well advanced in years, since by his own deposition [Suffolk Deeds, iv. 328.], taken in December, 1665, her son Samuel was then "aged 63 yeares or therabouts."
Samuel, the eldest son of the Rev. John Maverick, born about 1602, had settled in New England as early as 1624, near the confluence of Charles and Mystic Rivers, where with the help of his neighbor David Thomson, he had built a small fort. He was an episcopalian and loyalist, and frequently embroiled with the colonial government; finally, after one of his several voyages to the old country, he was, in April 1664, appointed on of the four Royal Commissioners to visit the colonies and inquire into grievances. For his services he received from the Duke of York, through a grant from Gov. Lovelace, a certain house and lot in New York City, on the Broadway. This gift he acknowledges in a letter of Oct. 15, 1669, to Col. Rich. Nicolls, his associate in the Commission, and we hear not of him again till in a deed of Mar. 15, 1676 (recorded Albany, L.1, p. 133), his trustees, John Laurence and Matthias Nicolls, of New York, confirm to William Vander Scheuren this same property on Broadway, which the latter had bought from the Deacons of the City, by whom it had been purchased at a public sale made for the benefit of Maverick’s daughter, Mary, wife of Rev. Francis Hooke of Kittery. Neither the time nor place of Maverick’s death, nor the depository of his will have, as yet, ascertained. No records of so early a date are preserved by the Dutch Church, who evidently held the lot for a short period, but, after a careful examination of conveyances in the City Register’s office, the writer has satisfactorily located the position of the Maverick Lot. May 30, 1667, Gov. Nicolls granted a lot on Broadway to Adam Onckelbach, which is described in later deeds as bounded south by house and lot of William Vander Scheuren, and which finally in October 1784, when known as No. 52 Broadway, was sold to John Jay, Esq., the future governor, who here erected a fine stone mansion. At this time the lot adjoining to the south was in the tenure and occupation of John Sliddell, save some 64 feet on the easterly of New Street end, which had been sold in 1683 by Vander Scheuren to William Post. Slidell’s sons in 1819 sold the greater portion of the lot, facing on Broadway, with a frontage of 21 1/3 ft, and a depth of 110 ft, to Robert Lenox; while the remaining few inches, with a lot adjoining to the south, known as No. 48, was sold by them on the same date to David Gelston. From the foregoing facts we gather that the original Maverick Lot was 26 1/4 feet wide, located on the easterly side of Broadway, running through to New Street, and beginning 125 feet south from the Church Street (afterwards Garden Street, and now Exchange Place); and that it corresponded with the present No. 50 Broadway.
Though extinct in the New England States, the Maverick family has existed for the past one hundred and fifty years in New York City, where Andrew Maverick, a young painter, 24 years of age, was admitted freeman July 17, 1753; his name occurring on the Poll List of Feb., 1761. He was baptized at the New Brick Church, Boston, Feb. 9, 1728-9; one of the numerous family of John Maverick (Paul, Elias, Rev. John), an importer of hard woods on Middle Street (now Hanover St.), at the sign of the "Cabinet and Chest of Drawers," John’s grandson Samuel (son of Samuel deceased), an apprentice of Mr. Isaac Greenwood, ivory turner &c., was mortally wounded, March 5, 1770, in the Boston Massacre. Andrew, who came to New York, married about 1754 Sarah, dau. of Peter and Bethia Ruston or Rushton, and Mr. Rushton, in a will of 1765, proved Aug. 14, 1767, leaves his entire estate, after the death of his wife Bethia, to his grandson Peter Rushton Maverick [Dr John Greenwood of N.Y. writing in Nov., 1803 to P. R. Maverick, alludes to a lot on Middle St., Boston, belonging to the estate of his late father, Isaac G., and which adjoined land of Maverick's grandfather.] The latter, born in the city April 11, 1755, a silver-smith, etcher and engraver, was in Aug. 1775 an Ensign in Capt. M. Minthorn’s Co., of Col. John Jay’s 2d Reg’t of N.Y. Militia, and on July 23, 1788, represented the Engravers in the N.Y. Federal Procession; he died in Dec. 1811, and was succeeded by his three talented sons, Samuel, Andrew and Peter.
The name Maverick, one of unusual occurrence, is akin doubtless to Morris, Morrice, or Maurice; we get nearer to it in the original Welsh Mawr-rwyee, "a valiant hero."
Nath. Maureick, chief clerk of the Town Clerk, London, died 24 November, 1630, and John Mavericke was a settler located in Charleston, S. C., in 1672.
One other name is given by Foster:
"Maverick, Radford of Devon, pleb., Exeter Coll. matric. 17 Nov. 1581 aged 20; rector of Trusham (n. of Chudleigh), 1586, and vicar of Islington, Devon 1597. (See Foster's Index Eccl.)."
Isaac J. Greenwood
N. E. Historical and Geneological Register
April, 1894
* * *
Alexander Maverick, b 27 Sep 1497, Awliscombe, Devonshire, m 1520, Awliscombe, Judith Combe, b c1500, Awliscombe
Rev. Robert Maverick, b 14 Feb 1523/4, Awliscombe, m 1548, Awliscombe, Willemotte Bull (b 26 May 1526, Awliscombe), d 14 Nov 1573, Awliscombe
Rev. Peter Maverick, b c1550, Awliscombe, m 7 Nov 1577, Dorothy Tucke (b 1559, d 15 Dec 1607), d shortly before 3 Feb 1616/17
Rev. John Maverick, b 28 Dec 1578, Awliscombe, m 28 Oct 1600, Alsington, now Islington, Mary Gye (daughter of Robert Gye and Grace Dowrish, b 28 Oct 1580, Sanford, d after 9 Oct 1666), d 3 Feb 1635/6, Dorchester
Samuel Maverick, b c1602, Awliscombe, emigrated in 1624 aboard the Katherine, making landfall at present-day Weymouth, Mass, m after 1627 Amias (Aymes) Cole (Colle, b c1593, Plymouth, Devonshire, d after 1672), d after 1670
Nathaniel Maverick, b 1629, emigrated to St. Lucy's, Barbados shortly before 1656, d 1673/74, Barbados
John Maverick, b 1649-55, emigrated in early 1670/71 from Barbados to Charles town, South Carolina aboard the John & Thomas, d c1700
Samuel Maverick, b 1675-80, Charleston
Samuel Stone Maverick, b c1715, Charleston, m 12 July 1741, Catherine Coyer (b 1720, London), d 3 Oct 1799, Charleston
Capt. Samuel Maverick, b 3 Jan 1742, Charleston, m 5 Mar 1772, Charleston, Lydia Turpin (daughter of Capt. Joseph Turpin and Mary Brown, d 19 Jan 1803, Pendleton), d 3 Jan 1784, Providence
Samuel Maverick, b 30 Dec 1772, Charleston, m 5 Oct 1802, Pendleton, South Carolina, Elizabeth Anderson (d 27/28 Sep 1818), d Apr 1852, Pendleton
Samuel A. Maverick, b 23 July 1803, Pendleton, m 4 Aug 1836, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, Mary Adams (b 16 Mar 1818, Tuscaloosa, d 24 Feb 1898, San Antonio, Texas), d 2 Sep 1870, San Antonio
Albert Maverick, b 14 Aug 1853, Charlottesville, Virginia, m 20 Mar 1877, Piedmont, Virginia, Jane Lewis Maury (b 14 Dec 1858, d 15 Feb 1954), d 24 Jan 1947, San Antonio
Albert Maverick, Jr., b 7 May 1884, San Antonio, m Lillian Williams (b 19 Jul 1890, d 15 Sep 1973), d 19 Mar 1962, San Antonio
Lillian Williams Maverick, b 1 Aug 1912, San Antonio, m 6 Dec 1932, San Antonio, James Thomas Padgitt, b 8 Aug 1906, Dallas
Willie Day Padgitt, b 24 Feb 1940, Port Arthur, Texas, m 8 Sep 1962, San Antonio, Hal Goggan Kuntz (b 29 Dec 1937), divorced, d 24 Sep 1993, San Antonio]
The Mavericks of Devonshire and Massachusetts
In 1630 the Revd. John Maverick quitted the West of England, and adventured across the ocean to become one of the earliest founders of Massachusetts.
The Mavericks were of that yeoman stock which has always been the back-bone of England; those "plain Folk" of whom it has been said:—
The name occurs in various forms as Mavericke, Mauerricke, Madericke, Mathericke, and Maverick. The last spelling, now adopted by the family, has been used throughout these pages except where it otherwise occurs in extracts or quotations.
Whence the name is derived can be merely a matter of conjecture. It has been suggested that it is a form of Maurice. No connection is, however, traceable between the Morrices of the West Country and the Mavericks.
Whatever may be its source the name, or term, of Maverick has found a permanent place in the English language, and that in a somewhat remarkable manner.
About the year 1840 Samuel Maverick, a descendant of the Mavericks of Devon and Massachusetts, then settled on a ranch in Texas, was notorious among his neighbours for not branding his cattle. A calf or yearling found without a brand was sure to be Maverick's, and such cattle are known as "mavericks" at the present day. By a further development a masterless man was called a maverick. The word has found its way into literature; Rudyard Kipling tells the story of "The Mutiny of the Mavericks," that Irish regiment "of loyal musketeers, commonly known as the Mavericks, because they were masterless and unbranded cattle." [See "Life's Handicap."]
During the sixteenth century the family was established in East Devon, but it is very possible that they drifted up from the more western parts of the county. There are traditions of a Maverick having got into trouble at Tavistock during the 14th or 15th century, when somebody's head got broken; not at all an unlikely incident, but no documentary evidence exists to prove it, and the name does not occur in any known records of the town.
Whatever may have been the circumstances which took them there, the Mavericks were settled early in the 16th century at Awliscombe, a village in East Devon, two or three miles from the old market town of Honiton.
The name of the village occurs as Aulescombe, Olescombe, Ewelscombe, with other variants. It lies in a valley north west of Honiton, on the other side of the river Otter, here crossed by a bridge at the end of the town.
Awliscombe still remains a typical English village, with clusters of low cottages, many of them thatched, and each fronted with a gay garden. The ancient grey church dominates them from a slight rise, so that the tower is the first point visible on approaching the village.
In pre-reformation times part of the manor, and the advowson of the church, belonged to Dunkeswell Abbey, situated not far off. These at the dissolution of the monasteries were granted to the Russells, Earls of Bedford. Another part of the manor was given the 15th century to the Mayor and Chamber of Exeter as the endowment of a charitable bequest made by Thomas Calwodley of the City of Exeter.
ROBERT MAVERICK of Awliscombe is the first member of the family of whom there are any definite records. [His parents were Alexander Maverick, born 27 September 1497, Awliscombe, Devonshire, and Judith Combe, born c1500, Awliscombe; married 1520, Awliscombe.] He was born in the early 16th century [14 February 1523], most likely in pre-reformation times; the entry of his burial on November 14, 1573, in the Parish Register at Awliscombe describes him as "Robert Maierwick clerk."
At that period a "clerk in orders" did not necessarily imply Holy Orders. There were minor orders which a man could take without the priestly vow of celibacy. Such minor orders entitled him to be styled a clerk in orders, and he could "plead his clergy" or clerkship, as an exemption from capital punishment, if he fell into the clutches of the law.
The name of Maverick does not occur among the tenants of Awliscombe on the property which belonged to the Mayor and Chamber of Exeter. Robert may have held some position under the Abbot and Convent of Dunkeswell for the management of their lands in the parish.
He never was Vicar of Awliscombe. In 1554 the benefice was vacant, and Robert Slade was admitted Vicar on the presentation of John Russell, Earl of Bedford. The next incumbent, whose name is given without date of institution, was Richard Bacon, on whose resignation Peter Maverick, Robert's eldest son was instituted in 1580.
The Parish Register of Awliscombe does not begin until 1559, thus no entry of the marriage of Robert nor the baptisms of his elder children are on record. These were Peter the eldest son, John, Edward, and Alice. Alexander Maverick, whose name occurs later in the register, was perhaps another son. The actual name of the family first occurs in 1560 when Radford Maverick, probably the fifth son and sixth child was baptised.
RADFORD MAVERICK. From the biographers point of view Radford, the fourth, or fifth son of Robert Maverick is one of the most important members of the family. Although not a direct ancestor of the Mavericks of Massachusetts their history owes much to his personality.
His baptism at Awliscombe is the first mention of the Mavericks in parish registers:—
Radford, as already mentioned, was a sixth child, with four or five brothers his seniors.
There is nothing to show how Radford acquired his Christian name, no family of Radfords resided in the neighbourhood, but there were other "Radfords" among the Honiton children. There must have been a Radford of local importance who was godfather to them all. Radford Maverick himself had a godson Radford, the son of his brother John.
The family prosperity seems to have increased as the young Radford Maverick grew up. Neither his father nor his elder brother had been at College, but after Robert Maverick's death in 1573 (Radford being then aged thirteen), he matriculated at Exeter College, Oxford, November 17th, 1581, when he was twenty years of age [Foster's Alumni Oxonienses]. He left College without a degree, and in 1583 took Holy Orders, being ordained by John Woolton, Bishop of Exeter, in the private chapel at the Bishop's Palace, receiving deacon's orders on June 1st, and was ordained priest on the 15th of the same month.
For three years there is no record of his career. Then he was instituted rector of Trusham, June 12th, 1586, on the presentation of Thomas Southcote.
The friendship with the Southcotes was close and intimate; Dowsabelle, or Dulcibella Southcote was his god-daughter. In his will he left her 10s. "to be put into a gold ring" and in the codicil he specially desired that this legacy should be paid even if other bequests were set aside for lack of money to settle them.
An elder sister, Mary Southcote, had married Thomas Ridgeway, bringing Radford Maverick into friendly relations with the Ridgeways of Torre-Mohun, better known nowadays as Torre and Torquay.
The church and village of Trusham stand on a lofty eminence above the beautiful valley of the Teign, between Exeter and Chudléigh. The old rectory still exists. Some years ago it had degenerated into two cottages, but has recently been restored to its dignity as a dwelling house, and retains evidence of its antiquity. The church preserves some Norman features of the 11th century. Its most recent addition has been a carved oak screen set across the tower arch. On this are placed the names of the rectors of Trusham from 1260 to the present day, and among them appears Radford Maverick who was rector from 1586 to 1616.
After being rector of Trusham for ten years Radford was presented to the vicarage of Ilsington by Thomas Ford of Bagtor and Henry his son, who were patrons for that turn [pro hac vice] he was instituted July 1st, 1597.
The large parish of Ilsington covers an extent of 25 square miles. The old granite church, dedicated to St. Michael, displays the fine 15th century characteristics prevalent on the borders of Dartmoor.
The most famous feature of the place, Haytor Rock, dominates the moor above the village, a land mark for miles round every part of the county. This magnificent granite rock is perhaps the finest of those Tors which are the distinguishing character of the great moorland centre of Devon. Nowadays Haytor is one of the most popular playgrounds for holiday makers; in Radford Maverick's time it was like the rest of the moor worked for tin streaming. Radford evidently did a little mining speculation on his own account. He left in his will "to Mr. Warren, Vicar of Ilsington, my freeholde in a tynne work called the Sanctuary, and his successors for ever." The name of Sanctuary suggests that the "tynne work" may have been adjacent to the glebe. The present Vicar of Ilsington still has the glebe land known as Sanctuary, but no tin mine. The tin work must have been Radford's freehold as he would not have left the church lands to his successor.
He held these two livings of Trusham and Ilsington together until 1616, when he resigned Trusham, his successor being instituted August 17th that same year.
The date is significant for on September 15th, 1616, he was in London and preached at Paul's Cross a sermon on "The Practice of Repentance."
It is worth while briefly to consider some points in Radford Maverick's sermon, as throwing light on the religious opinions of the family, indicating the Puritanical tendencies which eventually induced his nephew John Maverick, to seek for freedom of conscience in the New World.
The sermon is strongly impregnated with the doctrine of pre-destination. The preacher exemplifies the preservation for Divine purposes not only of Scripture characters, but also Constantine the Great Luther, Queen Elizabeth spared through the reign of her sister Mary, and James the First escaping Gunpowder Plot. He wrote:
The Preacher shewed his erudition by quoting St. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas in the original Latin. Here and there he introduced a Hebrew word, and a little Greek. As may be expected there are several allusions to "our enemies the papists."
Radford Maverick remained in "his poor house at Ilsington," the vicarage there, until 1621, when he resigned the living and came to Exeter. His name occurs as "Master Radford Maverick" as minister or curate of All Hallows, Goldsmith Street, Exeter, in 1622. William Sheers was then rector.
Radford must have been residing in Exeter for some little time before he resigned Ilsington; for his wife pre-deceased him and was buried in St. Mary Major's church there. In his will he describes himself as "minister and preacher in the cittie of Exeter." No record of his marriage, or of his wife's maiden name has been found; she probably was Audrey Rackley.
PETER MAVERICK. The direct ancestor of the Mavericks of Massachusetts was the eldest son of Robert Maverick, probably born at Awliscombe before the commencement of the earliest existing parish register of 1559. If, as is most likely, he was about two and twenty when he took Holy Orders, he would have been born about 1550.
The earliest record that we have of him is his ordination by Bishop Woolton in the private chapel of the Bishop's Palace at Exeter, where he was ordained deacon on January 15th, 1573-4, and priest on the 16th of March following.
In the Bishop's register his name occurs as "Petrus Bull als Maverick." [His mother was Willemotte Bull, born 26 May 1526, Awliscombe, married 1548, Awliscombe.]
He married at Awliscombe on November 7, 1577, the register recording that on this day the marriage of Peter Maverick Clerk and Dorothie Tucke [born 1559].
The Tuckes appear to have been amongst the most important parishioners of Awliscombe. They were tenants of that part of the parish which belonged to the Mayor and Chamber of Exeter.
From the Bailiffs' accounts, preserved in Exeter Guildhall, we find that in 1588 Robert Tucke paid rent for the Barton of Awliscombe. In 1600 John Tucke is recorded as holding one tenement there "being the capitull house." This Barton, or Capitull House, would have been the manor house. Dorothie Tucke was most likely the daughter of Robert Tucke, her father's name is not given in the register. She had a sister married to "one Jeffery Granow." This marriage is not in the Awliscombe register, but, as we shall presently see, Granow proved an unpleasant thorn in Peter Maverick's side.
As he was at the time of his marriage a clerk in holy orders, Peter may then have been serving as curate at Awliscombe. The vicar was Richard Bacon.
Ecclesiastical affairs were then in a very fluctuating condition. The older men, ordained in pre-reformation times, were dying out. Many of them had adjusted their consciences to new opinions, and retained their livings through all changes of ceremonial. Parishes like Awliscombe, which had belonged to the monasteries were now in lay patronage. The patrons frequently regarded the advowson as property which could be "farmed out"; or temporarily handed over for a money payment to some individual who had a relation or protege he wished to patronize. It was often difficult to find "fit persons to serve in the sacred ministry of the church" (as the Book of Common Prayer words it), sometimes the individual was so unfit that he was speedily deprived, and the Crown, in the person of Queen Elizabeth, intervened and presented someone else.
In 1580 Richard Bacon resigned the living of Awliscombe, and Peter Maverick als Bull was instituted on November 3rd of that year on the presentation of John Cole, clerk, patron "for this turn, by reason of an assignment made to him to John Woolton, Bishop of Exeter, who had a grant of the advowson from Francis, Earl of Bedford true patron of the living." This is a typical example of how ecclesiastical affairs were then managed. The Earls of Bedford, to whom the property belonging to Dunkeswell Abbey had been given, granted the advowson of Awliscombe to the Bishop of Exeter. He, in his turn, assigned the patronage of the vacant benefice to John Cole, who for some reason wished to present Peter Maverick to the living.
The pretty rural village of Awliscombe has already been described. A few notes on the church where Peter Maverick ministered from 1550 to 1616 may not be amiss. Thirteen vicars had preceded him; the first known being Lawrence de Sanford admitted in 1287, "on the presentation of the Abbot and convent of Dunkeswell."
In common with other Devonshire churches few architectural features remain that are older than the 14th or 15th century.
Towards the end of the 15th or early in the 16th century the building received considerable additions. Thomas Chard, last Abbot of Ford, one of the most prominent ecclesiastics in Devon of his time, was born at Awliscombe, and wished to erect some memorial that would commemorate him in his native parish. With the consent, doubtless readily granted of the Abbot of Dunkeswell, he built, or re-decorated, the south transept adding near it a magnificent porch, rendering the church of St. Michael, Awliscombe, one of the finest churches in East Devon. Inside it has retained a good stone screen. In the north-east window some ancient glass is preserved where the figures of St. Helena, St. Katharine, St. Mary Magdalene, and St. Barbara may be recognized.
In the ancient font, a fine example of 15th century perpendicular style, John the eldest child of Peter Maverick, was baptized October 28th, 1578. The surviving children were John, Nathaniel and Elizabeth.
What the original cause of the dispute may have been is difficult to ascertain; it was probably a question of money, or a debt; but about 1586 Jeffery Granow (or Granowe) was detained in the Sheriffs ward of Devon "at the suit of one Maverick, his brother-in-law."
It is worth noting that at this period, except for debtors or political offenders, imprisonment was not a punishment, but merely a detention of the individual until he could be brought before the Justices for trial; the trial being often indefinitely postponed in spite of every effort made by the prisoner to obtain a hearing. Prison life at that time has been described as "nasty, brutish, and short," the last because the incarcerated wretch too often obtained "gaol delivery" by the hand of death before his case was tried. The Governor of the Gaol paid a sum of money to the Crown for his office, and maintained the prison as an expensive boarding house. The well-to-do could procure fire, light, bedding and food at an extortionate rate, every official from the Governor to the gaolers demanding exhorbitant fees.
The wards, or prisons, of Devon and Exeter were at that time notorious for their vile conditions, and it is not surprising that Granow availed himself of every possible means of release. Wherefore he:—"falsely accused Peter Maverick preacher of diverse fowle and lewd matters" which resulted in the Justices "sending for the said Granow out of the said ward," for examination. The affair dragged on till 1590-1591, Granow contriving that his information should reach Queen Elizabeth's Privy Council. Letters were then directed to "certaine Justices of the Peace in the County of Devon, who again examined the matter" and made report on the same and of their opinions of the good disposition of Mavericke, a Learned Preacher, and of the evell life and conversation of Granowe."
Further examinations followed before Gervase Babington, then Bishop of Exeter, but later mentioned in the report of the Privy Council as "now Bishop of Worcester." Babington was Bishop of Exeter 1595-1597, the dates shewing how this litigation dragged on. The Mayor of Exeter also took part in the enquiries, and declared "he could find no credit in the accusation and the accused was greatly wronged."
An order was then given for the discharge of Maverick; he seems to have been obliged to attend personally before the Privy Council and to have been detained in some sort of custody during the enquiry.
Granow, however, made another effort, "being still a prisoner in Exeter." He was sent before the Lord Chief Justice, "but was able to say nothing, whereupon his Lordship would have sent him back again, but by entreaty he was committed to the King's Bench. Any place of detention was better than Exeter.
The report concludes:—"Emongst the examinations taken there divers matters concerning the lewd behaviour of Granow, and the grounds of this mallice, Mavericke and he having married twoe sisters."
Apparently the examiners regarded the family connection as acountable for anything.
The final report is endorsed "concerning Jeffery Granow, 1597." So this quarrel, with the legal enquiries arising out of it, lasted ten years.
From the conditions of ecclesiastical affairs at that period it is possible that Granow's accusations dealt with the religious opinions and practises of Maverick. "Fowle and lewd matters" do not sound to modern ears like complaints of false doctrines, or neglect of religious ceremonials. In the 17th century, however, these were regarded as crimes of the "fowlest" character and the term lewd is applied to unlawfulness in clerical matters (Johnson gives lewd as wicked, lustful, unclerical.)
The probability that the accusations were of this character is strengthened by the examination before the Bishop, and the circumstance that Peter Maverick had to attend personally to answer for his conduct before the Privy Council.
In his charge before the Bishop and Mayor in 1591 Granow was associated with Andrew Holmer, "a verie lewd person." The reports of these bygone enquiries are very wordy and full of repetitions, yet so vague that it is difficult to determine what really passed between accuser and accused, or the actual doings of the legal courts. Nevertheless they are of value in throwing light on family history.
Andrew Holmer, for instance, "exhibited divers complaints against Peter Masvericke, Vicar of Olescombe." The identification of the name as Awliscombe is written on the document in a later hand, affording a clue for tracing the earliest records of the family. It is also gratifying to read the opinions of those important people the Mayor and Bishop of Exeter, who asserted that Peter Maverick was a man well accounted for in his profession and honest conversation.
From the documentary evidence at our disposal Peter seems to have been of a disputatious disposition, and prone to law-suits. This may have rendered him unpopular, however grateful the biographer may be for the information afforded in the history of the Mavericks.
He appears in 1612 as plaintiff in a suit against William Champeneys of Yarnscombe in North Devon, concerning the lease of a messuage and land in Awliscombe. These Mr. Champeney in 1609 was willing to lease as was then the custom, to Mr. Maverick for 99 years on three lives, Maverick undertaking to pay £40 as earnest money on the lease.
After this was paid William Champeneys demanded a larger sum, "having intelligence that more money might be gotten for the said messuage."
The dispute is not particularly interesting but the terms of the lease are of the greatest importance in the history of the family.
Leases were then, and for long afterwards granted on "lives." That is to say three individuals, seldom more, rarely fewer, were named during whose lifetime the property was to be held by the lessee and his successors. Our ancestors were stay-at-home folk; a man took it for granted that he, his sons, and grandsons would be willing to reside on the lease-hold property for the entire period of 99 years, while the man who thus leased the estate did not really alienate it from his family possessions by an actual sale. If one of the lives fell in by decease, it was usually replaced by another but there was always an endeavour, when the lease was taken out to insert the names of children, or very young people, who were likely to survive, if not 99 years, at least for a considerable part of them, and who would later on renew the agreement with other young lives to succeed them. Estates in England have sometimes been held by the same families for extensive periods through this custom of lease on lives.
Peter Maverick named as the three lives on his lease his second son Nathaniel, not then thirty years old, and his two grandsons Samuel and Elias, particularly described as "two of the sons of John Maverick, son, of the said Peter."
John Maverick had been married at Ilsington in 1600, when his uncle Radford was vicar, so these two boys, who had an elder brother, could not have been more than ten years old when their names were put on the lease.
In 1601 Peter Maverick drew up a return of the "Vicarage of Awliscombe," detailing the name of the patron, and the extent of the glebe lands. He mentions that there was a "house and curtilages (courtyards), two herb gardens, and little orchards," and adds that when he came there he found "no implements in the house but the screens," these being the removable partitions that divided one room from another.
A new Terrier, or parochial record, was written by him in 1613 in which he mentions that he had built a new vicarage at his "own proper costs and charges."
This old vicarage stood in the hollow below the church, particulars of the house are given in a later Terrier of 1728.
"The vicarage house is built of mud with earthen walls covered with thatch; containing four chambers kitchen, parlour and hall, and four small ground rooms floored with earth but not ceiled, consisting of two bays of building, built with mud walls and covered with thatch. The barn and stable adjoining consist of about two bays of building of mud walls covered with thatch."
This vicarage was surrounded by about half an acre of walled garden, with an orchard bounded by a hedge. The site of the old house can be traced at the bottom of the present garden. Only the well remains, deprived of all picturesquesness by being supplied with a modern pump.
Here Peter Maverick would have passed his days in the busy life of the country clergyman of the 17th century. Interested in farming his glebe, enjoying his garden, and sharing in the village pastimes, the Revel, Christmas games, and Harvest Home. At that period the parish priest was the link in local government that united church and state; friend alike to squire and cottager, to whom all appealed for the settlement of disputes or redress of grievances, and the parish church was the centre not only of the spiritual, but the parochial life of the little commmunity.
Home life in the new vicarage would have been very simple. Baking, brewing, and all domestic work was done at home, and Mrs. Maverick was, we may be sure, fully occupied in providing comfort for the family, besides little luxuries distributed to the sick and poor of the parish. Those gardens and orchards so carefully detailed in the Terriers, helped to render the family self supporting. Charis were a luxury for old people, young folk sat on stools, or benches. The tables were boards set on tressells, removable when not required. Books were few. Among the most valuable household goods were the brass pans and crocks, so frequently mentioned in wills of that time.
On February 3rd, 1616, John Hassarde was instituted into the vicarage of Awliscombe, the benefice being void "per necem Petri Mavericke."
This ominous term "per necem" "by violent death" [Nex-necem, a "violent death" as distinct from natural mortality "per mortem" the term that usually occurs in the Registers of the Bishops of Exeter. It has been suggested that the scrivener on this occasion used an unusual term from mere pedantry, but the word is rare and seems to have been deliberately written.] shadows the close of Peter Maverick's life with mystery. So far nothing has come to light to reveal what occasioned the violent death of this Vicar whose Bishop declared that he was of virtuous life and honest conversation [behaviour]. No record of his death occurs in the parish register of Awliscombe.
Had he, in spite of the Bishop's commendation, fallen under the harshness of the ecclesiastical laws, as did so many of the Puritan clergy of the time, the circumstance would have been fully recorded among the many accounts of the 17th century persecutions of the non-conformists.
Did the exasperated Granow contrive the violent death of his brother-in-law?
Peter Maverick's name is conspicuously missing from the will of Radford Maverick. He left legacies to "John, son of my eldest brother" but does not mention that brother's name, though there were two, if not three brothers his seniors, sons of Robert Maverick. Peter left no will, for that ommission the circumstances of his death would be accountable. Wills were then usually made during the last few months of the testator's life, if not on his death-bed. A sudden violent death left a man intestate.
Nor does there seem to have been any grant for an administration of his goods applied for by his heirs.
Only in the Register of Bishop Valentine Cary, by the use of an unusual Latin term, is there any hint given how the honest life and conversation of Peter Maverick met with its tragic end.
NATHANIEL MAVERICK. Before proceeding to record the more important members of the family, it will be worth while to set down such brief facts as are known about Nathaniel, the second son of Peter Maverick, whose baptism is entered in the parish registers of Awliscombe on June 24, 1583, "Nathaniel, son of Peter Maverick clearke."
His was the first of the three lives set upon the lease of land at Awliscombe between William Champeneys and Peter Maverick. He was then, in 1609, aged 23. We next meet with him in his 39th year when he was mentioned in Radford Maverick's will [1622] in which he left "to my cosen Nathaniel Maverick my eldest brother's son tenn shillings to be put into a gold ring."
Nathaniel appears to have followed the legal profession, and left Devon for London, where eventually he had a good appointment as head clerk to the town clerk of the City of London.
In the spring of 1630, John, Nathaniel's elder brother, had sailed for New England. Doubtless Nathaniel felt no inclination to resign his excellent appointment in London for precarious adventures across the ocean. It was however destined that neither through the church nor the law should the Mavericks acquire distinction in the land of their birth.
He must have impressed some kindly recollections on the memory of his nephew, Samuel Maverick of Massachusetts, for he named his eldest son, born about 1629, or 1630, Nathaniel. This Nathaniel went to the Barbadoes, where he died in 1670. His father Samuel was still living, and is mentioned in his will. He left three sons, minors, one of these was also Nathaniel, later recorded as Nathaniel Maverick of St. Michael's Parish, Barbadoes. He died in 1700, leaving a young son, another Nathaniel. The will of yet another Nathaniel Maverick of St. Peter's parish is dated 1710. Thus did the Mavericks of the western continent preserve the name of their distant kinsman Nathaniel Mavericke of [St. Lawrence] Old Jewry, London, born in 1583 at Awliscombe, Devon.
JOHN MAVERICK. When, on October 28th, 1578, Peter Maverick baptized his first-born child, a son, in the fine old 15th century font at Awliscombe, and named him John, he must have felt some of those aspirations and hopes concerning the boy's future which would occur to any serious minded parent at such a time.
The Mavericks were prosperous. The Tuckes, John's grandparents, were amongst some of the most important people in the parish of Awliscombe. Hopes of further social advancement for his son must have passed through Peter's thoughts if he ventured to look forward.
But never we may feel sure, when he dedicated that little swaddled infant, in the old words of the Second Prayer Book of Edward the Sixth, to be "Christ's faythfull souldier and seruant unto his lyves end," did he think of that life attaining its ripe fullness in the New World, not long discovered by West Country adventurers; vaguely described in Devon's seaports by weather-beaten mariners, whose tales were only half credited, or told as marvels on winter evenings round the fire on the open hearth.
Peter Maverick had no University degree. That omission was rectified in the education of his son. There are indications that the Mavericks were in better circumstances after the death of Robert Maverick in 1573. Peter married, and married well, in 1577. Radford matriculated at Exeter College, Oxford, in 1581. He was Rector of Trusham in 1586, and may have given some assistance to his nephew when John followed his uncle's footsteps to the same College in 1595. [Mavericke, John, of Devon, cler., fil. Exeter College, Matriculated 24 Oct., 1595, aged 18; B.A. 8 July, 1599; M.A. 7 July, 1603, then in orders. Rector of Beaworthy, Devon, 1615.—Foster's Alumni Oxonienses.] Two years later he took Holy Orders, being ordained in the private chapel of the Bishop's Palace in Exeter by Bishop Babington, receiving deacon's and priest's orders on the same day, July 29, 1597. He is entered in the Bishop's register as a "literate" as he did not take his degree until 1599. In 1599 he took his B.A. and his Masters degree in 1603, when he is recorded as being then in orders.
Not only was he an ordained minister, but he was also a married man. On October 28th, 1600 (the anniversary of his baptism twenty years previously), he was married at Ilsington to Mary Gye of that parish. It may be inferred that Radford Maverick performed the ceremony. The marriage is entered in the parish registers of Ilsington, and it is there, or at Trusham, that we should have expected to find entries of the baptism of his sons.
John was probably serving as his uncle's curate, having taken orders soon after his matriculation on purpose to assist him; for nothing is recorded of his clerical work until 1615, when on the death of John Norreys he was instituted to the rectory of Beaworthy in North Devon, on the presentation of Arthur Arscott of Ashwater.
Radford resigned Trusham in 1616, most likely he found two parishes, some distance apart, too much for ministration without his nephew's help.
Neither at Ilsington, nor at Trusham is there any entry in the parish register of the baptism of John Maverick's sons. At Ilsington the name of Maverick only occurs in the one record of John's marriage; at Trusham it does not occur at all. It is just between the years 1601-1609, that we should expect to find it.
A conjectural explanation can be given to account for the omission of their baptism in the registers. It is only offered as a plausible suggestion, liable to be contradicted by the discovery of the entries elsewhere. John may have baptized his sons privately at home, and never completed the office by the ceremony of receiving the children into Church, as appointed in the Prayer Book service. This latter part of the rite of baptism entailed using the sign of the Cross. The church insisted on it, the Puritans objected, it was Popish, superstitious, superfluous, and was one of the fiercest points of controversy between the Bishops and the Non-conformists.
Thus it would appear that John Maverick had conscientious objections—to use a modern formula. Also John did not want to get into difficulties over ritual at a period when conscientious objectors were apt to be treated with short shrift and a long rope; so he christened his babies at home, and omitted, possibly through forgetfulness, to enter their names in the parish register. At that period the names of those baptized, married or buried were jotted down on loose bits of paper, and later on entered into the registers, when the parson, or parish clerk had leisure to do it, with the result that omissions were not infrequent.
Beaworthy where John Maverick was instituted Rector, August 30th, 1615, lies on the north west of Devon, a little distance from the borders of Dartmoor. It is remote and little known at the present day, its conditions in the early years of the 17th century are past imagining. As a residence for a man of scholarly tastes, such as John Maverick seems to have possessed, it must have been exile indeed. All that can be said is that a minister who resided there fourteen years would have been able to adapt himself far more easily to life in the recently founded settlements of New England, than many of his clerical brethren.
The church is very small, and, though it exhibits a few features of Norman work, it is neither dignified nor interesting. The dedication is to St. Alban, which is rather remarkable, for there is little to associate the proto-martyr of England with Devon. The one local event was an annual fair on July 25th, of which the principal feature was a race of old women for a greased pig. This fair, with or without the pig, survived until recent years; early in the 17th century, when John Maverick was rector, we may feel sure it was celebrated with all the merriment characteristic of the good old times.
John Maverick's life is so definitely divided into two parts, that it is worth while to pause here, and briefly explain the ecclesiastical conditions of the period, which drove him, and so many more of the clergy out of the land of their birth to the new world across the sea.
All through the reign of Elizabeth there had been a party in the reformed church, who did not consider that church sufficiently reformed. They demanded a more complete rejection of rites and ceremonies, a "purifying" as they expressed it, from certain doctrines, superstitions, ceremonials, and formal expressions of reverence. It is difficult to see, had their demands been complied with, what would have been left. The Elizabethan bishops made a firm stand. Possibly they over-did their firmness, for drastic pains and penalties, in the form of fines, excommunication (then a really weighty punishment) and imprisonments, were imposed upon these "Puritans" nor were spies and informers lacking who reported the behaviour of their ministers especially if the minister happened to be unpopular in his parish.
In 1603 Whitgift, Archbishop of Canterbury, drew up a number of canons, or rules for the church, and required them to be read aloud in every church in the kingdom, the clergy also signing assent to them. Many ministers throughout the country refused to sign. The number of these "dissenters" in Devon and Cornwall was fifty-one. Not a large percentage in the extensive Diocese of Exeter, where Devon alone had some five hundred parishes. But in 1607 the ministers of the Exeter Diocese further emphasized their position by publishing a treatise defending their opinions, and concluding with the statement that:—"the weight of episcopal power may oppress us, but cannot convince us."
By this time both Queen Elizabeth and Archbishop Whitgift had died. Ecclesiastical matters had been allowed to drift in the last years of the old Queen. James the First now ascended the throne, Bancroft was Archbishop, and they laid heavy hands on all who would not conform to their regulations. At a conference held at Hampton Court James declared: "I will make them conform or I will harry them out of the land." Little did he realize the effect of this declaration on the history of the whole modern world.
The first flights were made to Holland, the old refuge of those who suffered religious persecution in England; but Holland soon discovered that friendship with King James was not compatible with sheltering his rebellious subjects. Political considerations had the mastery; without being exactly refused protection the Puritans were no longer welcomed; they saw they must look elsewhere for a refuge, and they turned their eyes towards the New World.
They were checked even in this direction. Several families went to Virginia, but when it was discovered that many more were preparing to embark, so far from "harrying them out of the country" they were forbidden to leave without special license from the King.
Persecution is a course that cuts its own throat. The Puritans were determined to migrate, so they provided themselves with what ultimately proved the most magnificent and powerful credentials that ever founded a People. They royal licenses for which the ever impoverished James was quite willing to be paid, were those Charters for Permission to Trade, which, by what has been termed a daring breach of the law, were treated by those to whom they were issued as grants for founding the political self governing Settlement of Massachusetts.
English affairs strengthened their powers, and assisted their independence. In the earlier years of their enterprise they looked back to England for help, depending a great deal on food supplies sent out to them, while, with more diffidence than might have been expected, they humbly asked for advice concerning the management of their colony, from a Government at that time incapable of managing itself, though not unwilling to try and manage other people. Finally affairs at home "did so take up the King and Council that they had neither the heart nor leisure to take up the affairs of New England." [Winthrop's Journal]
New England was all the better for it; the settlers managed their own affairs and prospered exceedingly.
It is difficult to determine how far the Mavericks were influenced by the Puritanical opinions of their contemporaries. A disctinctly calvinistic tone pervades Radford Maverick's sermon, but he managed to retain his two Devonshire livings unmolested from 1586 to 1621. It may be taken for granted that he was not among the fifty-one ministers who refused to assent to the Canons of Archbishop Whitgift.
John was rector of Beaworthy for fourteen years, at the end of which time he resigned the living on his own initiation, apparently because he wished to settle elsewhere. It is worth noting that when Radford Maverick in 1622 left:—"to my cosen John Maverick, preacher, one of Zanchees works on the nature of God in Lattyn," he does not mention him as rector of Beaworthy, though John then had the benefice. This gives the impression that John had then left Beaworthy to the ministrations of some local curate, and was preaching to more enlightened congregations in East Devon or Dorset.
The majority of the Mavericks were now settled in Honiton, a fairly numerous group of cousins, all John's connections, descendants of Robert of Awliscombe. From Honiton it is not far into Dorsetshire, and it is in Dorsetshire that we must look for the influence which led the Mavericks to New England.
The then rector of St. Peter's Church, Dorchester, was the Rev. John White, who has been described as "a masterful old Puritan." He held the living from 1606 until his death in 1648, but his place in history is connected with New England, and he is justly regarded as one of the founders of Massachusetts, though he never went there.
It has been said of Sir Walter Ralegh that he "understood that the road to England's greatness, which was more to him than all other good things, lay across the sea." The Rev. John White seems to have held the same opinion, and applied his wealth and influence to affording practical assistance to those willing to take that road.
He despatched a party from Dorsetshire in 1624. Some years later he procured the "Charter of Corporation for the Governor and Company of Massachusetts Bay in New England"; this was dated March 4, 1628-9.
We in England think of the great American Continents in connection with those daring spirits who first discovered them. Columbus, Amerigo Vespucci to whom they owe their name; Sir Francis Drake with his splendid talent for navigation; Ralegh dreaming ever of El Dorado; Sebastian Cabot, the Bristol Merchant adventurer; Henry Burrows of Northam near Bideford, the prototype of Amyas Leigh.
Yet the actual founders of these settlements, who dared not only the hazards of the voyage, but the experiences of new climate and conditions of which they were wholly ignorant, were the homely determined pastors, harried out of their country by the obstinancy of their rulers. Men who abandoned all prospects of dignity and affluence at home, faced the rigours of winters such as they had never imagined, defended themselves from some of the cruelest savages ever known, and applied the determination which had defied king and bishops, to establishing civilization and prosperity in the wild but splendid regions others had discovered. It was as if rocks descried by eagles, were used as nesting places for flocks of sea swallows:—"The opportunity of the moment lay in those happy hands which the Holy Ghost had guided, the fortunate adventurers." [Edmund Gosse: Some Diversions of a man of letters.]
The vessels came over in little convoys of six or eight, for mutual assistance and protection. They were armed for defence against Spanish warships or possible pirates. On board, besides the colonists with their wives and children, were horses, cattle, goats and sheep. A prosperous voyage took about six weeks, and it is not surprising to hear that the condition of the vessels could become very unpleasant.
No wonder they rejoiced when at last land appeared. Even John Winthrop's somewhat prosaic pen ceases for a moment from dry details to record the green islands, the flat shores with blue hills rising in the distance:—"Fair sunshine weather and so sweet a smell as did much refresh us, for there came a smell of the shore like the smell of a garden."
John Maverick formally resigned Beaworthy rectory in 1629-30. His successor was instituted on March 24th. The dates are perplexing, complicated by the year being then reckoned to begin on March 25th. March 24th would still be 1629. Whenever possible I have followed John Winthrop's Journal as being contemporary evidence. That same month of March he was chosen at Plymouth [Devon] as one of the teachers of the Puritan church, and soon afterwards he sailed for New England in the "Mary and John" whose Master was Captain Squib.
Winthrop wrote in his journal on June 17th, 1630, "Captain Squib brought out the West Country people, Mr. Ludlow, Mr. Rossitur, and Mr. Maverick, who were set down at Mattapan." These were the founders of Dorchester, Mass., named in honour of the Rev. John White, and recalling to many of the settlers the old county town of their native shire.
Armed with the new Charter, John Winthrop began establishing the settlement. As his license was nominally for a Trading Company the usual terms of the English Gilds, or Trading Companies were offered to the settlers; they had to become "Freemen of the Company" to secure permission to trade. On October 6th, 1630, among "the names of such as wish to become Freemen" are—
Mr. John Maverick took the oath of Freeman, May 18th, 1631; his son Samuel did not, however, take the oath till Oct. 2nd, 1632.
An incident of John Maverick's life in Dorchester [Mass.] is recorded by Winthrop:—
"1632, March 19. Mr. Maverick, one of the ministers of Dorchester, in drying a little powder, which took fire by the heat of the fire pan, fired a small barell of two or three pounds, yet did no other harm but singed his clothes. It was in the New Meeting House, which was thatched, and the thatch only blackened a little."
The New Meeting House evidently served both for congregational worship and the minister's residence. Such explosions were not infrequent; gunpowder was a necessity, and it seems to have been made at home, and dried over the domestic hearth. Accidents often occurred. If the disaster was slight, the hand of Providence was perceived protecting the godly; if severe, the individual suffered for his sins. The Puritan settlers missed no opportunity of improving the occasion.
John Maverick was highly esteemed by all in the Colony. He is called the "godly Mr. John Maverick" by Roger Clapp, another Devonshire man, born at Salcombe Regis near Sidmouth. The Clapps came out to New England from Dorchester [Dorset] and were among the founders of Dorchester [Mass.]. It is quite possible that Roger Clapp knew the Mavericks in England; Honiton and Awliscombe being easily reached from Salcombe or Sidmouth.
In 1633 Samuel Maverick received a grand of Noddles Island [East Boston] where he built a new house. Either John Maverick went to live with his son, or was staying there at the time of his death; a record of the "decease of the Fathers of New England" includes "3 February, 1636. The Rev. John Maverick of Dorchester, died at Boston aged 60."
A tribute to him was penned by John Winthrop:—
"1636, Feb. 3. Mr. John Maverick, teacher of the church of Dorchester, died being nearly sixty years of age. He was a man of very humble spirit, and faithful in furthering the work of the Lord both in the churches and civil state."
John Maverick's widow (Mary Gye) survived her husband many years. She made her home with her son Samuel in the house he had built shortly before his father's death on Noddles Island, Boston. The locality is now known as East Boston, but there still exists "Maverick Square." In 1665 mention is made that Mr. Maverick had his mother, wife, children, and brother living with him. They then were on Rhode Island. Samuel Maverick in a letter written Oct. 9, 1668, to Sir William Morice, Secretary of State in England, says that his mother "presents her humble service."
Mrs. Maverick may have known some of Sir William Morice's family in England. His father Dr. Evan Morice was Chancellor of the Diocese of Exeter, and his mother Mary, daughter of John Castle of Ashbury, Devon. William Morice was born in Exeter in 1602, his father died in 1605, and in 1611 his mother married again, her second husband being Sir Nicholas Prideaux of Solden in the parish of Sutcombe, Devon. Ashbury is near Beaworthy, and Sutcombe, though farther off, is in the same part of the county; where William Morice passed much of his early life. He did not purchase the property at Werrington with which his name is usually associated, until 1651, but that is also in the neighbourhood of Beaworthy. His religious convictions were decidedly Puritanical, but he was one of the Devonshire gentlemen who supported General Monk in restoring Charles II to the throne, and was knighted on the king's landing in 1660, and immediately made Secretary of State. Samuel Maverick would have been a few years his junior, and the two may have known each other in boyhood.
Mrs. Maverick would have been at least 80 years of age at her death [after 9 Oct 1666].
SAMUEL MAVERICK. Among these eager settlers Samuel Maverick presents a most delightful character. Dry and meagre as are the details afforded us, we can read between the lines suggestions of romance and kindliness which endear him to the reader even after the lapse of three centuries.
It must be confessed that most of the Fathers of Massachusetts wore a grim and forbidding aspect. Samuel Maverick in strong contrast was full of geneality and friendship towards all he met.
He came out in 1624, possibly with the first contingent of Dorsetshire men, despatched by the Rev. John White of Dorchester. Arriving at Massachusetts he settled at Winissimet on the Mystic River.
How lovely must that land of broad waters and forest primeval have appeared when seen by the first settlers.
The Mystic river really bears an Indian name; Winthrop sometimes spells it Mistick, or Mistich; but when first seen flowing from regions unknown, the designation must have sounded singularly appropriate, and has happily been retained to the present day. Winissimet has exchanged its old name for Chelsea, which is a loss.
He had a neighbour David Thompson, also a west-countryman, sent out about 1623 by Sir Ferdinando Gorges from Plymouth, Devon. Thomposon had his wife with him; the entry of their marriage is still to be seen in the parish registers of St. Andrew's Church, Plymouth [Devon].
Together Samuel Maverick and David Thompson built a fort as a defence against the Indians. It was later described as:—"a house with a pillizado [palisade] and flankers, and gunnes both above and below in them." It was standing in 1660, "the antientist house in the Massachusetts Government."
Here Samuel practised "large hearted hospitality" and shewed special kindness in welcoming all new arrivals as soon as they landed. John Winthrop mentions that when he and his companions reached New England in 1630 "we went to Mattachusetts to find a place for our sitting down [settling]. Wee went up the Mistick river about six miles and lay at Mr. Maverick's and returned home on saturday."
Winthrop's arrival must have been especially welcome to Samuel Maverick, for his father and mother came over at the same time.
About 1634 Samuel had the grant of Noddles Island, where he built another house. John Josselyn, who came in 1638, writes:—"July 10th I went ashore to Noddles Island to Mr. Samuel Maverick, the only hospitable man in all the country, giving entertainment to all comers gratis." He was again Samuel's guest the following year.
Josselyn wrote an account of "Two voyages to New England," printed in 1674, and records the arrival of Winthrop with the other settlers, among whom he mentions "Mr. Maverick the father of Mr. Samuel Maverick."
David Thompson died about 1628, and in course of time his widow married her husband's friend Samuel Maverick. She was considerably his senior, as she married her first husband in 1613, and Samuel was born about 1602, possibly later. He described himself as "aged 63 or thereabouts" in 1665. Where or when his marriage with Amyes (or Amias) Thompson took place is not known. David Thompson left a son John, and perhaps other children. Amias wrote in 1635 to Mr. Trelawney, Merchant, Plymouth, Devon, mentioning her "fatherless children." As she wrote from Noddles Island she most likely had then bestowed a step-father on them in the person of Samuel Maverick.
Her son, John Thompson, in 1643 assigned a bill to "my father Samuel Maverick." His mother Amias was living in 1672. By her Samuel had three children, Nathaniel, Samuel, and Mary.
Samuel did not limit his kindness to his own people. In 1633, Small-pox, "the white man's scourge" attacked the native Indians. The wild men were much impressed to find that though their own people forsook them, the English came daily and attended to their needs. "Among others (writes Winthrop) Mr. Maverick of Winnissimet is worthy of perpetual remembrance; himself, his wife and servants went daily to them, ministered to their necessities, and buried their children."
On another occasion Samuel managed to smooth matters when some sailors and traders of the bark Maryland got into difficulties with the Puritan colonists. He came all the way from Winnissimet to settle the affair to everyone's satisfaction. In 1645 he protected La Tour, governor of one of the French settlements, and kept him for twelve months in his house at Noddles Island; the French having quarrelled among themselves, and La Tour's fort being totally destroyed.
At the time of his father's death Samuel was in Virginia, where he remained for a year. Winthrop records his return on August 3rd, 1636—"Samuel Maverick, who had been in Virginia near twelve months, now returned with two pinnaces, and brought some 14 heiffers, and about 80 goats." He also brought "ten niggers" some of the first negroes imported into New England, where Samuel Maverick was one of the earliest employers of slave labour. One of the two pinnaces was a vessel of about 40 tons built of cedar wood at the Barbadoes. Owing to the death of the owner, it was sold cheaply in Virginia, and there bought by Samuel, who had only takne one pinnace from Boston and evidently required a second vesel for all the merchandize he brought home.
In spite of his good qualities Samuel's religious opinions did not satisfy the Puritans of New England. The Mavericks were loyal to the English crown, and their religious tenants inclined to be episcopalian. It is impossible to discover, either from Neale's History of the Puritans, or Winthrop's Journal, what was required by the non-conformist founders of Massachusetts. Their government became a sort of theocracy, and it is well known that so far from having "freedom of conscience" the settlers endured sharp persecution unless they shared the narrow opinions of their superiors.
The Editor of Winthrop's Journal, J. K. Hosmer, notes:—"This estimable man Samuel Maverick was looked upon askance in the community, where, though recognised as a man of substance and worth, he was given no public place."
Noddles Island appears to have been entailed on his heir, Nathaniel Maverick, who in 1649 occurs as "Nathaniel Maverick of New England, Gentleman," when "with the consent of his father and by the advice of his friends," he sold to "Captain Briggs of ye Barbadoes one Island known as Noddles Island." For this Captain Briggs paid with 40,000lbs of white sugar "to be lodged in some convenient place."
So frequently was Samuel embroiled with the Governors of the settlement, that he eventually decided to return to England and lay before the Government there the case of those who, like himself, did not consider they were fairly treated.
England was still too much engrossed in home difficulties to take great interest in Colonial grievances. Samuel displayed a dogged persistance which extended over several years. His "Brief description of New England" was probably then written, for it bears internal evidence of being about the date of 1660. This printed pamphlet can be found in the British Museum Library. The original MSS. of his letters then written are at the Bodleian, Oxford; many of them are printed in the New Eng. Hist. & Gen. Reg.
Charles the Second was restored and the royal government re-established, and finally Maverick's pertinacity met with its reward. He returned to Massachusetts bearing instructions in which he was included with other Commissioners "To visit our Colony of Massachusetts in our Plantacion of New England"—dated April 23, 1664.
Under the same date were also instructions "For the visitacion of our Colony of Connecticot."
The Commissioners were to settle the affairs of New England, and reduce the Dutch in New Netherland. Samuel and his fellow Commissioners failed in their first undertaking, the Puritan Fathers of New England had no intention of submitting to any management but their own. Their dealings with the Dutch were far more successful, and, though they scarcely realised it at the time, far more important. England was then, most unwisely, at war with Holland, but this furnished an excuse for demanding the evacuation of the New Netherlands, and thus that part of the New World passed into the possession of the English settlers, and became the important State of New York.
Never could Samuel Maverick then have foreseen that he was planting the English Tongue and English People where they would, after three hundred years, have their share in the international destinies of the whole civilized world.
It has been said of Sir Walter Ralegh "that it was his undying glory to have made the great continent of North America an English speaking country, labouring in full faith and confidence that the great continent was by God's providence reserved for England." But:—
And other men, many of them, like Ralegh, west-countrymen, built on the foundations Ralegh had laid.
Samuel Maverick, in reward for his loyalty and exertions, was given "a house on the Broad Way," which was granted to him in October, 1669. The site has been identified as corresponding with the present No. 50 Broadway, New York City.
He lived another ten years, or more. His name appears on a deed dated 1676. Probably he died in New York, but the actual place of his death has not yet been ascertained nor his will discovered.
Both his sons predeceased him, Samuel, the second, at Boston in 1663, leaving two infant daughters. Nathaniel, the elder, who has already been mentioned, died at Barbadoes in 1673, leaving a son Nathaniel, and other children, from whom are descended the Mavericks of Texas.
Although her brother had heirs, Samuel's daughter Mary, described herself in 1687 as "wife of Francis Hooke (her second husband) and heiress of Samuel Maverick, deceased."
Beatrix Cresswell
In 1630 the Revd. John Maverick quitted the West of England, and adventured across the ocean to become one of the earliest founders of Massachusetts.
The Mavericks were of that yeoman stock which has always been the back-bone of England; those "plain Folk" of whom it has been said:—
"Though kings may boast and knights cavort
We broke the spears at Agincourt,
Never a field was starkly won
But ours the dead that faced the sun."
The name occurs in various forms as Mavericke, Mauerricke, Madericke, Mathericke, and Maverick. The last spelling, now adopted by the family, has been used throughout these pages except where it otherwise occurs in extracts or quotations.
Whence the name is derived can be merely a matter of conjecture. It has been suggested that it is a form of Maurice. No connection is, however, traceable between the Morrices of the West Country and the Mavericks.
Whatever may be its source the name, or term, of Maverick has found a permanent place in the English language, and that in a somewhat remarkable manner.
About the year 1840 Samuel Maverick, a descendant of the Mavericks of Devon and Massachusetts, then settled on a ranch in Texas, was notorious among his neighbours for not branding his cattle. A calf or yearling found without a brand was sure to be Maverick's, and such cattle are known as "mavericks" at the present day. By a further development a masterless man was called a maverick. The word has found its way into literature; Rudyard Kipling tells the story of "The Mutiny of the Mavericks," that Irish regiment "of loyal musketeers, commonly known as the Mavericks, because they were masterless and unbranded cattle." [See "Life's Handicap."]
During the sixteenth century the family was established in East Devon, but it is very possible that they drifted up from the more western parts of the county. There are traditions of a Maverick having got into trouble at Tavistock during the 14th or 15th century, when somebody's head got broken; not at all an unlikely incident, but no documentary evidence exists to prove it, and the name does not occur in any known records of the town.
Whatever may have been the circumstances which took them there, the Mavericks were settled early in the 16th century at Awliscombe, a village in East Devon, two or three miles from the old market town of Honiton.
The name of the village occurs as Aulescombe, Olescombe, Ewelscombe, with other variants. It lies in a valley north west of Honiton, on the other side of the river Otter, here crossed by a bridge at the end of the town.
Awliscombe still remains a typical English village, with clusters of low cottages, many of them thatched, and each fronted with a gay garden. The ancient grey church dominates them from a slight rise, so that the tower is the first point visible on approaching the village.
In pre-reformation times part of the manor, and the advowson of the church, belonged to Dunkeswell Abbey, situated not far off. These at the dissolution of the monasteries were granted to the Russells, Earls of Bedford. Another part of the manor was given the 15th century to the Mayor and Chamber of Exeter as the endowment of a charitable bequest made by Thomas Calwodley of the City of Exeter.
ROBERT MAVERICK of Awliscombe is the first member of the family of whom there are any definite records. [His parents were Alexander Maverick, born 27 September 1497, Awliscombe, Devonshire, and Judith Combe, born c1500, Awliscombe; married 1520, Awliscombe.] He was born in the early 16th century [14 February 1523], most likely in pre-reformation times; the entry of his burial on November 14, 1573, in the Parish Register at Awliscombe describes him as "Robert Maierwick clerk."
At that period a "clerk in orders" did not necessarily imply Holy Orders. There were minor orders which a man could take without the priestly vow of celibacy. Such minor orders entitled him to be styled a clerk in orders, and he could "plead his clergy" or clerkship, as an exemption from capital punishment, if he fell into the clutches of the law.
The name of Maverick does not occur among the tenants of Awliscombe on the property which belonged to the Mayor and Chamber of Exeter. Robert may have held some position under the Abbot and Convent of Dunkeswell for the management of their lands in the parish.
He never was Vicar of Awliscombe. In 1554 the benefice was vacant, and Robert Slade was admitted Vicar on the presentation of John Russell, Earl of Bedford. The next incumbent, whose name is given without date of institution, was Richard Bacon, on whose resignation Peter Maverick, Robert's eldest son was instituted in 1580.
The Parish Register of Awliscombe does not begin until 1559, thus no entry of the marriage of Robert nor the baptisms of his elder children are on record. These were Peter the eldest son, John, Edward, and Alice. Alexander Maverick, whose name occurs later in the register, was perhaps another son. The actual name of the family first occurs in 1560 when Radford Maverick, probably the fifth son and sixth child was baptised.
RADFORD MAVERICK. From the biographers point of view Radford, the fourth, or fifth son of Robert Maverick is one of the most important members of the family. Although not a direct ancestor of the Mavericks of Massachusetts their history owes much to his personality.
His baptism at Awliscombe is the first mention of the Mavericks in parish registers:—
1560, June 5. Radford Mauericke the son of Robert Mauericke baptized.
Radford, as already mentioned, was a sixth child, with four or five brothers his seniors.
There is nothing to show how Radford acquired his Christian name, no family of Radfords resided in the neighbourhood, but there were other "Radfords" among the Honiton children. There must have been a Radford of local importance who was godfather to them all. Radford Maverick himself had a godson Radford, the son of his brother John.
The family prosperity seems to have increased as the young Radford Maverick grew up. Neither his father nor his elder brother had been at College, but after Robert Maverick's death in 1573 (Radford being then aged thirteen), he matriculated at Exeter College, Oxford, November 17th, 1581, when he was twenty years of age [Foster's Alumni Oxonienses]. He left College without a degree, and in 1583 took Holy Orders, being ordained by John Woolton, Bishop of Exeter, in the private chapel at the Bishop's Palace, receiving deacon's orders on June 1st, and was ordained priest on the 15th of the same month.
For three years there is no record of his career. Then he was instituted rector of Trusham, June 12th, 1586, on the presentation of Thomas Southcote.
The friendship with the Southcotes was close and intimate; Dowsabelle, or Dulcibella Southcote was his god-daughter. In his will he left her 10s. "to be put into a gold ring" and in the codicil he specially desired that this legacy should be paid even if other bequests were set aside for lack of money to settle them.
An elder sister, Mary Southcote, had married Thomas Ridgeway, bringing Radford Maverick into friendly relations with the Ridgeways of Torre-Mohun, better known nowadays as Torre and Torquay.
The church and village of Trusham stand on a lofty eminence above the beautiful valley of the Teign, between Exeter and Chudléigh. The old rectory still exists. Some years ago it had degenerated into two cottages, but has recently been restored to its dignity as a dwelling house, and retains evidence of its antiquity. The church preserves some Norman features of the 11th century. Its most recent addition has been a carved oak screen set across the tower arch. On this are placed the names of the rectors of Trusham from 1260 to the present day, and among them appears Radford Maverick who was rector from 1586 to 1616.
After being rector of Trusham for ten years Radford was presented to the vicarage of Ilsington by Thomas Ford of Bagtor and Henry his son, who were patrons for that turn [pro hac vice] he was instituted July 1st, 1597.
The large parish of Ilsington covers an extent of 25 square miles. The old granite church, dedicated to St. Michael, displays the fine 15th century characteristics prevalent on the borders of Dartmoor.
The most famous feature of the place, Haytor Rock, dominates the moor above the village, a land mark for miles round every part of the county. This magnificent granite rock is perhaps the finest of those Tors which are the distinguishing character of the great moorland centre of Devon. Nowadays Haytor is one of the most popular playgrounds for holiday makers; in Radford Maverick's time it was like the rest of the moor worked for tin streaming. Radford evidently did a little mining speculation on his own account. He left in his will "to Mr. Warren, Vicar of Ilsington, my freeholde in a tynne work called the Sanctuary, and his successors for ever." The name of Sanctuary suggests that the "tynne work" may have been adjacent to the glebe. The present Vicar of Ilsington still has the glebe land known as Sanctuary, but no tin mine. The tin work must have been Radford's freehold as he would not have left the church lands to his successor.
He held these two livings of Trusham and Ilsington together until 1616, when he resigned Trusham, his successor being instituted August 17th that same year.
The date is significant for on September 15th, 1616, he was in London and preached at Paul's Cross a sermon on "The Practice of Repentance."
It is worth while briefly to consider some points in Radford Maverick's sermon, as throwing light on the religious opinions of the family, indicating the Puritanical tendencies which eventually induced his nephew John Maverick, to seek for freedom of conscience in the New World.
The sermon is strongly impregnated with the doctrine of pre-destination. The preacher exemplifies the preservation for Divine purposes not only of Scripture characters, but also Constantine the Great Luther, Queen Elizabeth spared through the reign of her sister Mary, and James the First escaping Gunpowder Plot. He wrote:
No man cometh into the world by chance, but for some end and purpose, God doth sett every one his task, alloting some special duty to every one of his servants, whereunto he ought specially to attend.
The Preacher shewed his erudition by quoting St. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas in the original Latin. Here and there he introduced a Hebrew word, and a little Greek. As may be expected there are several allusions to "our enemies the papists."
Radford Maverick remained in "his poor house at Ilsington," the vicarage there, until 1621, when he resigned the living and came to Exeter. His name occurs as "Master Radford Maverick" as minister or curate of All Hallows, Goldsmith Street, Exeter, in 1622. William Sheers was then rector.
Radford must have been residing in Exeter for some little time before he resigned Ilsington; for his wife pre-deceased him and was buried in St. Mary Major's church there. In his will he describes himself as "minister and preacher in the cittie of Exeter." No record of his marriage, or of his wife's maiden name has been found; she probably was Audrey Rackley.
PETER MAVERICK. The direct ancestor of the Mavericks of Massachusetts was the eldest son of Robert Maverick, probably born at Awliscombe before the commencement of the earliest existing parish register of 1559. If, as is most likely, he was about two and twenty when he took Holy Orders, he would have been born about 1550.
The earliest record that we have of him is his ordination by Bishop Woolton in the private chapel of the Bishop's Palace at Exeter, where he was ordained deacon on January 15th, 1573-4, and priest on the 16th of March following.
In the Bishop's register his name occurs as "Petrus Bull als Maverick." [His mother was Willemotte Bull, born 26 May 1526, Awliscombe, married 1548, Awliscombe.]
He married at Awliscombe on November 7, 1577, the register recording that on this day the marriage of Peter Maverick Clerk and Dorothie Tucke [born 1559].
The Tuckes appear to have been amongst the most important parishioners of Awliscombe. They were tenants of that part of the parish which belonged to the Mayor and Chamber of Exeter.
From the Bailiffs' accounts, preserved in Exeter Guildhall, we find that in 1588 Robert Tucke paid rent for the Barton of Awliscombe. In 1600 John Tucke is recorded as holding one tenement there "being the capitull house." This Barton, or Capitull House, would have been the manor house. Dorothie Tucke was most likely the daughter of Robert Tucke, her father's name is not given in the register. She had a sister married to "one Jeffery Granow." This marriage is not in the Awliscombe register, but, as we shall presently see, Granow proved an unpleasant thorn in Peter Maverick's side.
As he was at the time of his marriage a clerk in holy orders, Peter may then have been serving as curate at Awliscombe. The vicar was Richard Bacon.
Ecclesiastical affairs were then in a very fluctuating condition. The older men, ordained in pre-reformation times, were dying out. Many of them had adjusted their consciences to new opinions, and retained their livings through all changes of ceremonial. Parishes like Awliscombe, which had belonged to the monasteries were now in lay patronage. The patrons frequently regarded the advowson as property which could be "farmed out"; or temporarily handed over for a money payment to some individual who had a relation or protege he wished to patronize. It was often difficult to find "fit persons to serve in the sacred ministry of the church" (as the Book of Common Prayer words it), sometimes the individual was so unfit that he was speedily deprived, and the Crown, in the person of Queen Elizabeth, intervened and presented someone else.
In 1580 Richard Bacon resigned the living of Awliscombe, and Peter Maverick als Bull was instituted on November 3rd of that year on the presentation of John Cole, clerk, patron "for this turn, by reason of an assignment made to him to John Woolton, Bishop of Exeter, who had a grant of the advowson from Francis, Earl of Bedford true patron of the living." This is a typical example of how ecclesiastical affairs were then managed. The Earls of Bedford, to whom the property belonging to Dunkeswell Abbey had been given, granted the advowson of Awliscombe to the Bishop of Exeter. He, in his turn, assigned the patronage of the vacant benefice to John Cole, who for some reason wished to present Peter Maverick to the living.
The pretty rural village of Awliscombe has already been described. A few notes on the church where Peter Maverick ministered from 1550 to 1616 may not be amiss. Thirteen vicars had preceded him; the first known being Lawrence de Sanford admitted in 1287, "on the presentation of the Abbot and convent of Dunkeswell."
In common with other Devonshire churches few architectural features remain that are older than the 14th or 15th century.
Towards the end of the 15th or early in the 16th century the building received considerable additions. Thomas Chard, last Abbot of Ford, one of the most prominent ecclesiastics in Devon of his time, was born at Awliscombe, and wished to erect some memorial that would commemorate him in his native parish. With the consent, doubtless readily granted of the Abbot of Dunkeswell, he built, or re-decorated, the south transept adding near it a magnificent porch, rendering the church of St. Michael, Awliscombe, one of the finest churches in East Devon. Inside it has retained a good stone screen. In the north-east window some ancient glass is preserved where the figures of St. Helena, St. Katharine, St. Mary Magdalene, and St. Barbara may be recognized.
In the ancient font, a fine example of 15th century perpendicular style, John the eldest child of Peter Maverick, was baptized October 28th, 1578. The surviving children were John, Nathaniel and Elizabeth.
What the original cause of the dispute may have been is difficult to ascertain; it was probably a question of money, or a debt; but about 1586 Jeffery Granow (or Granowe) was detained in the Sheriffs ward of Devon "at the suit of one Maverick, his brother-in-law."
It is worth noting that at this period, except for debtors or political offenders, imprisonment was not a punishment, but merely a detention of the individual until he could be brought before the Justices for trial; the trial being often indefinitely postponed in spite of every effort made by the prisoner to obtain a hearing. Prison life at that time has been described as "nasty, brutish, and short," the last because the incarcerated wretch too often obtained "gaol delivery" by the hand of death before his case was tried. The Governor of the Gaol paid a sum of money to the Crown for his office, and maintained the prison as an expensive boarding house. The well-to-do could procure fire, light, bedding and food at an extortionate rate, every official from the Governor to the gaolers demanding exhorbitant fees.
The wards, or prisons, of Devon and Exeter were at that time notorious for their vile conditions, and it is not surprising that Granow availed himself of every possible means of release. Wherefore he:—"falsely accused Peter Maverick preacher of diverse fowle and lewd matters" which resulted in the Justices "sending for the said Granow out of the said ward," for examination. The affair dragged on till 1590-1591, Granow contriving that his information should reach Queen Elizabeth's Privy Council. Letters were then directed to "certaine Justices of the Peace in the County of Devon, who again examined the matter" and made report on the same and of their opinions of the good disposition of Mavericke, a Learned Preacher, and of the evell life and conversation of Granowe."
Further examinations followed before Gervase Babington, then Bishop of Exeter, but later mentioned in the report of the Privy Council as "now Bishop of Worcester." Babington was Bishop of Exeter 1595-1597, the dates shewing how this litigation dragged on. The Mayor of Exeter also took part in the enquiries, and declared "he could find no credit in the accusation and the accused was greatly wronged."
An order was then given for the discharge of Maverick; he seems to have been obliged to attend personally before the Privy Council and to have been detained in some sort of custody during the enquiry.
Granow, however, made another effort, "being still a prisoner in Exeter." He was sent before the Lord Chief Justice, "but was able to say nothing, whereupon his Lordship would have sent him back again, but by entreaty he was committed to the King's Bench. Any place of detention was better than Exeter.
The report concludes:—"Emongst the examinations taken there divers matters concerning the lewd behaviour of Granow, and the grounds of this mallice, Mavericke and he having married twoe sisters."
Apparently the examiners regarded the family connection as acountable for anything.
The final report is endorsed "concerning Jeffery Granow, 1597." So this quarrel, with the legal enquiries arising out of it, lasted ten years.
From the conditions of ecclesiastical affairs at that period it is possible that Granow's accusations dealt with the religious opinions and practises of Maverick. "Fowle and lewd matters" do not sound to modern ears like complaints of false doctrines, or neglect of religious ceremonials. In the 17th century, however, these were regarded as crimes of the "fowlest" character and the term lewd is applied to unlawfulness in clerical matters (Johnson gives lewd as wicked, lustful, unclerical.)
The probability that the accusations were of this character is strengthened by the examination before the Bishop, and the circumstance that Peter Maverick had to attend personally to answer for his conduct before the Privy Council.
In his charge before the Bishop and Mayor in 1591 Granow was associated with Andrew Holmer, "a verie lewd person." The reports of these bygone enquiries are very wordy and full of repetitions, yet so vague that it is difficult to determine what really passed between accuser and accused, or the actual doings of the legal courts. Nevertheless they are of value in throwing light on family history.
Andrew Holmer, for instance, "exhibited divers complaints against Peter Masvericke, Vicar of Olescombe." The identification of the name as Awliscombe is written on the document in a later hand, affording a clue for tracing the earliest records of the family. It is also gratifying to read the opinions of those important people the Mayor and Bishop of Exeter, who asserted that Peter Maverick was a man well accounted for in his profession and honest conversation.
From the documentary evidence at our disposal Peter seems to have been of a disputatious disposition, and prone to law-suits. This may have rendered him unpopular, however grateful the biographer may be for the information afforded in the history of the Mavericks.
He appears in 1612 as plaintiff in a suit against William Champeneys of Yarnscombe in North Devon, concerning the lease of a messuage and land in Awliscombe. These Mr. Champeney in 1609 was willing to lease as was then the custom, to Mr. Maverick for 99 years on three lives, Maverick undertaking to pay £40 as earnest money on the lease.
After this was paid William Champeneys demanded a larger sum, "having intelligence that more money might be gotten for the said messuage."
The dispute is not particularly interesting but the terms of the lease are of the greatest importance in the history of the family.
Leases were then, and for long afterwards granted on "lives." That is to say three individuals, seldom more, rarely fewer, were named during whose lifetime the property was to be held by the lessee and his successors. Our ancestors were stay-at-home folk; a man took it for granted that he, his sons, and grandsons would be willing to reside on the lease-hold property for the entire period of 99 years, while the man who thus leased the estate did not really alienate it from his family possessions by an actual sale. If one of the lives fell in by decease, it was usually replaced by another but there was always an endeavour, when the lease was taken out to insert the names of children, or very young people, who were likely to survive, if not 99 years, at least for a considerable part of them, and who would later on renew the agreement with other young lives to succeed them. Estates in England have sometimes been held by the same families for extensive periods through this custom of lease on lives.
Peter Maverick named as the three lives on his lease his second son Nathaniel, not then thirty years old, and his two grandsons Samuel and Elias, particularly described as "two of the sons of John Maverick, son, of the said Peter."
John Maverick had been married at Ilsington in 1600, when his uncle Radford was vicar, so these two boys, who had an elder brother, could not have been more than ten years old when their names were put on the lease.
In 1601 Peter Maverick drew up a return of the "Vicarage of Awliscombe," detailing the name of the patron, and the extent of the glebe lands. He mentions that there was a "house and curtilages (courtyards), two herb gardens, and little orchards," and adds that when he came there he found "no implements in the house but the screens," these being the removable partitions that divided one room from another.
A new Terrier, or parochial record, was written by him in 1613 in which he mentions that he had built a new vicarage at his "own proper costs and charges."
This old vicarage stood in the hollow below the church, particulars of the house are given in a later Terrier of 1728.
"The vicarage house is built of mud with earthen walls covered with thatch; containing four chambers kitchen, parlour and hall, and four small ground rooms floored with earth but not ceiled, consisting of two bays of building, built with mud walls and covered with thatch. The barn and stable adjoining consist of about two bays of building of mud walls covered with thatch."
This vicarage was surrounded by about half an acre of walled garden, with an orchard bounded by a hedge. The site of the old house can be traced at the bottom of the present garden. Only the well remains, deprived of all picturesquesness by being supplied with a modern pump.
Here Peter Maverick would have passed his days in the busy life of the country clergyman of the 17th century. Interested in farming his glebe, enjoying his garden, and sharing in the village pastimes, the Revel, Christmas games, and Harvest Home. At that period the parish priest was the link in local government that united church and state; friend alike to squire and cottager, to whom all appealed for the settlement of disputes or redress of grievances, and the parish church was the centre not only of the spiritual, but the parochial life of the little commmunity.
Home life in the new vicarage would have been very simple. Baking, brewing, and all domestic work was done at home, and Mrs. Maverick was, we may be sure, fully occupied in providing comfort for the family, besides little luxuries distributed to the sick and poor of the parish. Those gardens and orchards so carefully detailed in the Terriers, helped to render the family self supporting. Charis were a luxury for old people, young folk sat on stools, or benches. The tables were boards set on tressells, removable when not required. Books were few. Among the most valuable household goods were the brass pans and crocks, so frequently mentioned in wills of that time.
On February 3rd, 1616, John Hassarde was instituted into the vicarage of Awliscombe, the benefice being void "per necem Petri Mavericke."
This ominous term "per necem" "by violent death" [Nex-necem, a "violent death" as distinct from natural mortality "per mortem" the term that usually occurs in the Registers of the Bishops of Exeter. It has been suggested that the scrivener on this occasion used an unusual term from mere pedantry, but the word is rare and seems to have been deliberately written.] shadows the close of Peter Maverick's life with mystery. So far nothing has come to light to reveal what occasioned the violent death of this Vicar whose Bishop declared that he was of virtuous life and honest conversation [behaviour]. No record of his death occurs in the parish register of Awliscombe.
Had he, in spite of the Bishop's commendation, fallen under the harshness of the ecclesiastical laws, as did so many of the Puritan clergy of the time, the circumstance would have been fully recorded among the many accounts of the 17th century persecutions of the non-conformists.
Did the exasperated Granow contrive the violent death of his brother-in-law?
Peter Maverick's name is conspicuously missing from the will of Radford Maverick. He left legacies to "John, son of my eldest brother" but does not mention that brother's name, though there were two, if not three brothers his seniors, sons of Robert Maverick. Peter left no will, for that ommission the circumstances of his death would be accountable. Wills were then usually made during the last few months of the testator's life, if not on his death-bed. A sudden violent death left a man intestate.
Nor does there seem to have been any grant for an administration of his goods applied for by his heirs.
Only in the Register of Bishop Valentine Cary, by the use of an unusual Latin term, is there any hint given how the honest life and conversation of Peter Maverick met with its tragic end.
NATHANIEL MAVERICK. Before proceeding to record the more important members of the family, it will be worth while to set down such brief facts as are known about Nathaniel, the second son of Peter Maverick, whose baptism is entered in the parish registers of Awliscombe on June 24, 1583, "Nathaniel, son of Peter Maverick clearke."
His was the first of the three lives set upon the lease of land at Awliscombe between William Champeneys and Peter Maverick. He was then, in 1609, aged 23. We next meet with him in his 39th year when he was mentioned in Radford Maverick's will [1622] in which he left "to my cosen Nathaniel Maverick my eldest brother's son tenn shillings to be put into a gold ring."
Nathaniel appears to have followed the legal profession, and left Devon for London, where eventually he had a good appointment as head clerk to the town clerk of the City of London.
In the spring of 1630, John, Nathaniel's elder brother, had sailed for New England. Doubtless Nathaniel felt no inclination to resign his excellent appointment in London for precarious adventures across the ocean. It was however destined that neither through the church nor the law should the Mavericks acquire distinction in the land of their birth.
He must have impressed some kindly recollections on the memory of his nephew, Samuel Maverick of Massachusetts, for he named his eldest son, born about 1629, or 1630, Nathaniel. This Nathaniel went to the Barbadoes, where he died in 1670. His father Samuel was still living, and is mentioned in his will. He left three sons, minors, one of these was also Nathaniel, later recorded as Nathaniel Maverick of St. Michael's Parish, Barbadoes. He died in 1700, leaving a young son, another Nathaniel. The will of yet another Nathaniel Maverick of St. Peter's parish is dated 1710. Thus did the Mavericks of the western continent preserve the name of their distant kinsman Nathaniel Mavericke of [St. Lawrence] Old Jewry, London, born in 1583 at Awliscombe, Devon.
JOHN MAVERICK. When, on October 28th, 1578, Peter Maverick baptized his first-born child, a son, in the fine old 15th century font at Awliscombe, and named him John, he must have felt some of those aspirations and hopes concerning the boy's future which would occur to any serious minded parent at such a time.
The Mavericks were prosperous. The Tuckes, John's grandparents, were amongst some of the most important people in the parish of Awliscombe. Hopes of further social advancement for his son must have passed through Peter's thoughts if he ventured to look forward.
But never we may feel sure, when he dedicated that little swaddled infant, in the old words of the Second Prayer Book of Edward the Sixth, to be "Christ's faythfull souldier and seruant unto his lyves end," did he think of that life attaining its ripe fullness in the New World, not long discovered by West Country adventurers; vaguely described in Devon's seaports by weather-beaten mariners, whose tales were only half credited, or told as marvels on winter evenings round the fire on the open hearth.
Peter Maverick had no University degree. That omission was rectified in the education of his son. There are indications that the Mavericks were in better circumstances after the death of Robert Maverick in 1573. Peter married, and married well, in 1577. Radford matriculated at Exeter College, Oxford, in 1581. He was Rector of Trusham in 1586, and may have given some assistance to his nephew when John followed his uncle's footsteps to the same College in 1595. [Mavericke, John, of Devon, cler., fil. Exeter College, Matriculated 24 Oct., 1595, aged 18; B.A. 8 July, 1599; M.A. 7 July, 1603, then in orders. Rector of Beaworthy, Devon, 1615.—Foster's Alumni Oxonienses.] Two years later he took Holy Orders, being ordained in the private chapel of the Bishop's Palace in Exeter by Bishop Babington, receiving deacon's and priest's orders on the same day, July 29, 1597. He is entered in the Bishop's register as a "literate" as he did not take his degree until 1599. In 1599 he took his B.A. and his Masters degree in 1603, when he is recorded as being then in orders.
Not only was he an ordained minister, but he was also a married man. On October 28th, 1600 (the anniversary of his baptism twenty years previously), he was married at Ilsington to Mary Gye of that parish. It may be inferred that Radford Maverick performed the ceremony. The marriage is entered in the parish registers of Ilsington, and it is there, or at Trusham, that we should have expected to find entries of the baptism of his sons.
John was probably serving as his uncle's curate, having taken orders soon after his matriculation on purpose to assist him; for nothing is recorded of his clerical work until 1615, when on the death of John Norreys he was instituted to the rectory of Beaworthy in North Devon, on the presentation of Arthur Arscott of Ashwater.
Radford resigned Trusham in 1616, most likely he found two parishes, some distance apart, too much for ministration without his nephew's help.
Neither at Ilsington, nor at Trusham is there any entry in the parish register of the baptism of John Maverick's sons. At Ilsington the name of Maverick only occurs in the one record of John's marriage; at Trusham it does not occur at all. It is just between the years 1601-1609, that we should expect to find it.
A conjectural explanation can be given to account for the omission of their baptism in the registers. It is only offered as a plausible suggestion, liable to be contradicted by the discovery of the entries elsewhere. John may have baptized his sons privately at home, and never completed the office by the ceremony of receiving the children into Church, as appointed in the Prayer Book service. This latter part of the rite of baptism entailed using the sign of the Cross. The church insisted on it, the Puritans objected, it was Popish, superstitious, superfluous, and was one of the fiercest points of controversy between the Bishops and the Non-conformists.
Thus it would appear that John Maverick had conscientious objections—to use a modern formula. Also John did not want to get into difficulties over ritual at a period when conscientious objectors were apt to be treated with short shrift and a long rope; so he christened his babies at home, and omitted, possibly through forgetfulness, to enter their names in the parish register. At that period the names of those baptized, married or buried were jotted down on loose bits of paper, and later on entered into the registers, when the parson, or parish clerk had leisure to do it, with the result that omissions were not infrequent.
Beaworthy where John Maverick was instituted Rector, August 30th, 1615, lies on the north west of Devon, a little distance from the borders of Dartmoor. It is remote and little known at the present day, its conditions in the early years of the 17th century are past imagining. As a residence for a man of scholarly tastes, such as John Maverick seems to have possessed, it must have been exile indeed. All that can be said is that a minister who resided there fourteen years would have been able to adapt himself far more easily to life in the recently founded settlements of New England, than many of his clerical brethren.
The church is very small, and, though it exhibits a few features of Norman work, it is neither dignified nor interesting. The dedication is to St. Alban, which is rather remarkable, for there is little to associate the proto-martyr of England with Devon. The one local event was an annual fair on July 25th, of which the principal feature was a race of old women for a greased pig. This fair, with or without the pig, survived until recent years; early in the 17th century, when John Maverick was rector, we may feel sure it was celebrated with all the merriment characteristic of the good old times.
John Maverick's life is so definitely divided into two parts, that it is worth while to pause here, and briefly explain the ecclesiastical conditions of the period, which drove him, and so many more of the clergy out of the land of their birth to the new world across the sea.
All through the reign of Elizabeth there had been a party in the reformed church, who did not consider that church sufficiently reformed. They demanded a more complete rejection of rites and ceremonies, a "purifying" as they expressed it, from certain doctrines, superstitions, ceremonials, and formal expressions of reverence. It is difficult to see, had their demands been complied with, what would have been left. The Elizabethan bishops made a firm stand. Possibly they over-did their firmness, for drastic pains and penalties, in the form of fines, excommunication (then a really weighty punishment) and imprisonments, were imposed upon these "Puritans" nor were spies and informers lacking who reported the behaviour of their ministers especially if the minister happened to be unpopular in his parish.
In 1603 Whitgift, Archbishop of Canterbury, drew up a number of canons, or rules for the church, and required them to be read aloud in every church in the kingdom, the clergy also signing assent to them. Many ministers throughout the country refused to sign. The number of these "dissenters" in Devon and Cornwall was fifty-one. Not a large percentage in the extensive Diocese of Exeter, where Devon alone had some five hundred parishes. But in 1607 the ministers of the Exeter Diocese further emphasized their position by publishing a treatise defending their opinions, and concluding with the statement that:—"the weight of episcopal power may oppress us, but cannot convince us."
By this time both Queen Elizabeth and Archbishop Whitgift had died. Ecclesiastical matters had been allowed to drift in the last years of the old Queen. James the First now ascended the throne, Bancroft was Archbishop, and they laid heavy hands on all who would not conform to their regulations. At a conference held at Hampton Court James declared: "I will make them conform or I will harry them out of the land." Little did he realize the effect of this declaration on the history of the whole modern world.
The first flights were made to Holland, the old refuge of those who suffered religious persecution in England; but Holland soon discovered that friendship with King James was not compatible with sheltering his rebellious subjects. Political considerations had the mastery; without being exactly refused protection the Puritans were no longer welcomed; they saw they must look elsewhere for a refuge, and they turned their eyes towards the New World.
They were checked even in this direction. Several families went to Virginia, but when it was discovered that many more were preparing to embark, so far from "harrying them out of the country" they were forbidden to leave without special license from the King.
Persecution is a course that cuts its own throat. The Puritans were determined to migrate, so they provided themselves with what ultimately proved the most magnificent and powerful credentials that ever founded a People. They royal licenses for which the ever impoverished James was quite willing to be paid, were those Charters for Permission to Trade, which, by what has been termed a daring breach of the law, were treated by those to whom they were issued as grants for founding the political self governing Settlement of Massachusetts.
English affairs strengthened their powers, and assisted their independence. In the earlier years of their enterprise they looked back to England for help, depending a great deal on food supplies sent out to them, while, with more diffidence than might have been expected, they humbly asked for advice concerning the management of their colony, from a Government at that time incapable of managing itself, though not unwilling to try and manage other people. Finally affairs at home "did so take up the King and Council that they had neither the heart nor leisure to take up the affairs of New England." [Winthrop's Journal]
New England was all the better for it; the settlers managed their own affairs and prospered exceedingly.
It is difficult to determine how far the Mavericks were influenced by the Puritanical opinions of their contemporaries. A disctinctly calvinistic tone pervades Radford Maverick's sermon, but he managed to retain his two Devonshire livings unmolested from 1586 to 1621. It may be taken for granted that he was not among the fifty-one ministers who refused to assent to the Canons of Archbishop Whitgift.
John was rector of Beaworthy for fourteen years, at the end of which time he resigned the living on his own initiation, apparently because he wished to settle elsewhere. It is worth noting that when Radford Maverick in 1622 left:—"to my cosen John Maverick, preacher, one of Zanchees works on the nature of God in Lattyn," he does not mention him as rector of Beaworthy, though John then had the benefice. This gives the impression that John had then left Beaworthy to the ministrations of some local curate, and was preaching to more enlightened congregations in East Devon or Dorset.
The majority of the Mavericks were now settled in Honiton, a fairly numerous group of cousins, all John's connections, descendants of Robert of Awliscombe. From Honiton it is not far into Dorsetshire, and it is in Dorsetshire that we must look for the influence which led the Mavericks to New England.
The then rector of St. Peter's Church, Dorchester, was the Rev. John White, who has been described as "a masterful old Puritan." He held the living from 1606 until his death in 1648, but his place in history is connected with New England, and he is justly regarded as one of the founders of Massachusetts, though he never went there.
It has been said of Sir Walter Ralegh that he "understood that the road to England's greatness, which was more to him than all other good things, lay across the sea." The Rev. John White seems to have held the same opinion, and applied his wealth and influence to affording practical assistance to those willing to take that road.
He despatched a party from Dorsetshire in 1624. Some years later he procured the "Charter of Corporation for the Governor and Company of Massachusetts Bay in New England"; this was dated March 4, 1628-9.
We in England think of the great American Continents in connection with those daring spirits who first discovered them. Columbus, Amerigo Vespucci to whom they owe their name; Sir Francis Drake with his splendid talent for navigation; Ralegh dreaming ever of El Dorado; Sebastian Cabot, the Bristol Merchant adventurer; Henry Burrows of Northam near Bideford, the prototype of Amyas Leigh.
Yet the actual founders of these settlements, who dared not only the hazards of the voyage, but the experiences of new climate and conditions of which they were wholly ignorant, were the homely determined pastors, harried out of their country by the obstinancy of their rulers. Men who abandoned all prospects of dignity and affluence at home, faced the rigours of winters such as they had never imagined, defended themselves from some of the cruelest savages ever known, and applied the determination which had defied king and bishops, to establishing civilization and prosperity in the wild but splendid regions others had discovered. It was as if rocks descried by eagles, were used as nesting places for flocks of sea swallows:—"The opportunity of the moment lay in those happy hands which the Holy Ghost had guided, the fortunate adventurers." [Edmund Gosse: Some Diversions of a man of letters.]
The vessels came over in little convoys of six or eight, for mutual assistance and protection. They were armed for defence against Spanish warships or possible pirates. On board, besides the colonists with their wives and children, were horses, cattle, goats and sheep. A prosperous voyage took about six weeks, and it is not surprising to hear that the condition of the vessels could become very unpleasant.
No wonder they rejoiced when at last land appeared. Even John Winthrop's somewhat prosaic pen ceases for a moment from dry details to record the green islands, the flat shores with blue hills rising in the distance:—"Fair sunshine weather and so sweet a smell as did much refresh us, for there came a smell of the shore like the smell of a garden."
John Maverick formally resigned Beaworthy rectory in 1629-30. His successor was instituted on March 24th. The dates are perplexing, complicated by the year being then reckoned to begin on March 25th. March 24th would still be 1629. Whenever possible I have followed John Winthrop's Journal as being contemporary evidence. That same month of March he was chosen at Plymouth [Devon] as one of the teachers of the Puritan church, and soon afterwards he sailed for New England in the "Mary and John" whose Master was Captain Squib.
Winthrop wrote in his journal on June 17th, 1630, "Captain Squib brought out the West Country people, Mr. Ludlow, Mr. Rossitur, and Mr. Maverick, who were set down at Mattapan." These were the founders of Dorchester, Mass., named in honour of the Rev. John White, and recalling to many of the settlers the old county town of their native shire.
Armed with the new Charter, John Winthrop began establishing the settlement. As his license was nominally for a Trading Company the usual terms of the English Gilds, or Trading Companies were offered to the settlers; they had to become "Freemen of the Company" to secure permission to trade. On October 6th, 1630, among "the names of such as wish to become Freemen" are—
Mr. Samuel Mavracke.
Mr. John Mavracke.
Mr. John Maverick took the oath of Freeman, May 18th, 1631; his son Samuel did not, however, take the oath till Oct. 2nd, 1632.
An incident of John Maverick's life in Dorchester [Mass.] is recorded by Winthrop:—
"1632, March 19. Mr. Maverick, one of the ministers of Dorchester, in drying a little powder, which took fire by the heat of the fire pan, fired a small barell of two or three pounds, yet did no other harm but singed his clothes. It was in the New Meeting House, which was thatched, and the thatch only blackened a little."
The New Meeting House evidently served both for congregational worship and the minister's residence. Such explosions were not infrequent; gunpowder was a necessity, and it seems to have been made at home, and dried over the domestic hearth. Accidents often occurred. If the disaster was slight, the hand of Providence was perceived protecting the godly; if severe, the individual suffered for his sins. The Puritan settlers missed no opportunity of improving the occasion.
John Maverick was highly esteemed by all in the Colony. He is called the "godly Mr. John Maverick" by Roger Clapp, another Devonshire man, born at Salcombe Regis near Sidmouth. The Clapps came out to New England from Dorchester [Dorset] and were among the founders of Dorchester [Mass.]. It is quite possible that Roger Clapp knew the Mavericks in England; Honiton and Awliscombe being easily reached from Salcombe or Sidmouth.
In 1633 Samuel Maverick received a grand of Noddles Island [East Boston] where he built a new house. Either John Maverick went to live with his son, or was staying there at the time of his death; a record of the "decease of the Fathers of New England" includes "3 February, 1636. The Rev. John Maverick of Dorchester, died at Boston aged 60."
A tribute to him was penned by John Winthrop:—
"1636, Feb. 3. Mr. John Maverick, teacher of the church of Dorchester, died being nearly sixty years of age. He was a man of very humble spirit, and faithful in furthering the work of the Lord both in the churches and civil state."
John Maverick's widow (Mary Gye) survived her husband many years. She made her home with her son Samuel in the house he had built shortly before his father's death on Noddles Island, Boston. The locality is now known as East Boston, but there still exists "Maverick Square." In 1665 mention is made that Mr. Maverick had his mother, wife, children, and brother living with him. They then were on Rhode Island. Samuel Maverick in a letter written Oct. 9, 1668, to Sir William Morice, Secretary of State in England, says that his mother "presents her humble service."
Mrs. Maverick may have known some of Sir William Morice's family in England. His father Dr. Evan Morice was Chancellor of the Diocese of Exeter, and his mother Mary, daughter of John Castle of Ashbury, Devon. William Morice was born in Exeter in 1602, his father died in 1605, and in 1611 his mother married again, her second husband being Sir Nicholas Prideaux of Solden in the parish of Sutcombe, Devon. Ashbury is near Beaworthy, and Sutcombe, though farther off, is in the same part of the county; where William Morice passed much of his early life. He did not purchase the property at Werrington with which his name is usually associated, until 1651, but that is also in the neighbourhood of Beaworthy. His religious convictions were decidedly Puritanical, but he was one of the Devonshire gentlemen who supported General Monk in restoring Charles II to the throne, and was knighted on the king's landing in 1660, and immediately made Secretary of State. Samuel Maverick would have been a few years his junior, and the two may have known each other in boyhood.
Mrs. Maverick would have been at least 80 years of age at her death [after 9 Oct 1666].
SAMUEL MAVERICK. Among these eager settlers Samuel Maverick presents a most delightful character. Dry and meagre as are the details afforded us, we can read between the lines suggestions of romance and kindliness which endear him to the reader even after the lapse of three centuries.
It must be confessed that most of the Fathers of Massachusetts wore a grim and forbidding aspect. Samuel Maverick in strong contrast was full of geneality and friendship towards all he met.
He came out in 1624, possibly with the first contingent of Dorsetshire men, despatched by the Rev. John White of Dorchester. Arriving at Massachusetts he settled at Winissimet on the Mystic River.
How lovely must that land of broad waters and forest primeval have appeared when seen by the first settlers.
The Mystic river really bears an Indian name; Winthrop sometimes spells it Mistick, or Mistich; but when first seen flowing from regions unknown, the designation must have sounded singularly appropriate, and has happily been retained to the present day. Winissimet has exchanged its old name for Chelsea, which is a loss.
"Here it was that Samuel Maverick:—
". . . broke the land and sowed the crop,
Build the barns and strung the fences in the little border station
Tucked away below the foot hills where the trails run out and stop."
He had a neighbour David Thompson, also a west-countryman, sent out about 1623 by Sir Ferdinando Gorges from Plymouth, Devon. Thomposon had his wife with him; the entry of their marriage is still to be seen in the parish registers of St. Andrew's Church, Plymouth [Devon].
"1613, July 13, David Thompson and Amyes Colles were married."
Together Samuel Maverick and David Thompson built a fort as a defence against the Indians. It was later described as:—"a house with a pillizado [palisade] and flankers, and gunnes both above and below in them." It was standing in 1660, "the antientist house in the Massachusetts Government."
Here Samuel practised "large hearted hospitality" and shewed special kindness in welcoming all new arrivals as soon as they landed. John Winthrop mentions that when he and his companions reached New England in 1630 "we went to Mattachusetts to find a place for our sitting down [settling]. Wee went up the Mistick river about six miles and lay at Mr. Maverick's and returned home on saturday."
Winthrop's arrival must have been especially welcome to Samuel Maverick, for his father and mother came over at the same time.
About 1634 Samuel had the grant of Noddles Island, where he built another house. John Josselyn, who came in 1638, writes:—"July 10th I went ashore to Noddles Island to Mr. Samuel Maverick, the only hospitable man in all the country, giving entertainment to all comers gratis." He was again Samuel's guest the following year.
Josselyn wrote an account of "Two voyages to New England," printed in 1674, and records the arrival of Winthrop with the other settlers, among whom he mentions "Mr. Maverick the father of Mr. Samuel Maverick."
David Thompson died about 1628, and in course of time his widow married her husband's friend Samuel Maverick. She was considerably his senior, as she married her first husband in 1613, and Samuel was born about 1602, possibly later. He described himself as "aged 63 or thereabouts" in 1665. Where or when his marriage with Amyes (or Amias) Thompson took place is not known. David Thompson left a son John, and perhaps other children. Amias wrote in 1635 to Mr. Trelawney, Merchant, Plymouth, Devon, mentioning her "fatherless children." As she wrote from Noddles Island she most likely had then bestowed a step-father on them in the person of Samuel Maverick.
Her son, John Thompson, in 1643 assigned a bill to "my father Samuel Maverick." His mother Amias was living in 1672. By her Samuel had three children, Nathaniel, Samuel, and Mary.
Samuel did not limit his kindness to his own people. In 1633, Small-pox, "the white man's scourge" attacked the native Indians. The wild men were much impressed to find that though their own people forsook them, the English came daily and attended to their needs. "Among others (writes Winthrop) Mr. Maverick of Winnissimet is worthy of perpetual remembrance; himself, his wife and servants went daily to them, ministered to their necessities, and buried their children."
On another occasion Samuel managed to smooth matters when some sailors and traders of the bark Maryland got into difficulties with the Puritan colonists. He came all the way from Winnissimet to settle the affair to everyone's satisfaction. In 1645 he protected La Tour, governor of one of the French settlements, and kept him for twelve months in his house at Noddles Island; the French having quarrelled among themselves, and La Tour's fort being totally destroyed.
At the time of his father's death Samuel was in Virginia, where he remained for a year. Winthrop records his return on August 3rd, 1636—"Samuel Maverick, who had been in Virginia near twelve months, now returned with two pinnaces, and brought some 14 heiffers, and about 80 goats." He also brought "ten niggers" some of the first negroes imported into New England, where Samuel Maverick was one of the earliest employers of slave labour. One of the two pinnaces was a vessel of about 40 tons built of cedar wood at the Barbadoes. Owing to the death of the owner, it was sold cheaply in Virginia, and there bought by Samuel, who had only takne one pinnace from Boston and evidently required a second vesel for all the merchandize he brought home.
In spite of his good qualities Samuel's religious opinions did not satisfy the Puritans of New England. The Mavericks were loyal to the English crown, and their religious tenants inclined to be episcopalian. It is impossible to discover, either from Neale's History of the Puritans, or Winthrop's Journal, what was required by the non-conformist founders of Massachusetts. Their government became a sort of theocracy, and it is well known that so far from having "freedom of conscience" the settlers endured sharp persecution unless they shared the narrow opinions of their superiors.
The Editor of Winthrop's Journal, J. K. Hosmer, notes:—"This estimable man Samuel Maverick was looked upon askance in the community, where, though recognised as a man of substance and worth, he was given no public place."
Noddles Island appears to have been entailed on his heir, Nathaniel Maverick, who in 1649 occurs as "Nathaniel Maverick of New England, Gentleman," when "with the consent of his father and by the advice of his friends," he sold to "Captain Briggs of ye Barbadoes one Island known as Noddles Island." For this Captain Briggs paid with 40,000lbs of white sugar "to be lodged in some convenient place."
So frequently was Samuel embroiled with the Governors of the settlement, that he eventually decided to return to England and lay before the Government there the case of those who, like himself, did not consider they were fairly treated.
England was still too much engrossed in home difficulties to take great interest in Colonial grievances. Samuel displayed a dogged persistance which extended over several years. His "Brief description of New England" was probably then written, for it bears internal evidence of being about the date of 1660. This printed pamphlet can be found in the British Museum Library. The original MSS. of his letters then written are at the Bodleian, Oxford; many of them are printed in the New Eng. Hist. & Gen. Reg.
Charles the Second was restored and the royal government re-established, and finally Maverick's pertinacity met with its reward. He returned to Massachusetts bearing instructions in which he was included with other Commissioners "To visit our Colony of Massachusetts in our Plantacion of New England"—dated April 23, 1664.
Under the same date were also instructions "For the visitacion of our Colony of Connecticot."
The Commissioners were to settle the affairs of New England, and reduce the Dutch in New Netherland. Samuel and his fellow Commissioners failed in their first undertaking, the Puritan Fathers of New England had no intention of submitting to any management but their own. Their dealings with the Dutch were far more successful, and, though they scarcely realised it at the time, far more important. England was then, most unwisely, at war with Holland, but this furnished an excuse for demanding the evacuation of the New Netherlands, and thus that part of the New World passed into the possession of the English settlers, and became the important State of New York.
Never could Samuel Maverick then have foreseen that he was planting the English Tongue and English People where they would, after three hundred years, have their share in the international destinies of the whole civilized world.
It has been said of Sir Walter Ralegh "that it was his undying glory to have made the great continent of North America an English speaking country, labouring in full faith and confidence that the great continent was by God's providence reserved for England." But:—
"God took care to hide that country till he found His people ready."
And other men, many of them, like Ralegh, west-countrymen, built on the foundations Ralegh had laid.
Samuel Maverick, in reward for his loyalty and exertions, was given "a house on the Broad Way," which was granted to him in October, 1669. The site has been identified as corresponding with the present No. 50 Broadway, New York City.
He lived another ten years, or more. His name appears on a deed dated 1676. Probably he died in New York, but the actual place of his death has not yet been ascertained nor his will discovered.
Both his sons predeceased him, Samuel, the second, at Boston in 1663, leaving two infant daughters. Nathaniel, the elder, who has already been mentioned, died at Barbadoes in 1673, leaving a son Nathaniel, and other children, from whom are descended the Mavericks of Texas.
Although her brother had heirs, Samuel's daughter Mary, described herself in 1687 as "wife of Francis Hooke (her second husband) and heiress of Samuel Maverick, deceased."
Beatrix Cresswell
The Mary and John, 1630
The historians among our early ancestors were serious men. They approached their gigantic task with great earnestness, as well they might; names, facts, and dates all carefully tabulated for the confusion of future generations of boys and girls. But the details of the lives of these people, the marvelous stories of bravery and adventure, of love and intrigue, of bigotry and chivalry, are either lacking altogether, or are told in a few brief words. Much has been written about the cruel punishments of the times, of the witchcraft trials, of banishments into the wilderness; but little has been told of the men who were kind, and gentle, and good. Those were hard times, and some of the men were harsh; but others were among the gentlest people on earth. Reverend Maverick has been called "a man of exceedingly humble spirit." And Reverend Warham must have been a great and sympathetic man to have held his group together through all their wanderings. Even Governor Winthrop, who was considered a harsh man, laments the mistreatment of children discovered in one of the early schools.
Much has been said about the frequent marriages of our ancestors. If we consider the dangers of the times, we must realize that a woman could not live alone with a family of little children; nor could a man left alone with a new-born baby face life without a woman's help. It was wise and natural that the families joined together for mutual protection. Time and again in reading old wills, it will be found that a man has provided for the children of his wife, making no distinction between them and his own. And genealogies are full of marriages between these foster sisters and brothers.
Searching family records becomes in time a gentle vice from which the eager victim finds it impossible to escape. He (or more often she) pours over dull finely printed pages, over long lists of somber names: Abner, Nathaniel, Moses, Elijah, Daniel. And then—there it is! The very name for which you are seeking! Suddenly the story brightens; once more these people live!
The story of the "Mary and John" has been told many times, and the present work is intended to be genealogical rather than historical. And yet history has crept into the record. There is no official list of the passengers who sailed on this ship, but from various scattered sources, traditional, documentary, and circumstantial, the following list has been compiled, and is subject to constructive criticism. It has been said that there were one hundred and forty people aboard this boat, but we do not know if they counted the babies and small children. On some of the later boats, we know that it was the practice to allow two small children to go for one fare, and babes in arms went free. Perhaps this was the case on the "Mary and John."
The principal authority for the voyage is Roger Clap, who was one of the party, and who wrote his oft-quoted Memoirs. But even he names only six of his fellow passengers: Reverend Maverick, Reverend Warham, Edward Rossiter, Roger Ludlow, Israel Stoughton, and Captain Southcote. The task of making an accurate list of the "Mary and John" passengers is made more difficult by the confusing fact that some colonists from the Winthrop Fleet of 1630 settled in Dorchester, too; and appear among the earliest records of the town.
On The Twentieth of March, 1630, a group of men and women, one hundred and forty in number, set sail from Plymouth, England, in the good ship, the "Mary and John." The company had been selected and assembled largely through the efforts of the Reverend John White of Dorchester, England; with whom they spent the day before sailing, "fasting, preaching, and praying." These people had come from the western counties of England, mostly from Devonshire, Dorsetshire, and Somerset. They had chosen two ministers to accompany them: "men who were interested in the idea of bringing the Indians to the knowledge of the gospel." The Reverend John Maverick was an elderly man from Devon, a minister of the Established church. Reverend John Warham was also an ordained minister of the church of England, in Exeter, eminent as a preacher. There is some evidence that both of these men were in some difficulties with the church on account of their sympathies with the Puritans.
Edward Rossiter and Roger Ludlow, two men who were members of the government in England, were also chosen; and several gentlemen, middleaged, with adult families were next joined to the association. Among these were Henry Wolcott, Thomas Ford, George Dyer, William Gaylord, William Rockwell, and William Phelps. But a large portion of the company were young men, eager for adventure, such as Israel Stoughton, Roger Clapp, George Minot, Richard Collicott, and Nathaniel Duncan. [Clapp, Ebenezer: History of the Town of Dorchester, 1859, published by Ebenezer Clapp, Boston, Mass., pp. 17-18.]
So we came, writes Roger Clapp in his Memoirs, by the good Hand of the Lord, through the deep comfortably; having preaching or expounding of the word of God every day for ten weeks together by our ministers. When we came to Nantasket, Capt. Squeb, who was Captain of that great ship of four hundred tons, put us on shore and our goods on Nantasket Point, and left us to shift for ourselves in a forelorn place in this wilderness.
It had been their original intent to land in the Charles River, but a dispute with Captain Squeb, the commander of the vessel, caused the whole company, on May 30, 1630, to be put ashore at Nantasket. The "Mary and John" was the first of the Fleet of 1630 to arrive in the bay. At that time there could not have been pilots, or charts of the channel, and it does not seem unreasonable that the captain refused to undertake the passage, but Roger Clap has sent Captain Squeb down to posterity as a merciless man. [Stiles, Henry R.: History of Ancient Windsor, 1891, Case, Lockwood & Brainard Co., Hartford, Conn.]
According to tradition they landed upon the south side of Dorchester Neck, or South Boston, in Old Harbor. Ten of the men, under the command of Captain Southcote, found a small boat, and went up the river to Charlestown Neck, where they found an old planter, probably Thomas Walfourd, who fed them "a dinner of fish without bread." Later they continued their journey up the Charles River, as far as what is now Watertown, returning several days later to the company who had found pasture for their cattle at Mattapan. The settlement was later called Dorchester, in honor of the Reverend John White, of Dorchester, England.
Roger Clap tells of the hardships that followed. They had little food, and were forced to live on clams and fish. The men built small boats, and the Indians came later with baskets of corn. "The place was a wilderness," writes Roger Clap. "Fish was a good help to me and to others. Bread was so scarce that I thought the very crusts from my father's table would have been sweet; and when I could have meal and salt and water boiled together, I asked, 'who could ask for better?'"
Here they lived for five or six years. Other boats arrived and other towns were settled. But the life at Dorchester was not entirely congenial to the lovers of liberty of the "Mary and John." The group of settlements around Massachusetts Bay was dominated by clergymen and officials of aristocratic tendencies. Their Governor, John Winthrop, had little sympathy with the common people. "The best part (of the people)," he declared, "is always the least, and of that best part, the wiser is always the lesser." And the Reverend John Cotton put it more bluntly when he said, "Never did God ordain democracy for the government of the church or the people."
These principles were repugnant to the people of the "Mary and John," who had come to America to escape such restraint. They had no wish to interfere with the methods of worship of others, and they did not wish others to interfere with them. Too, they were land-hungry, after centuries of vassalage to the lords of the manors, leading hopeless lives without chance of independence. Perhaps they were influenced also, by the fact that a great smallpox epidemic had raged among the Indians, killing off so many that they were not the menace that they had been at first. The settlers turned their attention toward the fertile meadows of the Connecticut Valley.
A group under Roger Ludlow set out and reached the Plymouth Trading house that had been erected by William Holmes near the junction of the Connecticut and the Farmington Rivers, early in the summer of 1635. A little later sixty men, women and children, with their "Cows, heifers and swine," came overland from Dorchester. The winter was severe and the food scarce, and many returned to Massachusetts, but in the spring they came back to Connecticut with their friends, and by April, 1636, most of the members of the Dorchester Church were settled near the Farmington River, along the brow of the hill that overlooks the "Great Meadow." This in spite of the fact that the Plymouth people disputed their claim to the land. They built rude shelters, dug out of the rising ground along the edge of the river bank. The rear end and the two sides were simply the earth itself, with a front and a roof of beams. The town was later named Windsor.
In the following year, 1637, danger from the Pequot Indians forced them to abandon their dugouts and to come together around the area known as the Palisado Green. Their new homes were at once enclosed with a strong palisado.
In 1639 they began the construction of their first real meeting house. It stood in the center of the palisado, and was topped with a cupola and platform, where the sexton beat a drum to summon the people to attend services or public meetings. About the same time there was built and presented to the pastor, the Reverend John Warham, a corn mill, which is supposed to have been the first grist mill built in Connecticut. For many years it served all the settlements in the river valley, as far south as Middletown.
All over America today live the descendants of the fathers and mothers of the "Mary and John." Their sons and daughters have written their names on the pages of American History. They have filled the pulpits of famous churches; they have sat on judges' benches, and in the seats of Congress; they have occupied Governors' Mansions, and even the White House. Some fought at Lexington, and wintered with Washington at Valley Forge. They joined in the trek to the West, and one followed Brigham Young into Utah. One marched with Sherman as he burned and pillaged his way through Georgia, and perhaps one fought on the other side with Lee. One is called the "Hero of Manila Bay," and one was hanged! They learned strange names like Saint-Mihiel, Chateau-Thierry, the Argonne Forest and Sedan. Perhaps one lies in Flanders Field.
And even as this manuscript is being written, our boys are going again into strange lands: to Iceland, to Africa and to Australia! One of our own correspondents wrote from Schofield Barracks in Hawaii.
An effort has been made to show through the ancestry of people living today, or through famous men of history, how this little group lived together, married and intermarried, even beyond the third and fourth generations. The names of descendants of the men and women who came to America on the "Mary and John" are found in every state of the Union.
THE PASSENGERS
REVEREND JOHN MAVERICK was a native of Devon, son of Peter and Dorothy (Tucke) Maverick. He was baptized Dec. 28, 1578, at Awlescombe, and married at Ilsington, Devon, Oct. 28, 1600, Mary Gye, who was living with her son Samuel Oct. 9, 1666. Reverend Maverick matriculated at Exeter College, Oxford; took holy orders by 1603, and later became a Puritan. He was made a freeman with the first group at Dorchester, May 18, 1631, and had expected to remove to Connecticut, but died at Dorchester, Feb. 3, 1636, aged about sixty years. Governor Winthrop in his "Journal" makes several references to Reverend Maverick and also to his son Samuel, who was in America as early as 1623, and was an early settler at Noddle's Island. Winthrop says of Rev. Maverick: "He was a man of very humble spirit, and faithful in furthering the work of the Lord."
Charles Edward Banks says that when Reverend Maverick and his wife came to America in the "Mary and John," they brought with them "their children, Elias, Mary, Moses, Aaron, Abigail, Antipas, and Margaret."
The New England Historical and Genealogical Register in the issue of 1942, states that Elias was at Chelsea, Mass., in 1630, where he had his home near his brother Samuel. Aaron was alive in 1622, but is believed to have died young. Moses was given land at Dorchester in 1633, but moved to Salem by 1634. There also appears to have been a son John, and Margaret is not mentioned.
Samuel Maverick settled first at Winnesimmet, now Chelsea, where in 1630 he entertained Governor Winthrop. In 1633, he and his wife cared for the Indians dying of smallpox, burying as many as thirty a day. In 1634 he moved to Noddle's Island, which had been granted to him. It is an interesting fact that a line of descendants of Reverend Maverick went to the West Indies and later settled in Texas. A Samuel Maverick in the last century who did not make a practice of branding his cattle is said to have been the originator of the word "maverick" as applied to unbranded cattle.
Maude Pinney Kuhns
The "Mary and John"
The historians among our early ancestors were serious men. They approached their gigantic task with great earnestness, as well they might; names, facts, and dates all carefully tabulated for the confusion of future generations of boys and girls. But the details of the lives of these people, the marvelous stories of bravery and adventure, of love and intrigue, of bigotry and chivalry, are either lacking altogether, or are told in a few brief words. Much has been written about the cruel punishments of the times, of the witchcraft trials, of banishments into the wilderness; but little has been told of the men who were kind, and gentle, and good. Those were hard times, and some of the men were harsh; but others were among the gentlest people on earth. Reverend Maverick has been called "a man of exceedingly humble spirit." And Reverend Warham must have been a great and sympathetic man to have held his group together through all their wanderings. Even Governor Winthrop, who was considered a harsh man, laments the mistreatment of children discovered in one of the early schools.
Much has been said about the frequent marriages of our ancestors. If we consider the dangers of the times, we must realize that a woman could not live alone with a family of little children; nor could a man left alone with a new-born baby face life without a woman's help. It was wise and natural that the families joined together for mutual protection. Time and again in reading old wills, it will be found that a man has provided for the children of his wife, making no distinction between them and his own. And genealogies are full of marriages between these foster sisters and brothers.
Searching family records becomes in time a gentle vice from which the eager victim finds it impossible to escape. He (or more often she) pours over dull finely printed pages, over long lists of somber names: Abner, Nathaniel, Moses, Elijah, Daniel. And then—there it is! The very name for which you are seeking! Suddenly the story brightens; once more these people live!
The story of the "Mary and John" has been told many times, and the present work is intended to be genealogical rather than historical. And yet history has crept into the record. There is no official list of the passengers who sailed on this ship, but from various scattered sources, traditional, documentary, and circumstantial, the following list has been compiled, and is subject to constructive criticism. It has been said that there were one hundred and forty people aboard this boat, but we do not know if they counted the babies and small children. On some of the later boats, we know that it was the practice to allow two small children to go for one fare, and babes in arms went free. Perhaps this was the case on the "Mary and John."
The principal authority for the voyage is Roger Clap, who was one of the party, and who wrote his oft-quoted Memoirs. But even he names only six of his fellow passengers: Reverend Maverick, Reverend Warham, Edward Rossiter, Roger Ludlow, Israel Stoughton, and Captain Southcote. The task of making an accurate list of the "Mary and John" passengers is made more difficult by the confusing fact that some colonists from the Winthrop Fleet of 1630 settled in Dorchester, too; and appear among the earliest records of the town.
On The Twentieth of March, 1630, a group of men and women, one hundred and forty in number, set sail from Plymouth, England, in the good ship, the "Mary and John." The company had been selected and assembled largely through the efforts of the Reverend John White of Dorchester, England; with whom they spent the day before sailing, "fasting, preaching, and praying." These people had come from the western counties of England, mostly from Devonshire, Dorsetshire, and Somerset. They had chosen two ministers to accompany them: "men who were interested in the idea of bringing the Indians to the knowledge of the gospel." The Reverend John Maverick was an elderly man from Devon, a minister of the Established church. Reverend John Warham was also an ordained minister of the church of England, in Exeter, eminent as a preacher. There is some evidence that both of these men were in some difficulties with the church on account of their sympathies with the Puritans.
Edward Rossiter and Roger Ludlow, two men who were members of the government in England, were also chosen; and several gentlemen, middleaged, with adult families were next joined to the association. Among these were Henry Wolcott, Thomas Ford, George Dyer, William Gaylord, William Rockwell, and William Phelps. But a large portion of the company were young men, eager for adventure, such as Israel Stoughton, Roger Clapp, George Minot, Richard Collicott, and Nathaniel Duncan. [Clapp, Ebenezer: History of the Town of Dorchester, 1859, published by Ebenezer Clapp, Boston, Mass., pp. 17-18.]
So we came, writes Roger Clapp in his Memoirs, by the good Hand of the Lord, through the deep comfortably; having preaching or expounding of the word of God every day for ten weeks together by our ministers. When we came to Nantasket, Capt. Squeb, who was Captain of that great ship of four hundred tons, put us on shore and our goods on Nantasket Point, and left us to shift for ourselves in a forelorn place in this wilderness.
It had been their original intent to land in the Charles River, but a dispute with Captain Squeb, the commander of the vessel, caused the whole company, on May 30, 1630, to be put ashore at Nantasket. The "Mary and John" was the first of the Fleet of 1630 to arrive in the bay. At that time there could not have been pilots, or charts of the channel, and it does not seem unreasonable that the captain refused to undertake the passage, but Roger Clap has sent Captain Squeb down to posterity as a merciless man. [Stiles, Henry R.: History of Ancient Windsor, 1891, Case, Lockwood & Brainard Co., Hartford, Conn.]
According to tradition they landed upon the south side of Dorchester Neck, or South Boston, in Old Harbor. Ten of the men, under the command of Captain Southcote, found a small boat, and went up the river to Charlestown Neck, where they found an old planter, probably Thomas Walfourd, who fed them "a dinner of fish without bread." Later they continued their journey up the Charles River, as far as what is now Watertown, returning several days later to the company who had found pasture for their cattle at Mattapan. The settlement was later called Dorchester, in honor of the Reverend John White, of Dorchester, England.
Roger Clap tells of the hardships that followed. They had little food, and were forced to live on clams and fish. The men built small boats, and the Indians came later with baskets of corn. "The place was a wilderness," writes Roger Clap. "Fish was a good help to me and to others. Bread was so scarce that I thought the very crusts from my father's table would have been sweet; and when I could have meal and salt and water boiled together, I asked, 'who could ask for better?'"
Here they lived for five or six years. Other boats arrived and other towns were settled. But the life at Dorchester was not entirely congenial to the lovers of liberty of the "Mary and John." The group of settlements around Massachusetts Bay was dominated by clergymen and officials of aristocratic tendencies. Their Governor, John Winthrop, had little sympathy with the common people. "The best part (of the people)," he declared, "is always the least, and of that best part, the wiser is always the lesser." And the Reverend John Cotton put it more bluntly when he said, "Never did God ordain democracy for the government of the church or the people."
These principles were repugnant to the people of the "Mary and John," who had come to America to escape such restraint. They had no wish to interfere with the methods of worship of others, and they did not wish others to interfere with them. Too, they were land-hungry, after centuries of vassalage to the lords of the manors, leading hopeless lives without chance of independence. Perhaps they were influenced also, by the fact that a great smallpox epidemic had raged among the Indians, killing off so many that they were not the menace that they had been at first. The settlers turned their attention toward the fertile meadows of the Connecticut Valley.
A group under Roger Ludlow set out and reached the Plymouth Trading house that had been erected by William Holmes near the junction of the Connecticut and the Farmington Rivers, early in the summer of 1635. A little later sixty men, women and children, with their "Cows, heifers and swine," came overland from Dorchester. The winter was severe and the food scarce, and many returned to Massachusetts, but in the spring they came back to Connecticut with their friends, and by April, 1636, most of the members of the Dorchester Church were settled near the Farmington River, along the brow of the hill that overlooks the "Great Meadow." This in spite of the fact that the Plymouth people disputed their claim to the land. They built rude shelters, dug out of the rising ground along the edge of the river bank. The rear end and the two sides were simply the earth itself, with a front and a roof of beams. The town was later named Windsor.
In the following year, 1637, danger from the Pequot Indians forced them to abandon their dugouts and to come together around the area known as the Palisado Green. Their new homes were at once enclosed with a strong palisado.
In 1639 they began the construction of their first real meeting house. It stood in the center of the palisado, and was topped with a cupola and platform, where the sexton beat a drum to summon the people to attend services or public meetings. About the same time there was built and presented to the pastor, the Reverend John Warham, a corn mill, which is supposed to have been the first grist mill built in Connecticut. For many years it served all the settlements in the river valley, as far south as Middletown.
All over America today live the descendants of the fathers and mothers of the "Mary and John." Their sons and daughters have written their names on the pages of American History. They have filled the pulpits of famous churches; they have sat on judges' benches, and in the seats of Congress; they have occupied Governors' Mansions, and even the White House. Some fought at Lexington, and wintered with Washington at Valley Forge. They joined in the trek to the West, and one followed Brigham Young into Utah. One marched with Sherman as he burned and pillaged his way through Georgia, and perhaps one fought on the other side with Lee. One is called the "Hero of Manila Bay," and one was hanged! They learned strange names like Saint-Mihiel, Chateau-Thierry, the Argonne Forest and Sedan. Perhaps one lies in Flanders Field.
And even as this manuscript is being written, our boys are going again into strange lands: to Iceland, to Africa and to Australia! One of our own correspondents wrote from Schofield Barracks in Hawaii.
An effort has been made to show through the ancestry of people living today, or through famous men of history, how this little group lived together, married and intermarried, even beyond the third and fourth generations. The names of descendants of the men and women who came to America on the "Mary and John" are found in every state of the Union.
THE PASSENGERS
REVEREND JOHN MAVERICK was a native of Devon, son of Peter and Dorothy (Tucke) Maverick. He was baptized Dec. 28, 1578, at Awlescombe, and married at Ilsington, Devon, Oct. 28, 1600, Mary Gye, who was living with her son Samuel Oct. 9, 1666. Reverend Maverick matriculated at Exeter College, Oxford; took holy orders by 1603, and later became a Puritan. He was made a freeman with the first group at Dorchester, May 18, 1631, and had expected to remove to Connecticut, but died at Dorchester, Feb. 3, 1636, aged about sixty years. Governor Winthrop in his "Journal" makes several references to Reverend Maverick and also to his son Samuel, who was in America as early as 1623, and was an early settler at Noddle's Island. Winthrop says of Rev. Maverick: "He was a man of very humble spirit, and faithful in furthering the work of the Lord."
Charles Edward Banks says that when Reverend Maverick and his wife came to America in the "Mary and John," they brought with them "their children, Elias, Mary, Moses, Aaron, Abigail, Antipas, and Margaret."
The New England Historical and Genealogical Register in the issue of 1942, states that Elias was at Chelsea, Mass., in 1630, where he had his home near his brother Samuel. Aaron was alive in 1622, but is believed to have died young. Moses was given land at Dorchester in 1633, but moved to Salem by 1634. There also appears to have been a son John, and Margaret is not mentioned.
Samuel Maverick settled first at Winnesimmet, now Chelsea, where in 1630 he entertained Governor Winthrop. In 1633, he and his wife cared for the Indians dying of smallpox, burying as many as thirty a day. In 1634 he moved to Noddle's Island, which had been granted to him. It is an interesting fact that a line of descendants of Reverend Maverick went to the West Indies and later settled in Texas. A Samuel Maverick in the last century who did not make a practice of branding his cattle is said to have been the originator of the word "maverick" as applied to unbranded cattle.
Maude Pinney Kuhns
The "Mary and John"
Samuel Maverick: John Howland's Texas Legacy
Texas Mayflower descendants are often asked, "How did a Mayflower descendant get to Texas?" Mayflower descendants coming to Texas are not a recent phenomenon. Before Texas was a state, before Texas was a republic, when this area of Texas was a part of the Mexican State of Coahuila y Tejas, direct descendants of John Howland, Governor William Bradford and Francis Cooke were here.
One direct descendant of John Howland left Pendleton, South Carolina, angry over the nullification policy of John C. Calhoun, stayed a while in Alabama and then came to San Antonio De Bexar. This man was Samuel Augustus Maverick. Sam Maverick was a Yale graduate who had studied law in Winchester, Virginia, before he began his peregrinations. Sam's genealogy, beginning with John Howland, continues with John's daughter Lydia Howland and then James Brown to his son Isaac Brown who lived in Rehoboth, Massachusetts. Isaac's daughter married a Samuel Maverick in 1772 in Charleston, South Carolina. Their son, another Samuel, was married in Pendleton, South Carolina in 1802 and his son Samuel Augustus Maverick himself was born in Pendleton in June of 1803.
When Sam Maverick arrived in San Antonio in 1835, it was a village of adobe and jacal buildings and dwellings. The public water system was the river and the irrigation ditches which the Mexicans called acequias. Sam was getting established when the Anglo-Texan settlers began to seek their independence from Mexico. He served as a guide for the Texan volunteers when old Ben Milam led his 300 men to seize San Antonio from Santa Anna's brother-in-law General Martin Perfecto de Cos. That is why the Texans were inside the Alamo when, two months later, General Santa Anna laid siege to the Alamo.
Sam Maverick was not in San Antonio during the siege. He had been delegated by his friends to represent them at the "Convention of 1836" at Washington-on-the-Brazos where on March 2, 1836 the Texas delegation of Independence was signed. This occurred during Santa Anna's thirteen-day siege of the Alamo. The Alamo fell on March 6, 1836 and, as you know, the defenders were massacred. Had not Sam Maverick been sent by his friends to the convention, he would have been in the Alamo and this story would end here.
However, Sam Maverick survived and went back to Tuscaloosa, Alabama where he married Mary Ann Adams. They soon returned to Texas and he became a successful lawyer, merchant and landowner. He served as mayor of San Antonio and as a representative in the Congress of the Republic of Texas.
In 1842, during the "Republic of Texas" period, Mexican General Adrian Woll surprised and overwhelmed San Antonio by leading an invasion army of some twelve hundred men. He seized all of the Anglo men in San Antonio, which numbered about 67 because the District Court was in session, including Sam Maverick, and marched them back to Mexico. There were several small battles along the way and additional captives were taken. The men were imprisoned in the infamous Perote Prison in Mexico City. After their release, the survivors, including Sam Maverick, made their way back to San Antonio.
Samuel Maverick was a lawyer and speculator in land. He was never a rancher, but in 1847 he took 400 head of stock cattle in payment of a $1,200 dept and turned them loose on Matagorda peninsula. He and his family were living on Matagorda peninsula at the time but they soon moved back to San Antonio leaving his cattle under the care of a slave named Jack. Jack did not keep the increase in cattle branded. In 1854 Sam Maverick moved the cattle and Jack to a range on the San Antonio River about 50 miles below San Antonio. Here Jack continued his easy way and the cattle went wild. This was the time of open range in Texas. There were no fences so the cattle were allowed to roam freely. Every year the ranchers and their workers (vaqueros) would round up all the cattle they could find and brand the calves with the same brand that was on the mother cow. When the cattlemen in the area saw an unbranded heifer, cow or bull, they'd say, "that must be one of Maverick's." Before long such an animal was simply called a "maverick". In time the word maverick got into the dictionaries. Some authorities on etymology explained that maverick means: 1) An unbranded or orphaned range calf or colt. 2) A horse or steer that has escaped the herd. 3) One who refuses to abide by the dictates of his group or dissenter, an independent.
Sam and Mary Ann built their house in San Antonio on the corner of Houston Street and Alamo Street overlooking the Alamo Plaza. Their house and the St. Anthony hotel were built on the irrigated farmlands that belonged to the Mission San Antonio de Valero, what we not call the Alamo. When the mission was secularized in 1793, the land was deeded to the Mission Indians who were farming it at that time. The Indians later sold the land and Sam and Mary Ann Maverick owned much of it. They gave "Travis Park", the park that is across the street from the St. Anthony hotel, to the city of San Antonio but required that it be forever a public park. In 1858 they also gave several lots for the construction of Saint Mark's Episcopal Church, directly across the Travis Park from the front of the St. Anthony hotel. Incidentally, Lt. Col. Robert E. Lee was on the Vestry of Saint Mark's prior to the "War Between the States" when this gift was made.
When Texas seceded from the Union in 1861, Sam Maverick was one of the three commissioners appointed to receive the surrender of all United States troops and military supplies in Texas from Major General Twiggs. The troops surrendered were one-tenth of the existing United States Army at that time. There is a town in Texas named for Sam Maverick and Maverick County down along the Rio Grande River is also named for him.
Samuel Augustus Maverick died in 1870. Mary Ann Adams Maverick lived until 1898, as the matriarch of a large family, many of whom are still prominent in the state of Texas and the United States. She started keeping a diary before she left Tuscaloosa, Alabama and it has been published. It is not only a valuable historical document but it is delightful and interesting to read. Mary Ann was a substantial inspiration and supporter of Saint Mark's Episcopal Church. The large brass cross on Saint Mark's altar was dedicated to her memory by the Women of the Church in 1898.
Our Pilgrim ancestors braved the stormy North Atlantic Ocean to reach a shore where, to quote William Bradford, "they had now no friends to wellcome them, nor inns to entertaine or refreash their weatherbeaten bodys, no houses or much less townes to repaire too, to seek for succoure."
So too, their descendants again braved the lonely frontier to settle new lands and to again face the savage Indians, this time the cannibalistic Karankawas and the marauding Comanche's. So you see, had Christopher Jones, the Master of the Mayflower, had his ship in Bristol fashioned with all ropes and lines neatly coiled, our Texan history night have been quite different. You recall, I'm sure, that when young John Howland came on the deck of the Mayflower during the storm, he was swept overboard by a wave. He was able to catch a topsail halyard that was trailing behind the ship and was pulled back aboard somewhat the worse for the experience. His life having been saved, he went on to become a productive and reproductive member of the plantation. Without John Howland we would have had no Sam Maverick. And who knows? All of the cattle in Texas might have been branded and we would have no name to call dissenters or dissidents. Then too, you might need a tourist visa to come to Texas today and have to avoid drinking the water.
Ross L. Shipman
Texas Mayflower descendants are often asked, "How did a Mayflower descendant get to Texas?" Mayflower descendants coming to Texas are not a recent phenomenon. Before Texas was a state, before Texas was a republic, when this area of Texas was a part of the Mexican State of Coahuila y Tejas, direct descendants of John Howland, Governor William Bradford and Francis Cooke were here.
One direct descendant of John Howland left Pendleton, South Carolina, angry over the nullification policy of John C. Calhoun, stayed a while in Alabama and then came to San Antonio De Bexar. This man was Samuel Augustus Maverick. Sam Maverick was a Yale graduate who had studied law in Winchester, Virginia, before he began his peregrinations. Sam's genealogy, beginning with John Howland, continues with John's daughter Lydia Howland and then James Brown to his son Isaac Brown who lived in Rehoboth, Massachusetts. Isaac's daughter married a Samuel Maverick in 1772 in Charleston, South Carolina. Their son, another Samuel, was married in Pendleton, South Carolina in 1802 and his son Samuel Augustus Maverick himself was born in Pendleton in June of 1803.
When Sam Maverick arrived in San Antonio in 1835, it was a village of adobe and jacal buildings and dwellings. The public water system was the river and the irrigation ditches which the Mexicans called acequias. Sam was getting established when the Anglo-Texan settlers began to seek their independence from Mexico. He served as a guide for the Texan volunteers when old Ben Milam led his 300 men to seize San Antonio from Santa Anna's brother-in-law General Martin Perfecto de Cos. That is why the Texans were inside the Alamo when, two months later, General Santa Anna laid siege to the Alamo.
Sam Maverick was not in San Antonio during the siege. He had been delegated by his friends to represent them at the "Convention of 1836" at Washington-on-the-Brazos where on March 2, 1836 the Texas delegation of Independence was signed. This occurred during Santa Anna's thirteen-day siege of the Alamo. The Alamo fell on March 6, 1836 and, as you know, the defenders were massacred. Had not Sam Maverick been sent by his friends to the convention, he would have been in the Alamo and this story would end here.
However, Sam Maverick survived and went back to Tuscaloosa, Alabama where he married Mary Ann Adams. They soon returned to Texas and he became a successful lawyer, merchant and landowner. He served as mayor of San Antonio and as a representative in the Congress of the Republic of Texas.
In 1842, during the "Republic of Texas" period, Mexican General Adrian Woll surprised and overwhelmed San Antonio by leading an invasion army of some twelve hundred men. He seized all of the Anglo men in San Antonio, which numbered about 67 because the District Court was in session, including Sam Maverick, and marched them back to Mexico. There were several small battles along the way and additional captives were taken. The men were imprisoned in the infamous Perote Prison in Mexico City. After their release, the survivors, including Sam Maverick, made their way back to San Antonio.
Samuel Maverick was a lawyer and speculator in land. He was never a rancher, but in 1847 he took 400 head of stock cattle in payment of a $1,200 dept and turned them loose on Matagorda peninsula. He and his family were living on Matagorda peninsula at the time but they soon moved back to San Antonio leaving his cattle under the care of a slave named Jack. Jack did not keep the increase in cattle branded. In 1854 Sam Maverick moved the cattle and Jack to a range on the San Antonio River about 50 miles below San Antonio. Here Jack continued his easy way and the cattle went wild. This was the time of open range in Texas. There were no fences so the cattle were allowed to roam freely. Every year the ranchers and their workers (vaqueros) would round up all the cattle they could find and brand the calves with the same brand that was on the mother cow. When the cattlemen in the area saw an unbranded heifer, cow or bull, they'd say, "that must be one of Maverick's." Before long such an animal was simply called a "maverick". In time the word maverick got into the dictionaries. Some authorities on etymology explained that maverick means: 1) An unbranded or orphaned range calf or colt. 2) A horse or steer that has escaped the herd. 3) One who refuses to abide by the dictates of his group or dissenter, an independent.
Sam and Mary Ann built their house in San Antonio on the corner of Houston Street and Alamo Street overlooking the Alamo Plaza. Their house and the St. Anthony hotel were built on the irrigated farmlands that belonged to the Mission San Antonio de Valero, what we not call the Alamo. When the mission was secularized in 1793, the land was deeded to the Mission Indians who were farming it at that time. The Indians later sold the land and Sam and Mary Ann Maverick owned much of it. They gave "Travis Park", the park that is across the street from the St. Anthony hotel, to the city of San Antonio but required that it be forever a public park. In 1858 they also gave several lots for the construction of Saint Mark's Episcopal Church, directly across the Travis Park from the front of the St. Anthony hotel. Incidentally, Lt. Col. Robert E. Lee was on the Vestry of Saint Mark's prior to the "War Between the States" when this gift was made.
When Texas seceded from the Union in 1861, Sam Maverick was one of the three commissioners appointed to receive the surrender of all United States troops and military supplies in Texas from Major General Twiggs. The troops surrendered were one-tenth of the existing United States Army at that time. There is a town in Texas named for Sam Maverick and Maverick County down along the Rio Grande River is also named for him.
Samuel Augustus Maverick died in 1870. Mary Ann Adams Maverick lived until 1898, as the matriarch of a large family, many of whom are still prominent in the state of Texas and the United States. She started keeping a diary before she left Tuscaloosa, Alabama and it has been published. It is not only a valuable historical document but it is delightful and interesting to read. Mary Ann was a substantial inspiration and supporter of Saint Mark's Episcopal Church. The large brass cross on Saint Mark's altar was dedicated to her memory by the Women of the Church in 1898.
Our Pilgrim ancestors braved the stormy North Atlantic Ocean to reach a shore where, to quote William Bradford, "they had now no friends to wellcome them, nor inns to entertaine or refreash their weatherbeaten bodys, no houses or much less townes to repaire too, to seek for succoure."
So too, their descendants again braved the lonely frontier to settle new lands and to again face the savage Indians, this time the cannibalistic Karankawas and the marauding Comanche's. So you see, had Christopher Jones, the Master of the Mayflower, had his ship in Bristol fashioned with all ropes and lines neatly coiled, our Texan history night have been quite different. You recall, I'm sure, that when young John Howland came on the deck of the Mayflower during the storm, he was swept overboard by a wave. He was able to catch a topsail halyard that was trailing behind the ship and was pulled back aboard somewhat the worse for the experience. His life having been saved, he went on to become a productive and reproductive member of the plantation. Without John Howland we would have had no Sam Maverick. And who knows? All of the cattle in Texas might have been branded and we would have no name to call dissenters or dissidents. Then too, you might need a tourist visa to come to Texas today and have to avoid drinking the water.
Ross L. Shipman
Henry J. Raymond and the “Times.”
When the “Times” first opened its eyes upon this sinful world, there was need of just such a birth. It was a time of high political excitement, of bitter partisan animosities, of Socialistic heresies, of degradation in journalism—a time when good men mourned, and evil came uppermost. The Compromise troubles of 1850 had but just ended, and the wounds of battle, though healing, were still tender and painful. The “Tribune,” which had long occupied a commanding position, had become offensive to many people by reason of its advocacy of “isms.” The personalities of Eatansvill, magnified by greater scope, and intensified by hate even more rancorous than in the fabled days of Mr. Pott and Mr. Slurk, found daily expression in the columns of the journal which had then, as now, the largest circulation.
For it is to be remembered that this was eighteen years ago. The cheap papers of that day—and the price of the best, ten years before the war, was but twopence—were dangerous in different ways; yet each had a large circulation, and each became a profitable property. They printed all the news of the world, and printed it promptly; and so men read the daily sheet, even if under protest. Large capital enabled the proprietors of these rival papers to search through the world in quest of entertainment for their readers, and every morning there was a fresh record of what men had done, a day, a fortnight, a month before—for as yet no Atlantic Cable and no Pacific Railway existed, and London was thirteen days distant by slow-going steamers, and San Francisco thirty. The “Sun” was the penny paper of the day, read chiefly by draymen and mechanics. The “Courier and Enquirer” was huge and heavy, given up to advertisements and to quarrels with its equally huge neighbor, the “Journal of Commerce;” the “Evening Post” printed but one or two editions daily, and the “Commercial Advertiser” was its rival—and these four, one-half morning and one-half evening issues, were sold for the highest price, but had the smallest supplies of news, and hence the smallest circulation. All this is changed now; and the new order dates from the 18th day of September, 1851—when Henry J. Raymond, George Jones, Harper & Brothers, and others, crystallized their brains, their cash and their enterprise, industry and good-will in the little four-paged newspaper called the “New York Daily Times.”
Raymond, naturally sagacious, saw the want of his time, and determined to supply it. A good family newspaper was needed—he provided it. A cheap newspaper was essential—he sold the “Times” for one cent. Money was wanted to keep the new craft afloat in its early days—the generous kindness of the men who had full faith in Raymond supplied ample means. No paper was ever launched in New York under more favorable auspices. The “Tribune” was started upon a borrowed capital of one thousand dollars; the “Herald” was begun in a cellar; the “Evening Post” grew up from very small beginnings; the “Express” was born in obscurity, and made small headway. But the “Times” began its prosperous life with a handsome bank account of one hundred thousand dollars; and it is no small credit to its founder that this capital returned interest before the end of the third year. The Chief whose sad and sudden death recalls these memories of his early triumphs, brought to his task the ripe experience of a trained journalist, and the accomplishments of a scholar, and the sweet and gentle graces of a polished gentleman. When his purpose became known, the best journalistic talent of the city was at his disposal, and rarely has so strong an editorial force been organized so rapidly as that with which Raymond found himself surrounded on the day the “Times” appeared. Himself the chief of all, in acquirements as well as position, he attracted to his paper some of the strongest writers and the brightest wits of the day; and from the start the new journal was eagerly sought.
“Pooh!” said a “Tribune” stockholder to the writer, in the summer of 1851; “the ‘Times’ is only an experiment; it cannot succeed!” “True, an experiment,” was the reply; “but then it should be remembered that everything in the world was once an experiment, and the success of an experiment depends chiefly upon the experimenter; the ‘Tribune’ itself was an experiment.” Both the “Tribune” and the “Times” were good “experiments.” The greeting the “Times” received from its contemporaries, however, was not so much a greeting as a malediction. The newspaper made rapid inroads upon the circulation of its two rivals, whose own careers had been one long fight; and both turned at once upon the interloper which dared to sell more news and better literary work than either for just one-half their price. Raymond planted wheat, but the enemy came and sowed tares, and they grew together till the harvest, as he afterward found to his cost.
Let us be thankful that the old asperities are buried with the brave man's body.
Those who formed the early editorial company of the “Times” will not soon forget the curious incidents which attended the first issues of the paper. The only building downtown then available for the use of a newspaper office was the brown-stone house No. 113 Nassau street, between Beekman and Ann. It had been begun by an Irish builder, whose funds became exhausted when the work was half done. Money was advanced to him by the proprietors of the “Times,” and with very hard work and persistent pushing a part of the building was prepared for occupancy in the second week of September, 1851. But the publication office was put into a pigeon-hole, on the opposite side of the street, and the messengers who went back and forth wore a smooth path over the cobble stones before the business department had come within reach of the editorial rooms. On the night of the 17th of September, the first number of the “Times” was “made up,” in open lofts, destitute alike of windows, gas, speaking-tubes, dumb-waiters, and general conveniences. All was raw and dismal. I remember sitting by the open window at midnight, looking through the dim distance at Mr. Alexander C. Wilson, Raymond’s first lieutenant, who was diligently writing “brevier” at a ricketty table at the end of the barren loft, his only light a flaring candle, held upright by three nails in a block of wood—at the city editor, and the news-men, and the reporters, all eagerly scratching pens over paper, their countenances half-lighted, half-shaded by other guttering candles—at Raymond, writing rapidly and calmly, as he always wrote, but invested with the broader illumination of two candles; and all the night the soft summery air blew where it listed, and sometimes blew out the feeble lights, and grimey little “devils” came down at intervals from the printing-room, and cried for “copy;” and every man in the little company, from the chief to the police reporter, gave his whole mind to the preparation of the rusty little sheet which lies before me as I write. It was a good, lively, sensible first number—this first number of the “New York Times;” full of news and gossip and pleasant miscellany; making its bow to the expectant public with a grace it has never lost, and entering upon its career with the vigor it has since sustained so well.
Vigorous measures had been taken by the proprietors of the “Times” to ensure publicity for their undertaking. They fully understood the art of advertising, and so they set a good example to those who came after them. Displayed paragraphs in the daily papers announced the forthcoming sheet; neatly printed little circulars were placed beneath hall-doors; the “personal” columns and the letter writers trumpeted the news. Nor were the modern appliances of the printing art wanting. Hoe was directed to furnish one of his fastest presses—which press, by the way, was not delivered so promptly that the “Times” could keep its promise of appearance, and it was accordingly delayed for nearly a week. New type was bought, and “laid” under the capable super-vision of the ex-assistant foreman of the “Tribune,” Mr. Monroe F. Gale, the personified mystery known as “the man with the glazed cap,” who, some years before, had been seen wandering about the Battery, with a carpet-bag in his hand, in search of the little pilot-boat in which he made an adventurous voyage to Europe, in ineffectual effort to get news for the New York papers of the day. Money was abundant, and all the men of the “Times,” bringing youth and zeal and long newspaper experience to the work they had to do, labored with a will, in spite of some unforeseen obstacles and many drawbacks; and, of all the company, no one worked so well, so long, nor so effectively as Raymond himself. He was a worker by nature; his labor was never perfunctory. The net result of all this combination of energy, experience and capital was “No. 1” of the “New York Times”—a sheet better than any other first number that a New York newspaper office had produced. There was joy in the barn-like editorial room and in the pigeon-hole counting-house, when the public flocked in to buy, and when men said pleasant words about the new venture.
Raymond was happy—happier, I think, than I ever knew him to be, before or after—and with good reason. For here was a man, only thirty-one years old, who had already reached the height of his ambition—all the ambition he had cherished up to that period of his life—in becoming the controller of a public journal. His unerring instinct told him his experiment was a success; he knew he possessed within himself the power of infusing into it the elements of strength. A week went by; subscriptions poured in, and advertisements followed. The “Tribune” and the “Herald” suffered serious loss; but their loss was Raymond’s gain, and the world was wide enough for all. But then it was that a change came over the spirit of New York journalism. The old times died when the new “Times” began.
At the beginning of its second year, the “Times” was doubled in size and price; and then it began to pay dividends, small at first, but rapidly increasing. Then its office was removed to better quarters, in the building now known as the Park Hotel, on the corner of Nassau and Beekman streets; subsequently its proprietors bought real estate, at the time when the Old Brick Church property came into market; then the handsome house it now occupies was built, and fortunes were made by the men who owned it; and now, nearly eighteen years from the day of its birth, the “Times” is worth a million of dollars—perhaps more.
In the course of the years marked by these successive events, Raymond steadily increased the force upon his paper; engaging new writers, paying large prices for early news, establishing corps of correspondents, always bidding for the best of everything, and generally getting it. For seven or eight years, all was plain sailing, and Raymond’s horizon had no cloud. His mistakes came later; and I shall presently try to show how they happened.
Among the men who made their mark upon the “Times,” in the first five years of its existence, were James W. Simonton, Alexander C. Wilson, Charles F. Briggs, William Henry Hurlbut, Dr. Frank Tuthill. William G. Sewell, Charles C. B. Seymour, Caleb C. Norvell, and De Cordova. Of these nine, three beside Raymond are dead—Sewell and Tuthill and Seymour—and with a single exception the others are scattered in different directions. Simonton, who left the “Courier and Enquirer” in company with Raymond, is now the General Agent of the New York Associated Press, and chief proprietor of the San Francisco “Bulletin,” the best paper on the Pacific Coast; Wilson is in the Associated Press Agency in London; Briggs has done what he never should have done, in laying down the pen; Hurlbut, after a curious experience, is expending his polished wit and scholarship upon the “World;” De Cordova alternately attends to mercantile business and delivers funny lectures; and only Mr. Norvell remains in the service of the “Times.” I name these members of the early staff, because they are closely associated with pleasant memories of Raymond, and I cannot refrain from repeating the high compliment he once paid them, in my hearing: “I attribute a very large share of the early success of the ‘Times,’” said he, “to the ability and the industry of the gentlemen engaged in the editorial department;” forgetting, in his self-abnegation, that every man in his employ was happy in the conviction that good work was certain to receive appreciation and reward.
Moreover, in his relations with his subordinates, Raymond was always a gentleman. He strove to conciliate, and he was never betrayed by anger into discourtesy. The sole indication that “something had happened” was his occasional rapid transit through the outer editorial room to his private office, with an emphatic clink of his boot-heel upon the floor, but utter silence of the tongue. “What’s up?” one man would whisper to his neighbor; and the answer came within the hour, when some derelict person, who had made a blunder, or disregarded an order, was seen emerging from the presence to which he had been summoned—emerging chopfallen and discomfitted. Raymond understood better than most men the art of controlling his temper. This was a part of the tact for which he was distinguished, and to which he owed a great part of his success in life. “All men have sharp points,” he once said to me; “what is the use of running against them?” This was a sensible view of one social problem; and as Raymond believed, so he acted. He dealt in aquafortis only when his antagonists insisted upon being bitten. Under ordinary circumstances, he dealt in oil—and so produced smoothness, when winds got high and waves ran roughly. In carrying out this doctrine of conciliation and good-fellowship to its natural conclusion, he fell into the pleasant habit of extending to his assistants the hospitalities of his home. On “reception nights,” or at social family dinners, the men of the “Times” met together for the moment free from the cares of toil, and, by interchanging the civilities of life, came to know each other, and to feel a kindly interest, which would never have been excited in the hurry of purely professional routine.
Raymond knew how to manage men; but it was his misfortune that he lacked the power of decisive self-management; and this brings me to review some of the causes of his mistakes. Let it be understood at the outset, that that is but a false sentiment which bestows only fulsome eulogy upon the dead. In no such way can full and exact justice be done. In no such way can we arrive at a proper estimate of the qualities of a public man. In analyzing the character of Henry J. Raymond, it should not be forgotten that, while he was a man of honest purpose, his mental constitution led him to look at the negative as well as at the positive side of every question. This tendency was illustrated in his political career, which was not a success; it was also illustrated in his conduct of the internal affairs of the “Times,” in the last ten years of his life. A man of generous impulses, his gratuities were often misapplied; a man of strong friendship, he was loth to believe that a friend could be a scamp, and thus was often swindled; a man without partisan bias, yet a political leader, he preferred the advocacy of general principles, rather than the championship which would have compelled him to remain within party lines—a fact which explains many of his political tergiversations. His habit of looking at both sides of any subject, led to some curious complications in his management of the “Times”—for instance, his theory that the members of an editorial force should change positions at stated intervals. An old newspaper man once remonstrated with Raymond upon this point, insisting that it was bad policy to make such frequent changes; and that men worked to better advantage when thoroughly conversant with the exact duty required of them. “But men get to running in ruts,” Raymond replied. He had a horror of adhering strictly to one line. The great highway he never lost sight of; but little green and shady lanes came continually into view, in which he was disposed to ramble. In times of public emergency, however, he always returned to the broad path; and, as in the day of our Civil War, could be firm, true, honest, and never fickle. Had he devoted himself exclusively to journalism, as I know he intended to do when the “Times” began, his record would have been without a blot. But politics enticed him, and he became ensnared.
Full justice has been done in the current biographies to Mr. Raymond’s skill as a journalist. I need only add that the laudation is deserved. No man merited more kindly remembrance than the Dead Chief upon whose grave the grass is springing and the flowers are budding. His errors and his virtues alike convey a useful lesson.
When the “Times” first opened its eyes upon this sinful world, there was need of just such a birth. It was a time of high political excitement, of bitter partisan animosities, of Socialistic heresies, of degradation in journalism—a time when good men mourned, and evil came uppermost. The Compromise troubles of 1850 had but just ended, and the wounds of battle, though healing, were still tender and painful. The “Tribune,” which had long occupied a commanding position, had become offensive to many people by reason of its advocacy of “isms.” The personalities of Eatansvill, magnified by greater scope, and intensified by hate even more rancorous than in the fabled days of Mr. Pott and Mr. Slurk, found daily expression in the columns of the journal which had then, as now, the largest circulation.
For it is to be remembered that this was eighteen years ago. The cheap papers of that day—and the price of the best, ten years before the war, was but twopence—were dangerous in different ways; yet each had a large circulation, and each became a profitable property. They printed all the news of the world, and printed it promptly; and so men read the daily sheet, even if under protest. Large capital enabled the proprietors of these rival papers to search through the world in quest of entertainment for their readers, and every morning there was a fresh record of what men had done, a day, a fortnight, a month before—for as yet no Atlantic Cable and no Pacific Railway existed, and London was thirteen days distant by slow-going steamers, and San Francisco thirty. The “Sun” was the penny paper of the day, read chiefly by draymen and mechanics. The “Courier and Enquirer” was huge and heavy, given up to advertisements and to quarrels with its equally huge neighbor, the “Journal of Commerce;” the “Evening Post” printed but one or two editions daily, and the “Commercial Advertiser” was its rival—and these four, one-half morning and one-half evening issues, were sold for the highest price, but had the smallest supplies of news, and hence the smallest circulation. All this is changed now; and the new order dates from the 18th day of September, 1851—when Henry J. Raymond, George Jones, Harper & Brothers, and others, crystallized their brains, their cash and their enterprise, industry and good-will in the little four-paged newspaper called the “New York Daily Times.”
Raymond, naturally sagacious, saw the want of his time, and determined to supply it. A good family newspaper was needed—he provided it. A cheap newspaper was essential—he sold the “Times” for one cent. Money was wanted to keep the new craft afloat in its early days—the generous kindness of the men who had full faith in Raymond supplied ample means. No paper was ever launched in New York under more favorable auspices. The “Tribune” was started upon a borrowed capital of one thousand dollars; the “Herald” was begun in a cellar; the “Evening Post” grew up from very small beginnings; the “Express” was born in obscurity, and made small headway. But the “Times” began its prosperous life with a handsome bank account of one hundred thousand dollars; and it is no small credit to its founder that this capital returned interest before the end of the third year. The Chief whose sad and sudden death recalls these memories of his early triumphs, brought to his task the ripe experience of a trained journalist, and the accomplishments of a scholar, and the sweet and gentle graces of a polished gentleman. When his purpose became known, the best journalistic talent of the city was at his disposal, and rarely has so strong an editorial force been organized so rapidly as that with which Raymond found himself surrounded on the day the “Times” appeared. Himself the chief of all, in acquirements as well as position, he attracted to his paper some of the strongest writers and the brightest wits of the day; and from the start the new journal was eagerly sought.
“Pooh!” said a “Tribune” stockholder to the writer, in the summer of 1851; “the ‘Times’ is only an experiment; it cannot succeed!” “True, an experiment,” was the reply; “but then it should be remembered that everything in the world was once an experiment, and the success of an experiment depends chiefly upon the experimenter; the ‘Tribune’ itself was an experiment.” Both the “Tribune” and the “Times” were good “experiments.” The greeting the “Times” received from its contemporaries, however, was not so much a greeting as a malediction. The newspaper made rapid inroads upon the circulation of its two rivals, whose own careers had been one long fight; and both turned at once upon the interloper which dared to sell more news and better literary work than either for just one-half their price. Raymond planted wheat, but the enemy came and sowed tares, and they grew together till the harvest, as he afterward found to his cost.
Let us be thankful that the old asperities are buried with the brave man's body.
Those who formed the early editorial company of the “Times” will not soon forget the curious incidents which attended the first issues of the paper. The only building downtown then available for the use of a newspaper office was the brown-stone house No. 113 Nassau street, between Beekman and Ann. It had been begun by an Irish builder, whose funds became exhausted when the work was half done. Money was advanced to him by the proprietors of the “Times,” and with very hard work and persistent pushing a part of the building was prepared for occupancy in the second week of September, 1851. But the publication office was put into a pigeon-hole, on the opposite side of the street, and the messengers who went back and forth wore a smooth path over the cobble stones before the business department had come within reach of the editorial rooms. On the night of the 17th of September, the first number of the “Times” was “made up,” in open lofts, destitute alike of windows, gas, speaking-tubes, dumb-waiters, and general conveniences. All was raw and dismal. I remember sitting by the open window at midnight, looking through the dim distance at Mr. Alexander C. Wilson, Raymond’s first lieutenant, who was diligently writing “brevier” at a ricketty table at the end of the barren loft, his only light a flaring candle, held upright by three nails in a block of wood—at the city editor, and the news-men, and the reporters, all eagerly scratching pens over paper, their countenances half-lighted, half-shaded by other guttering candles—at Raymond, writing rapidly and calmly, as he always wrote, but invested with the broader illumination of two candles; and all the night the soft summery air blew where it listed, and sometimes blew out the feeble lights, and grimey little “devils” came down at intervals from the printing-room, and cried for “copy;” and every man in the little company, from the chief to the police reporter, gave his whole mind to the preparation of the rusty little sheet which lies before me as I write. It was a good, lively, sensible first number—this first number of the “New York Times;” full of news and gossip and pleasant miscellany; making its bow to the expectant public with a grace it has never lost, and entering upon its career with the vigor it has since sustained so well.
Vigorous measures had been taken by the proprietors of the “Times” to ensure publicity for their undertaking. They fully understood the art of advertising, and so they set a good example to those who came after them. Displayed paragraphs in the daily papers announced the forthcoming sheet; neatly printed little circulars were placed beneath hall-doors; the “personal” columns and the letter writers trumpeted the news. Nor were the modern appliances of the printing art wanting. Hoe was directed to furnish one of his fastest presses—which press, by the way, was not delivered so promptly that the “Times” could keep its promise of appearance, and it was accordingly delayed for nearly a week. New type was bought, and “laid” under the capable super-vision of the ex-assistant foreman of the “Tribune,” Mr. Monroe F. Gale, the personified mystery known as “the man with the glazed cap,” who, some years before, had been seen wandering about the Battery, with a carpet-bag in his hand, in search of the little pilot-boat in which he made an adventurous voyage to Europe, in ineffectual effort to get news for the New York papers of the day. Money was abundant, and all the men of the “Times,” bringing youth and zeal and long newspaper experience to the work they had to do, labored with a will, in spite of some unforeseen obstacles and many drawbacks; and, of all the company, no one worked so well, so long, nor so effectively as Raymond himself. He was a worker by nature; his labor was never perfunctory. The net result of all this combination of energy, experience and capital was “No. 1” of the “New York Times”—a sheet better than any other first number that a New York newspaper office had produced. There was joy in the barn-like editorial room and in the pigeon-hole counting-house, when the public flocked in to buy, and when men said pleasant words about the new venture.
Raymond was happy—happier, I think, than I ever knew him to be, before or after—and with good reason. For here was a man, only thirty-one years old, who had already reached the height of his ambition—all the ambition he had cherished up to that period of his life—in becoming the controller of a public journal. His unerring instinct told him his experiment was a success; he knew he possessed within himself the power of infusing into it the elements of strength. A week went by; subscriptions poured in, and advertisements followed. The “Tribune” and the “Herald” suffered serious loss; but their loss was Raymond’s gain, and the world was wide enough for all. But then it was that a change came over the spirit of New York journalism. The old times died when the new “Times” began.
At the beginning of its second year, the “Times” was doubled in size and price; and then it began to pay dividends, small at first, but rapidly increasing. Then its office was removed to better quarters, in the building now known as the Park Hotel, on the corner of Nassau and Beekman streets; subsequently its proprietors bought real estate, at the time when the Old Brick Church property came into market; then the handsome house it now occupies was built, and fortunes were made by the men who owned it; and now, nearly eighteen years from the day of its birth, the “Times” is worth a million of dollars—perhaps more.
In the course of the years marked by these successive events, Raymond steadily increased the force upon his paper; engaging new writers, paying large prices for early news, establishing corps of correspondents, always bidding for the best of everything, and generally getting it. For seven or eight years, all was plain sailing, and Raymond’s horizon had no cloud. His mistakes came later; and I shall presently try to show how they happened.
Among the men who made their mark upon the “Times,” in the first five years of its existence, were James W. Simonton, Alexander C. Wilson, Charles F. Briggs, William Henry Hurlbut, Dr. Frank Tuthill. William G. Sewell, Charles C. B. Seymour, Caleb C. Norvell, and De Cordova. Of these nine, three beside Raymond are dead—Sewell and Tuthill and Seymour—and with a single exception the others are scattered in different directions. Simonton, who left the “Courier and Enquirer” in company with Raymond, is now the General Agent of the New York Associated Press, and chief proprietor of the San Francisco “Bulletin,” the best paper on the Pacific Coast; Wilson is in the Associated Press Agency in London; Briggs has done what he never should have done, in laying down the pen; Hurlbut, after a curious experience, is expending his polished wit and scholarship upon the “World;” De Cordova alternately attends to mercantile business and delivers funny lectures; and only Mr. Norvell remains in the service of the “Times.” I name these members of the early staff, because they are closely associated with pleasant memories of Raymond, and I cannot refrain from repeating the high compliment he once paid them, in my hearing: “I attribute a very large share of the early success of the ‘Times,’” said he, “to the ability and the industry of the gentlemen engaged in the editorial department;” forgetting, in his self-abnegation, that every man in his employ was happy in the conviction that good work was certain to receive appreciation and reward.
Moreover, in his relations with his subordinates, Raymond was always a gentleman. He strove to conciliate, and he was never betrayed by anger into discourtesy. The sole indication that “something had happened” was his occasional rapid transit through the outer editorial room to his private office, with an emphatic clink of his boot-heel upon the floor, but utter silence of the tongue. “What’s up?” one man would whisper to his neighbor; and the answer came within the hour, when some derelict person, who had made a blunder, or disregarded an order, was seen emerging from the presence to which he had been summoned—emerging chopfallen and discomfitted. Raymond understood better than most men the art of controlling his temper. This was a part of the tact for which he was distinguished, and to which he owed a great part of his success in life. “All men have sharp points,” he once said to me; “what is the use of running against them?” This was a sensible view of one social problem; and as Raymond believed, so he acted. He dealt in aquafortis only when his antagonists insisted upon being bitten. Under ordinary circumstances, he dealt in oil—and so produced smoothness, when winds got high and waves ran roughly. In carrying out this doctrine of conciliation and good-fellowship to its natural conclusion, he fell into the pleasant habit of extending to his assistants the hospitalities of his home. On “reception nights,” or at social family dinners, the men of the “Times” met together for the moment free from the cares of toil, and, by interchanging the civilities of life, came to know each other, and to feel a kindly interest, which would never have been excited in the hurry of purely professional routine.
Raymond knew how to manage men; but it was his misfortune that he lacked the power of decisive self-management; and this brings me to review some of the causes of his mistakes. Let it be understood at the outset, that that is but a false sentiment which bestows only fulsome eulogy upon the dead. In no such way can full and exact justice be done. In no such way can we arrive at a proper estimate of the qualities of a public man. In analyzing the character of Henry J. Raymond, it should not be forgotten that, while he was a man of honest purpose, his mental constitution led him to look at the negative as well as at the positive side of every question. This tendency was illustrated in his political career, which was not a success; it was also illustrated in his conduct of the internal affairs of the “Times,” in the last ten years of his life. A man of generous impulses, his gratuities were often misapplied; a man of strong friendship, he was loth to believe that a friend could be a scamp, and thus was often swindled; a man without partisan bias, yet a political leader, he preferred the advocacy of general principles, rather than the championship which would have compelled him to remain within party lines—a fact which explains many of his political tergiversations. His habit of looking at both sides of any subject, led to some curious complications in his management of the “Times”—for instance, his theory that the members of an editorial force should change positions at stated intervals. An old newspaper man once remonstrated with Raymond upon this point, insisting that it was bad policy to make such frequent changes; and that men worked to better advantage when thoroughly conversant with the exact duty required of them. “But men get to running in ruts,” Raymond replied. He had a horror of adhering strictly to one line. The great highway he never lost sight of; but little green and shady lanes came continually into view, in which he was disposed to ramble. In times of public emergency, however, he always returned to the broad path; and, as in the day of our Civil War, could be firm, true, honest, and never fickle. Had he devoted himself exclusively to journalism, as I know he intended to do when the “Times” began, his record would have been without a blot. But politics enticed him, and he became ensnared.
Full justice has been done in the current biographies to Mr. Raymond’s skill as a journalist. I need only add that the laudation is deserved. No man merited more kindly remembrance than the Dead Chief upon whose grave the grass is springing and the flowers are budding. His errors and his virtues alike convey a useful lesson.
AUGUSTUS MAVERICK.
The Galaxy
August, 1869
August, 1869
Art. I.—Henry J. Raymond and the New York Press, for Thirty Years. Progress of American Journalism, from 1840 to 1870. By Augustus Maverick, Hartford, Connecticut: A.S. Hale. 1870.
There is no country in the world which so finely illustrates the diffusive spirit of modern civilization as America; for though in other lands human nature seems to rise to a greater height in individual instances, and to stand out in more picturesque relief, it is the nation which has excelled them all in equalizing the rights, the enjoyments, and the intelligence of man. Many circumstances have contributed to this happy result. America has been clogged by none of the mischievous remains of feudal institutions, and but little affected by those violations of political economy, older than the age of reason, which have checked the free and natural development of European communities. Its provisions for popular education were from the first singularly wise, liberal, and ample; there was no legislation to restrict all civil and social advantages to the members of a single religious sect; and no taxes on knowledge or artificial monopolies of any kind, to prevent the people from having access to that full variety of opinions, inquiries, and statements of fact, which is necessary to intellectual advancement. Above all, it was born old, with all the elements of European civilization to start with, and equipped with a complete literature, in which it would seem almost impossible to find place for any great genius, and with the best English works placed within every man's reach, at less than a tenth of their original cost. Taking these things in connection with the boundless material resources of the country, it is not by any means difficult to explain the magical rapidity of its advances in wealth and population, the signal prosperity it has already enjoyed, and the extraordinary power and greatness to which it is evidently destined.
The development of the press, like the improvement of the means of civilization, is a certain sign of the relative advancement of a nation. We use the term civilization here to signify not so much the development of some elevated and delicate parts of human nature such as art, philosophy, or politeness, as that of political liberty and social progress; and in this sense the progress of the press becomes historically the most constant and faithful indication of the general progress of a nation. The truth of this proposition becomes evident, from the close connection that exists between the press and the public, from the action and reaction, the efflux and reflux, from the true corporate unity which brings into the press the life-blood of the country. We depend upon the newspaper for distributing knowledge, as well as creating it; it is an instrument by which the opinions and feelings of the people may be guided and developed, as well as communicated and ascertained. It is in fact an essential element in the peculiar spirit and tendency which characterizes our modern civilization. Still we are far from holding that it is a perfect instrument, or free from very serious drawbacks. Eminent men like Lamartine speak of it in terms of extravagant eulogy, predicting that before the century shall have run out journalism will be the whole press, the whole human thought, and that the only book possible from day to day will be the newspaper; a great English novelist speaks of it as a link in the great chain of miracles which prove our national greatness; and Bulwer Lytton calls it the chronicle of civilization, the great mental camera which throws a picture of the whole world upon a single sheet of paper. These somewhat rhetorical representations are very common, but they are far from exact or truthful. We suspect that the newspaper tends in all countries to ignore, more or less, all knowledge that will not render its teaching popular; that its chief figures are often the wicked, the worthless, and the shallow; and that its pictures, though generally faithful, are often false, distorted, and narrow. De Toqueville liked the liberty of the press, rather from the evils it prevented, than from the advantages it created; and Montalembert represents Liberty as saying to the Press, like the unhappy swain—'Nec cum te nec sine te vivere possum.' John Stuart Mill has two objects of hatred; Puritanism, with its positive creed and agressive zeal, and the ascendancy of the middle classes, through the newspaper press, with all their mediocrity and bigotry. He has always protested, in the interests of his great idol, individuality, against 'the régime of public opinion,' against the various 'usurpations upon the liberty of private life,' against the moral intolerance of society, carried on through the newspapers. Amidst these various estimates of the press we are disposed to take a middle course. It may sometimes be wielded by unworthy hands, for unworthy purposes; its liberty may run into licence, and the rules of good taste and propriety be violated; its policy on public questions may be unscrupulous and unprincipled; but we remember that modern progress would have been impossible without it; that the people are not its slaves, but its patrons and critics; and we would lay no other restraint upon it than the invisible fetters imposed by the intelligence and good feeling of its readers. Whether, then, we consider the amount and quality of intellectual force put forth in it, the character of mind acted on by it, and the wide area over which it operates, especially in England and America, where it has the greatest expansion, we cannot but regard it as a subject for sincere congratulation that its influence has been exercised so uniformly on the side of public safety and public morals, that there has been a gradual improvement of late years in the moral tone of newspaper management, and that it has succeeded in creating and fostering a healthy and independent public opinion on all the questions of the age.
The great development of the American press has taken place during the last thirty years, keeping pace exactly with the advancing prosperity of the country. A large number of new and powerful processes, as well as influences of a more general kind, were converging towards this result. The education of the people, the progress of legislation, the discoveries of science, the inventions of art, conspired to make literature, especially in the newspaper form, a prime necessity of American life, and to place it within every man's reach on easy terms; while every improvement made in the art of communication and travel still farther contributed to its growth, and increased its utility. So it has come to pass that America is the 'classic soil of newspapers;' everybody is reading; every class is writing; literature is permeating everywhere; publicity is sought for every interest and every order; no political party, no religious sect, no theological school, no literary or benevolent association is without its particular organ; there is a universality of print; the soldiers fighting in Mexico or in the Southern states are printing the journal of their exploits on the battle-field; the press is seizing on the whole public life and upon so much of private life as through social irregularity, or individual force of character, or national taste, necessarily emerges into publicity; fostering on the one hand the worship of the almighty dollar, but establishing a strong and wholesome counterpoise, by stimulating that zeal for public education, that enthusiastic spirit of philanthropy, and that truly munificent liberality by which the American people have been always distinguished. As we have already intimated, the modern development of the press is just thirty years old. There was no telegraph before 1843; no fast ocean-steamer to carry news from the old world for some years later; and no Associated Press to organize the supply of intelligence. The first American newspaper was printed at Boston, in 1690, fifty years after the appearance of the first English newspaper; in 1775 there were only 34 nespapers; in 1800, 200; in 1830, 1,000; and the latest statistics give no less than 5,244 as the total number of journals published in the United States, of which 542 are daily, 4,425 are weekly, and 127 are monthly.
Our common idea of the American newspaper is that of a print published by a literary Barnum, whose type, paper, talents, morality, and taste are all equally wretched and inferior; who is certain to give us flippancy for wit, personality for principle, bombast for eloquence, malignity without satire, and news without truth or reliability; whose paper is prolific of all kinds of sensational headings; and who is obliged, in the service of his advertising customers, to become enthusiastic on the subject of hams, exuberant in the praises of hardware, and highly imaginative in the matter of dry-goods. Perhaps this representation might apply, with some degree of correctness, to a portion of the newspaper press, especially that published in the country towns and villages; but we shall immediately see that American literary enterprise, especially in the great cities, is not to be judged by such unworthy examples. The work of Mr. Maverick, which appears at the head of this article, supplies a large amount of information concerning American journalism, connecting its more recent development with the name of Henry J. Raymond, a well-known Republican politician, who founded the New York Times, one of the most respectable and powerful newspapers in the States. We cannot say much for the book on literary grounds: it exhibits nearly all the worst qualities of Transatlantic journalism itself—flimsiness, personality, and haste; but its information is very interesting and acceptable to European readers. The facts of Raymond's life may be supplied in a few sentences. He was born in 1820, at Lima, in the state of New York; he graduated at the University in Vermont; he went to New York city in 1840, and was introduced to newspaper life by Horace Greeley; he passed ten laborious years on the Tribune, and the Courier and Inquirer; and in the year 1851 he may be justly said to have opened a new era in American journalism, by establishing the Times, a daily paper, which carried temperance and dignity into political discussion, banishing all personalities, and maintaining a high critical and moral tone, which was all but unknown before that period. Like most American journalists, he engaged actively in politics, becoming in 1849 a member of the New York Legislature, and afterwards speaker of the House of Representatives, and Lieutenant-Governor of the State; and in 1864, member of Congress. He was a sincere and upright politician, who always staunchly opposed the slave party in the United States, but lost popularity and credit, by his exceedingly foolish and unfortunate championship of President Johnson, through all his remarkable freaks of obstinacy and eccentricity. On returning home from his office, on the night of the 18th June, 1869, he dropped down in the hall of his house, in a fit of apoplexy, and died five hours afterwards, without recovering consciousness. He was in his fiftieth year. Henry Ward Beecher said, in the funeral oration at his grave, that Raymond 'was a man without hate, and, he might almost say, without animosity; his whole career had been free from bitterness;' and Horace Greeley bore this high testimony to his professional ability;—'I doubt whether this country has known a journalist superior to Henry J. Raymond. He was unquestionably a very clever and versatile, but not powerful writer; and excelled especially in newspaper management.' We shall have occasion to refer again to his services as a journalist.
In proposing to give some account of the American press, both secular and religious, we have to remark that the first great stimulus given to newspaper enterprise in America was by James Gordon Bennett, the well-known editor of the New York Herald, which was established in the year 1834. This able journalist was born in 1800, at Newmill, Keith, Banffshire, of Roman Catholic parents. He was originally designed for the priesthood, and had passed through a portion of his preliminary training in the Roman Catholic College of Blairs, near Aberdeen, but ultimately abandoned the prospects of a clerical life, and emigrated to America, in his nineteenth year—as he said himself—'to see the country where Franklin was born.' There he formed an early connection with the press, but it was not, as we have said, till 1834 that he founded the Herald. We are all more or less familiar with the moral and intellectual characteristics of this newspaper—unsparing personality, intolerable egotism, and sleepless hatred of England; but we are not so foolish as to imagine that the Herald became popular and successful because Americans are fond of personal abuse, or private scandal, or of the ceaseless denunciation of this country. These offences against good taste and right feeling existed long before the publication of the Herald. The secret of its remarkable success lay in the vigour and tact with which Bennett laboured day and night to furnish ample and early intelligence of events in all parts of the world, without regard to cost and labour. Mr. Maverick tells us that 'all the old and heavy-weighted journals, which lazily got themselves before the New York public, day by day, thirty years ago, were undeniably sleepy,' and that the ruthless Bennett shocked the staid propriety of his time by introducing the rivalries and the spirit of enterprise which have ever since been distinguishing characteristics of New York newspaper life.' The Herald was successful, then, because Bennett made it his business to present his readers with fresh, ample, and correct news. No editorial eloquence, no skilful flattery of national prejudice or party feeling, could have atoned for any shortcoming in this respect. The other newspaper managers were soon compelled to imitate his energy and skill in the supply of news, and Mr. Maverick has informed us how effectively his example was sometimes followed, by his rivals. On one occasion, before the days of the telegraph, the leading New York journals dispatched reporters to Boston, to obtain an early account of a speech by Daniel Webster, who was then in the plenitude of his fame. Two reporters represented each journal; but Raymond alone represented the Tribune. On their return home by the steamer the other reporters passed the night in convivial pleasantries; but Raymond was busily engaged all the time, in a retired part of the vessel, writing off his report for a batch of printers who were on board with their 'cases' of type; so that the entire report, making several columns of the Tribune, was prepared for being printed on the arrival of the steamer at New York, at five o'clock in the morning. The feat was a remarkable instance of newspaper enterprise. The Hudson River steamboats afterwards regularly carried corps of printers with types, from Albany to New York, to prepare the speeches of legislators for next morning's journals. Carrier-pigeons were employed to convey the latest European news from Halifax or Boston to Wall-street; and pilot-boats made long voyages, in stormy weather, to meet Atlantic steamers in search of early news. In election times pony-expresses were appointed by rival journals to carry early intelligence of results; as in railway times, locomotive engines were raced on rival lines of railroad in the interests which had paid high prices 'for the right of way.' Sometimes a little of that 'smartness,' which is so popular in America, was displayed in these newspaper rivalries, as when, on one occasion, the Tribune reporter ran off to New York on a special engine, hired expressly for the Herald, and thus succeeded in publishing an early and exclusive edition of some important news.
The success of the Herald led Horace Greeley to found the Tribune, in 1841. We can see at once that, like Bennett and Raymond, he was greatly endowed with that species of sagacity which divines at a glance the capabilities of a new project or speculation. Greeley was the son of a New England farmer, and came to New York a poor penniless boy. His earlier essays in newspaper management were total failures; but the Tribune was remarkably successful from its very commencement. It eschewed the coarse and violent style of the Herald, and pursued a far more generous and enlightened policy on public questions, while it almost rivalled the business-like energy of its earlier contemporary; but it ultimately injured itself by its championship of socialism, and a host of other secular heresies. For, though Greeley was of a remarkably practical turn of mind, at least in the management of his own business, he was a great theorist, committed to every recherché novelty in faith and life, a moral philosopher, after a fashion of his own, sincere and liberal in his ideas, with deep sympathies for the working classes, advocating their rights, and seeking their elevation, while he did not fear to expose their follies and their faults. The Tribune became, under his management, the organ of socialism and spirit-rapping, woman's rights, vegetarianism, temperance, and peace principles. It seemed, in fact, the premature harbinger of the'good time coming,' adept in all the cant of reform, and familiar with the whole philosophy of progress, a very clear vein of sense being perceptible to critical minds, in the elegant sophistry with which it vindicated its own course, and tried to overwhelm all objectors. It attemted, in fact, to turn to account the remarkable tremour of the public mind, which arose from what was seen or said between 1845 and 1855 of mesmerism, electro-biology, spirit-rapping, Swedenborgianism, and psychology; but we are glad to know that the Tribune has greatly improved in its general views, and comes more into accord with common ideas on these curious subjects.
It was the disgust and disappointment of the public with the socialistic heresies of the Tribune, as well as with the shameless and indecent personalities of the Herald, that led to the establishment of the Times, in the year 1851. It took rank at once as a dignified and able journal. Its influence was exercised from the first on the side of morality, industry, education, and religion; and to use the words of an eminent English journalist, now at the American press, 'it encouraged truthfulness, carried decency, temperance, and courtesy into discussion, and helped to abate the greatest nuisance of the age, the coarseness, violence, and calumny, which does so much to drive sensible and high-minded and competent men out of public life, or keep them from entering it.' No one, certainly, has ever done more than Henry J. Raymond for the elevation of the American newspaper. We cannot justly overlook the substantial services done in the same department by the New York Evening Post, under the management of its veteran editor, William Cullen Bryant, the poet; by the New York World, a new paper distinguished by the talent, incisiveness, and dignity of its articles; and by the Nation, managed by Mr. Gorkin, an Irishman, once connected with the London press, and which stands upon the intellectual level of the best European periodicals.
We are indebted to Mr. Maverick for a tolerably full account of the present position of New York journalism. There are 150 newspapers published in that city, of which 24 are daily papers, two of them published in the French language, and three in German. The remainder are weekly journals, of which eighteen are in German, one in Italian, and two in Spanish. There are no less than 258 German newspapers in all America, the largest number being published in Pennsylvania. There are eighteen religious newspapers published in New York. We have the following information in reference to the literary and mechanical arrangement of the daily press:
'Each of the great daily papers of New York to-day employs more than a hundred men, in different departments, and expends half a millon dollars annually, with less concern to the proprietors than an outlay of one-quarter of that sum would have occassioned in 1840. The editorial corps of the papers issued in New York on the first day of the present year numbered at least half a score of persons; the reporters were in equal force; sixty printers and eight or ten pressmen were employed to put in type and to print the contents of each issue of the paper; twenty readers, and a dozen mailing clerks and bookkeepers managed the business details of each establishment. Editorial salaries now range from twenty-five to sixty dollars a week; reporters receive from twenty to thirty dollars a week; and the gross receipts of a great daily paper for a year often reach the sum of one million dollars, of which an average of one third is clear profit. These statistics are applicable to four or five of the daily morning journals of New York.
There is much literary ability displayed in the daily and weekly journals of Washington, Philadelphia, Boston, and other leading cities. The Boston Post is a leading newspaper in that city. It is answerable for all the paradoxical absurdities of the famous Mrs. Partington. The Washington National Era, like the National Intelligencer, of the same capital, has a high position, as a literary and political journal. It was through its columns that Mrs. Stowe first gave to the world her 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' just as Judge Haliburton first published 'Sam Slick, the Clockmaker,' in the pages of a Nova Scotian weekly newspaper.
It is a remarkable fact that the Americans have never produced a Quarterly worthy of the name, except the 'North American Review,' which is certainly below the intellectual level of the four or five English reviews which are reprinted in New York every quarter within a fortnight of their publication in England. It was said, in explanation of the fact that the French had never succeeded in maintaining a review on the plan of the English Quarterlies, that their opinions and parties change so often, and the nation was so volatile, that they could not wait a quarter of a year upon anybody. But this explanation will not apply to the Americans. The 'North American Review' has always had on its list of contributors the very best names in native literature, such as Longfellow, Everett, J. R. Lowell, Motley, Jared Sparks, Caleb Cushing, George Bancroft, and others. Yet its success has been very partial. Its literary position ought to have been far more decided. The 'Atlantic Monthly' holds a deservedly high place in American letters, with such authors as Emerson, Holmes, and Mrs. Stowe among its principal contributors; but its influence has always been thrown into the scale against Evangelical Christianity. 'Harper's Magazine,' published in New York, is illustrated monthly for the fashionable world, with a circulation of 150,000 copies. 'Bonner's Ledger' has pushed its way into the front rank of weekly magazines, by its romances, its essays, and its poetry, from such writers as Parton, Beecher, Everett, Saxe, Bryant, and many others. The sporting world has its Wilkes' Spirit of the Times; the advocates of woman's rights have the Revolution, in the hands of Susan B. Anthony and E. C. Stanton; the grocers have a Grocer's Journal; the merchants a Dry Goods Reporter; the billiards-players, a Billiard-cue; and the dealers in tobacco, a Tobacco Leaf. The advocates of Spiritualism and Socialism have a large number of journals in their service. But, strange to relate, the Americans have not a single comic periodical like our 'Punch.' Mr. Maverick says that, in the course of a dozen years, many attempts have been made to establish such a print, but without success. 'Vanity Fair' was the best of the class, but its wit and its pictorial illustrations were equally poor and trivial. All the comic papers that flourished for a few years were only remarkable for the immense amount of bad wit they contained, for a wilderness of worthlessness, for an endless process of tickling and laughter; with only an occasional gleam of genuine humour and imagination. If the Americans have failed in producing such a periodical, it is not from the want of literary men possessed of the vis comica, for Oliver Wendell Holmes, James R. Lowell, Shelton, Butler, and Saxe are first-rate humourists. The English comic papers can command all the abounding talent of men like Douglas Jerrold, Albert Smith, W. M. Thackeray, Mark Lemon, Shirley Brooks, Thomas Hood, F. Burnand, and a host of other satirists. The Americans, however, have never had a Tenniel, a Doyle, a Leech, a Du Maurier, or a Keene, to throw off, week after week, the most amusing and instructive pictorial satires. All they have hitherto done in this department is to copy with tolerable taste and skill the best cartoons and wood-cuts of 'Punch' and our illustrated magazines. Perhaps America has yet to find its Bradbury and Evans. It is evidently most in want of a publisher. After all, there is hardly anything the Americans need more than a good comic paper, to moderate the intensity of their politics, to laugh down the extravagant follies of American society, to measure the strength of their public men, to register their blunders, and expose their hollowness, to watch over the caprices of fashion, to criticize the press itself, with its coarseness and scurrility, its disgraceful advertisements, and its downright fabrications; taking good care to keep free from those sins which so easiy beset satirists, rancour, obscenity, and attacks on private character. They need a satirical journal, just to apply to all things the good old test of common sense; and when uncommon wit is allied with common sense in branding any custom or habit as evil, it must be very deeply rooted if it cannot be overturned or modified. Besides, the Americans, as a hard-working race, need a refreshing humour to relieve the strain upon their mental and physical energies. Emerson remarked of Abraham Lincoln, that humour refreshed him like sleep or wine; and a nation so eager in all kinds of work deserves the innocent relaxation that comes from literature in its most sparkling and pleasing form.
The volume of Mr. Maverick makes almost no allusion to an important department of the American press, which demands some notice at our hands, viz., that which ministers to the intellectual and moral wants of the Irish Roman Catholic immigrants. There is no city of any magnitude which does not possess its Catholic organ. New York city is the proper centre of the Catholic press, but Philadelphia, Baltimore, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Chicago, Detroit, New Orleans, Boston, Charleston, and St. Louis have each their weekly paper for the Irish population. Intellectually, these papers are very inferior, and so illiberal that almost every question is viewed from the single standpoint of creed, race, or country. The liberal policy of a free and progressive state has hardly produced the slightest effect upon them. It is a very remarkable fact that in America, as in other countries, journalism is not wielded in the service of Romanism with any freshness and power, except by converts from Protestantism. We find Brownson's Reviews, the Freeman's Journal, the Shepherd of the Valley (now discontinued), and Catholic Herald, in the hands of perverts, just as in Europe the Tablet was founded by a convert from Quakerism, the Dublin Review is in the hands of an Oxford pervert, and the Historisch-politische Blätter of Munich as founded by Professor Phillips, and maintained in great scientific efficiency by Yarke, both converts from Lutheranism. The Irish press in America is very ultramontane. It seems drunk with the very spirit of religious servility, mad with the hatred of liberty, and adopts the strictest Roman Catholic doctrines, following them out to their extremest consequences, with a rudeness and arrogance of style approaching to vulgarity. Orestes Brownson says that the Pope is nowhere so truly Pope, and finds nowhere, so far as Catholics are concerned, so little resistance in the full exercise of his authority as in the United States. No European editor, except Veuillot, ever wrote in the style of Brownson himself, who is intellectually without a peer among Romish editors; for he takes the strongest and most unpopular ground as the very foundation of his ecclesiastical and political theories. Veuillot shocked the good sense and liberal feeling of Europe, by defending the Inquisition and the St. Bartholomew massacre; but Brownson despises all prudential consideration, in claiming for his church the right to put heretics to death, for he holds that this is punishment, and not persecution. The Shepherd of the Valley held that the question of punishing heretics was one of mere expediency, and declared that in the event of his church gaining the ascendance in America, there would be an end of religious toleration. The Pittsburgh Catholic censured these outspoken utterances; but the Boston Pilot rebuked its Pittsburgh contemporary for its censures, declaring that the Shepherd of the Valley said nothing that was not true; yet saying itself, with marked inconsistency, 'No Catholic wishes to abridge the religious rights of Protestants.' It is in perfect consistency with such ultramontane ideas that these Irish newspapers uniformly take the side of royal despots in great national struggles, and deny all sympathy to revolutionary leaders except those of Ireland. Though they usually cry out lustily when any step in American legislation or any popular combination manifests even an appearance of hostility to Catholic interests, they actually had the audacity, in 1859, to defend those royal miscreants of Italy, who rioted in the misery of their subjects, and of whom it was truly said, 'They kept one-half of their people in prison and the other half in fear of it.' They sympathised with the Poles in their last insurrection, because their oppressor was a schismatic; they had no sympathy with Hungarians, or Italians, or Spaniards, because their oppressors were Catholics. The Boston Pilot—the most popular journal of the Irish—forgot its rôle so far in 1848, as to take a liberal view of the European revolutionists. The result was that the Univers in giving an account of Catholic journalism in America, excluded the Pilot from its list of the orthodox; the clergy, moreover, condemned it; and it was obliged to express its pentence for such an error of judgment. The Pilot, after all, is more reasonable and less fanatical than most of the Catholic papers, and is specially copious in its reports of Catholic news. All these Irish newspapers are, without exception, bitterly anti-English in their tone and spirit. One might suppose that having escaped from misery and poverty, and launched upon a new career of prosperity and contentment, the Irish could afford to forget England; but, like their teachers at the press, they are strong in historical grudges, and their hatred to this country is as much theological as political. The Irish-American journalist delights in copying into his paper the abuse of England, collected from all quarters of the world, and in times of war or rebellion depreciates our triumphs and magnifies our misfortunes. The Catholic clergy have found it hard to control the opinions of a portion of their Irish countrymen, who, though sufficiently submissive in spiritual concerns, have shown a disposition to assert an independence of clerical control in matters affecting the interests of Ireland. Sometimes, indeed, the clergy have been led to humour this national feeling, as when they were in the habit of attending the 'Tom Moore Club,' at Boston, though it had been more than suspected that the favourite poet had died out of the pale of the church. At length the Shepherd of the Valley pointedly condemned their appearance at the annual banquet, on the ground that the poet was ashamed of his country's religion during life, and that English preachers performed the obsequies at his grave. The appearance of Thomas Francis Meagher in America, after his escape from penal servitude in Australia, greatly perplexed the bishops and clergy; but the mot d'ordre went forth, and all the Catholic newspapers in America, with a single exception, assailed him with the greatest bitterness, for his enlightened opinions upon religious liberty, and upon the relation between Church and State. Thousands of the Irish, notwithstanding, rallied round Meagher; and the Irish-American was established, for the vindication and enforcement of his principles. There are a few other organs of Irish nationality, including the Irish People, of John Mitchell, published in America, but, with the exception of the People, they are all contemptible, in every point of view. You find in their pages column after column of windy jargon and tawdry rhetoric, which would consign an English editor to a madhouse. This gaudy and ornate style, with a profusion of florid imagery and Oriental hyperbole quite overpowering, seems to characterise every Nationalist journal. It is these papers that have inflated the Fenian bubble. We pity the deplorable ignorance of the Irish masses, their misguided enthusiasm, and their preposterous pertinacity in the pursuit of visionary ends; but we have no language too severe to apply to their intellectual leaders who pursue their ignoble calling from a mercenary calculation of the profits to be derived from bottomless credulity. We fear that the Irish press generally has succeeded in imparting an education to the emigrés that can serve only to nurture hatreds, which, like curses, too often come home to roost, and that some considerable time can be expected to elapse before all of the appliances of American civilization and Christianity shall succeed, as they most certainly will, in the assimilation of such intractable materials.
Our notice of the American press would be incomplete without some account of that ample supply of religious literature which is furnished by thousands of weekly, monthly, and quarterly periodicals. The religious newspaper is almost peculiar to America, and is far superior to any similar publication in England. The English paper is more ecclesiastical and less religious; the American, while equally strenuous and careful in the advocacy of denominational claims, supplies much of what we usually obtain here from the Sunday Magazine and the Family Treasury. The literary superiority of the religious press over the secular in America arises mainly from the fact that its conductors and contributors are mostly clergymen who have been graduates of colleges, and are possessed of a considerable amount of classical culture and training. Every denomination has a larger number of weekly organs. The two leading newspapers of the class are the New York Independent and the New York Observer, the former an organ of the Congregationalists, and the latter of the Presbyterians. The Independent was originally conducted by the Rev. Dr. Bacon, the Rev. Dr. Thompson, and the Rev. Richard Storrs, jun.; it afterwards passed into the hands of the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, who wielded it with great power and efficiency in the anti-slavery cause; and it is now managed by Theodore Tilton in company with several others. It contains a great variety of religious, political, and general news, devotional and literary pieces of great merit, together with foreign and domestic correspondence, written with an excellent spirit. Mr. Beecher has established, and conducts, the Christian Union, another religious paper, which is rapidly rising to popularity and power. The Advance, a religious paper published in Chicago, and conducted by Dr. Patten, is one of the best of the religious papers of America. The Observer is one of the oldest and best established papers, once exceedingly Conservative in its views of slavery, but always distinguished by sound judgment, good taste, and fair culture. The Methodists are well represented by the Christian Advocate and Journal, and the Baptists by the Examiner and Chronicle. The monthly organ of the American Tract Society has a circulation of about 200,000, which it owes to its catholic character and its extraordinary cheapness. The quarterly literature of the American churches is of a very high character. The Bibliotheca Sacra is the great organ of New England theology, and the Biblical Repertory and Princeton Review and all British reviews in publishing the names of its contributors, and it has succeeded in gathering to its pages a vast amount of the most versatile talent from nearly all the Congregational Colleges of America. Its most original contributor in the domain of metaphysical theology is Professor Austin Phelps, of Andover, whose articles on 'The Instrumentality of the Truth in Regeneration,' and 'Human Responsibility as related to Divine Agency in Conversion,' published within the last two or three years, prove that much of the genius and spirit of Jonathan Edwards still exists in New England theology. Another eminent contributor, Professor Park, of Andover, who is also its principal editor, has been frequently in collision with Dr. Hodge of the Princeton Review, on points of Calvinistic divinity. Professor Bascom has been recently publishing in its pages a series of articles on 'The Natural Theology of Social Science'—a subject hitherto left too much in the hands of secularists—and has succeeded in lifting it with advantage into the higher sphere of theology. The articles of this review are generally marked by a high style of ability and scientific thoroughness: and are, many of them, worthy of being reproduced, as they have been, from time to time, in the British and Foreign Evangelical Review. The spirit of its management is exceedingly liberal. We observe, for example, that it recently published an article on 'Christian Baptism,' from the professor of a Baptist College, in conformity with a plan adopted by the conductors of securing from representative men of different sects and schools of thought, articles unfolding distinctive, theological opinions, and exhibiting with something like scientific precision the exact peculiarities of meaning attached to the terminology of the respective schools. The Princeton Review is the oldest quarterly in the United States. It was established in 1825 by Dr. Charles Hodge, the well-known commentator on the Epistle to the Romans, who was then, and still is, a Professor in the Princeton Theological Seminary; but it was not till 1829 that it ceased to be a mere repertory of selections from foreign work in the department of biblical literature. It is, beyond all question, the greatest purely theological review that has ever been published in the English tongue, and has waged war in defence of the Westminster standards for a period of forty years, with a polemic vigour and unity of design without any parallel in the history of religious journalism. If we were called to name any living writer who, to Calvin's exegetical tact, unites a large measure of Calvin's grasp of mind and transparent clearness in the department of systematic theology, we should point to this Princeton Professor. He possesses, to use the words of an English critic, the power of seizing and retaining with a rare vigour and tenacity, the great doctrinal turning-points in a controversy, while he is able to expose with triumphant dexterity the various subterfuges under which it has been sought to elude them. His articles furnish a remarkably full and exact repository of historic and polemic theology; especially those on 'Theories of the Church,' 'The Idea of the Church,' 'The Visibility of the Church,' 'The Perpetuity of the Church,' all of which have been reproduced in English reviews. The great characteristic of his mind is the polemic element; accordingly we find him in collision with Moses Stuart, of Andover, in 1833, and with Albert Barnes in 1835; on the doctrine of imputation; with Professor Park, in 1851, on 'The Theology of the Intellect and the Theology of the Feelings;' with Dr. Niven, of the Mercersburg Review, in 1848, on the subject of the 'Mystical Presence,' the title of an article which attempted to apply the modern German philosophy to the explanation and subversion of Christian doctrines; with Professor Schaff, in 1854, on the doctrine of historical development; and with Horace Bushnell, in 1866, on vicarious sacrifice. In fact, a theological duel has been going on between Andover and Princeton for nearly forty years, the leading controversialists of Andover being Stuart, Park, Edward Beecher, Baird, and Fisher, and those of Princeton, Hodge, the Alexanders, and Atwater. Hodge has contributed one hundred and thirty-five articles to the Review since its commencement; Dr. Archibald Alexander—a venerable divine, who resembled John Brown, of Haddington, in many respects—contributed seventy-seven; his son, Dr. James Waddel Alexander, twice a Princeton Professor, and afterwards pastor of the wealthiest congregation in New York, contributed one hundred and one articles; another son, Dr. Joseph Addison Alexander, the well-known commentator on Isaiah, contributed ninety-two, mostly on classical and Oriental subjects; and Dr. Atwater, another Princeton professor of great learning and versatility, contributed sixty-four on theological and metaphysical subjects. The articles in the Princeton on science, philosophy, literature, and history, have generally displayed large culture and research. The review of Cousin's Philosophy, in 1839, by Professor Dod, was one of the most remarkable papers that appeared on the subject in America, and was afterwards reprinted separately on both sides of the Atlantic. Another theological quarterly of America, is the New Englander, published at Newhaven, Connecticut, and representative principally of Yale scholarship. Nearly all the leading names in New England theology, such as Bellamy, Hopkins, Emmons, Dwight, Griffin, Tyler, and Taylor, among the dead, and Bushnell, Beecher, and Bacon, among the living, are associated with the venerable University of Yale. Tryon Edwards (the great-grandson of Jonathan Edwards) is one of the contributors to the New Englander. The professors and graduates of the college are its principal contributors. Among them are to be found the distinguished names of Dr. Noah Porter and President Woolsey. The former has recently contributed to the New Englander a series of valuable articles, just reprinted in a small volume, on 'The American Colleges and the American Public;' an able discussion of the fundamental principles of University education. The Mercersburg Review is the quarterly organ of the German Reformed Church, and has been conducted, from its commencement, by Dr. Niven and Professor Schaff, the well-known historian. The Baptists have their Christian Review, the Methodists their Methodist Quarterly Review, the Lutherans their Evangelical Review, the Episcopalians their Protestant Episcopal Quarterly Review, and the Unitarians their Christian Examiner, which reflects from time to time the vicissitudes of Unitarian opinion. There is one fact suggested by this review of the American religious press, viz., that Episcopacy holds a very inferior place beside Independency and Presbyterianism in theological authorship. We all know how greatly things are changed, even in England, since Dr. Arnold deplored, and all but despised, the culture of Dissenters, for we have Dean Alford, but the other day, confessing in the Contemporary Review, 'Already the Nonconformists have passed us by in biblical scholarship, and ministerial training.' But in the United States, the palm of theological scholarship has always rested in the hands of Congregational and Presbyterian divines. The best theological seminaries, the ablest theological reviews and the most original as well as extensive authorship in the various branches of theology, belong to the two denominations referred to.
We shall now proceed, as briefly as possible, to make some observations of a critical nature upon the intellectual and moral character of the American press generally. It is not, certainly, in any spirit of national superiority that we point to the undoubted fact that notwithstanding the great expansion of newspaper literature in the States, the wide diffusion of popular education, and the circulation of English books of the best kind at a mere nominal cost, the Americans have as yet produced nothing representatively like our London Times, or Punch, or the Athenæum, or the Illustrated London News, or the Saturday Review, or the Art Journal, or the Edinburgh and Quarterly. They have not even produced a single great newspaper writer like Captain Stirling, of the Times, Albany Fonblanque, sen., of the Examiner, or Hugh Miller, of the Edinburgh Witness, for Bennett, Greeley, and Raymond, though capital editors, are all greatly inferior to these men in that art of scholarly, dignified, and tasteful leader-writing, which gives such a power and charm to London journalism. Newspaper writing is, perhaps, the most difficult of all writing; there is none at least in which excellence is so rarely attained. The capacity of bringing widely-scattered information into a focus, of drawing just conclusions from well-selected facts, of amplifying, compressing, illustrating and succession of topics, all on the spur of the moment, without a moment's stay to examine or revise argues great intellectual cultivation. The articles may not be of a lofty order, or demand for their execution the very highest kind of talent, but the power of accomplishing it with success is very uncommon, and of all the varieties of ways in which incompetency is manifested, an irrepresible tendency to fine writing is associated with a greater number of them. De Tocqueville says that democratic journalism has a strong tendency to be virulent in spirit and bombastic in style. It certainly runs the risk of lawlessness, inaccuracy, and irreverence, with much of vehemence, and with little taste, imagination, or profundity. One serious charge we have to bring against the American newspapers is,that they have soreley vulgarized and vitiated the English language. We are aware that many of them imagine the language of their country to be the standard as to idiom, pronounciation, and spelling, and any English variation from their golden rule as erroneous and heterodox; but such critics are entitled to no consideration whatever. If men of education at the American press refuse to study the style of the great authors who fixed and purified the language of our common forefathers, so that we may have one and not two languages spoken on opposite sides of the Atlantic, let them at least imitate such writers of their own as Washington Irving, Horace Bushnell, Oliver Wendel Holmes, and Nathaniel Hawthorne, whose pure and native English is wholly free from all the corruptions and affectations of phrase which overrun American newspapers, simply because it is beautifully modelled upon the most elegant and polished writers of English literature. In fact, the Americans have always been greatly in need of a critical organ, like the old Edinburgh Review, to purify the literary atmosphere from the clouds and mists of false taste which deface it, to stand censor on books and newspapers, a recognized authority in the literary republic, for whose quarterly judgments readers might look with interest, and authors with trembling. The North American Review, though written with great spirit, learning, and ability, and abounding in profound and original discussions on the most interesting subjects has never filled the place of the Edinburgh, and, indeed, its own style is not free from the common sin of affectation. It is pleasant to think of William Cullen Bryant, the poet, hanging up in the office of his newspaper—the New York Evening Post, a catalogue of words that no editor or reporter is ever to be allowed to use. [This Index Expurgatorius puts the ban upon such words as these:—bogus, authoress, poetess, collided, début, donate, donation, loafer, located, ovation, predicate, progressing, pants, rowdies, roughs, secesh, osculate for kiss, endorse for approve, lady for wife, jubilant for rejoicing, bagging for capturing, loaned for lent, posted for informed, and realized for obtained.] Let us hope that the literary men of America, of all classes, will seriously aim at the formation of a purer, chaster and juster style of writing, for what they have hitherto produced has been defective in taste rather than in talent.
Another great sin of American journalism is its intolerable personality, violence, and exaggeration. This was the disgrace of our own English press at no distant period. Cobbett was a great sinner in this respect. He had much to do with raising the intellectual, and lowering the moral reputation of the modern newspaper. The wide diffusion of enlightened views on politics and religion is attested, however, in a remarkable manner among ourselves, by the moderation of tone which we now see in journals which, about twenty years ago, were remarkable for their scurrility and violence. It is no longer a recommendation to an English newspaper to be known as an assailant of the Royal Family, the aristocracy, the bench of bishops, or parsons. Several publications that, a few years since, professed atheism and secularism, have become extinct, and the quondam organs of Chartism and fierce democracy have been obliged to become respectable. But many of the American newspapers are much worse than the English were a quarter of a century ago. With us, faction has become less mischievous and shameless; unfounded accusations less common and less malignant; invectives more measured and decorous; not merely because the evil passions which required to be fed with the abuse of individuals have calmed down, but because the British press is now guided by the principle of attacking public opinion, not private characters, measures, not men; and its quarrels are usually governed by the laws of honour and chivalry, which proscribe all base advantages. But an American newspaper cannot assail another newspaper without mentioning the editor's name and calling him coward or rascal. If you cannot answer your opponent's objections you caricature his appearance, or dress, or diet, or accent, a Bennett is in the habit of treating Greeley; and if you are foiled by his wit, you recover your advantage by stabbing his character. No allusions become too indecorous for your taste; no sarcasms too bitter for your savage spite; and no character pure enough to be sacred from your charges and insinuations. The American editor pursues his antagonist as if he were a criminal. The New York World lately devoted four columns of it space to illustrate by quotations the amenities of American journalism. The majority of the papers seem to subsist on the great stable of falsehood and personality, and enjoy all the advantages which spring from an utter contempt for the restraints of decency and candour and we are strongly of opinion that this work of cruel intimidation is pursued with unrelenting eagerness, not from the influence of angry passions or furious prejudices but in the cold-blooded calculation of the profits which idle curiosity or the vulgar appetite for slander may enable its authors to derive from it. We are not prepared to endorse all the strong statements made by infuriated rivals concerning the proprietor of the New York Herald; but he leaves us in no doubt, himself as to the light in which he regarded his own frequent chastisements. Immediately after James Watson Webb had severely whipped him in the streets of New York, the whole affair was recounted in the Herald with a sensational circumstantiality that had an evident eye to business though we cannot overlook the remarkable good humour with which Bennett treated the whole affair:—
'The fellow,' he says 'no doubt wanted to let out the never-failing supply of good humour and wit which have created such a reputation for the Herald, and appropriate the contents to supply the emptiness of his own skull. He didn't succeed, however, in rifling me of my ideas. My ideas in a few days will flow as freshly as ever and he will find it to his cost.'
Imagine the London Times degraded to the condition of its responsible editor rejoicing in his own personal chastisement! American journalists fight like their French brethren. They never dream of explanations. Bullets and bowie-knives and the natural sequel of such recriminations as disgrace their newspapers. This extreme violence is part of the loose political morality so common there. Americans seem to be taught almost from their infancy to hate one-half of the nation, and so contract all the virulence and passion of party before they have come to the age of reason; but before their newspapers can be said to enter upon the course of real usefulness which is open to them, they must have come to believe that political differences may exist without their opponents being either rogues or fools. Jefferson said in his day that the scurrility of the press drove away the best men from public life, and would certainly have driven away Washington had he lived to suffer from its growing excesses. James Fenimore Cooper, the celebrated novelist, had a horror of newspapers, and instituted actions at law against a host of them for literary libels. He once remarked, 'The press of this country tyrannizes over public men of letters, the arts, the stage, and even private life. Under the semblance of maintaining liberty, it is gradually establishing a despotism as ruthless and grasping and one that is quite as vulgar as that of any Christian state known.' This view of the case is certainly serious and suggestive. Party violence may be carried to a length that defeats itself, for it may harden public men against all newspaper criticism whatever, to the great injury of public affairs, and thus lower the estimation and disturb the course of public opinion. Nowhere are fools more dogmatic than in politics, and nowhere are wise men more doubtful and silet; but American party writers have no respect for the Horation maxim, 'in medio tutissimus'—the secret of that moderation of opinion which has distinguished the most genial and sagacious men in our political world. They must really learn to cultivate a love of truth and justice; they should seek to attain the power of holding the scales steadily, while the advantages or disadvantages of every question are fairly weighed; they should stamp upon their professional life the impress of personal rectitude and honour, and not wait--to copy the tone of the old apologies—till a higher standard of public morals, and a more intelligent cultivation of political and literary inquiries, shall have raised for them a new class of readers. It is the perrogative of genius to create the light by which it is to be understood and appreciated; but the working talents of a country, which are identified with its immediate interests, ought at least to rise a little above the surrounding level.
We are led, from this point, to notice another defect in American journalism,—the absence of the anonymous usage, which is, indeed, mainly answerable for the scurrility and violence already referred to. The British editor is usually unknown to the public; the French journalist subscribes his name at the foot of his articles; but the American editor publishes his name and address boldly at the top of his newspaper. The effect of this custom is to identify the authority of the journal with the personal influence of the editor; it tends to a habit of deciding questions on personal grounds, and to a far too marked superfluity of the tu quoque argument. The object of the American journalist is not so much the instruction of the public as the political advancement of himself, for journalism usually forms the first stage in the course of an ambitious politician, or a rising statesman; and the American usage is certainly very well adapted to this end. Our anonymous habit limits the discussions of the press and abolishes egotism, while it certainly tends to debar personalities. It has been remarked, as a suggestive fact, that personality is the common vice of the only free press in the world, which ignores the anonymous principle; and that in England, under a contrary usage, personality is little known, always reprobated, and, indeed, in cases of flagrant personal attacks, the authorship is usually but thinly disguised. It is absurd to defent the American habits as manly and ours as cowardly; for their habit tends to make writers far from circumspect or considerate of the feelings of others. But, in fact, the publicity in which American journalists delight is only akin to the publicity of American life generally. The British public would not tolerate the intrusion of the press into private or family concerns; yet one New York paper published, in the panic of 1857, the name of every gentleman who bought a silk dress for his wife, or gave a dinner-party to his friends. Other newspapers criticize the dress and appearance of ladies at balls and cricket parties, the personality of their praise being almost as offensive as at other times the coarseness of their vituperation.
We confess that we do not entertain a very high opinion of the morality of the American press, though we admit there has been a sensible improvement within the last thirty years. Emerson made the remark, in his 'English Traits,' that the London Times was an 'immoral institution,' on the ground we presume, of its frequent changes of opinion. We are far from defending the leading journal in its policy of tergiversation—for there can be no doubt it ever fights on the stronger side, upholds no falling cause, and advocates no great principle—but it was never yet bought with bribes or cowed by intimidation. It has sometimes shown that it is conducted on principles superior to mere money considerations, for, during the Railway mania of 1845, when its advertising sheet was overrun with projected lines of railway, realizing to the proprietors the enormous sum of from £2,839 to £6,687 per week, the Thunderer turned its fire on these projects, and lost nearly £3,000 in a single week. We do not charge the American press with any flagrant changes of policy or principle, for we believe it is, in these respects, sufficiently consistent. But we deplore the absence of high moral purpose, as well as independence in its discussions of public questions. The American people demand a large amount of flattery; they have come almost to loathe the wholesome truth; they must be pampered with constant adulations, so that no one will venture to tell them their faults, and, neither at home nor abroad, dare moralists venture a whisper to their prejudice. This is a serious drawback, America wants more writers of the class who are said to prefer their country's good to its favour, and more anxious to reform its vices than cherish the pride of its virtues. Besides, we strongly suspect that the American journalist is very careless about the truth. We mean the truth of fact, which is part of the historic disposition of the age, as opposed to all that is sensational. He resembles the French rather than the English journalist in the tendency to regard good news as more important than correct news. The English journals make it their business to present their readers with the news and not advice, with facts and not opinions, so that they can form opinions for themselves, and the power of our press is thus enormously increased, but only on conditions that effectually prevent the arbitrary exercise of it. The American writers for the press have followed our example in some degree, but their disposition to provide startling and sensational intelligence is too often manifested at the expense of truth. Mr. Maverick gives an account of a number of disreputable hoaxes played by the newspapers upon the public of America, which were justified, we presume, to the consciences of the authors by the observation of Lord Bacon--'A mixture of lies doth ever add pleasure; doth any man doubt that if there were taken from men's minds vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, and the like, it would leave the minds of a number of men poor shrunken things?' The 'Moon Hoax,' which was published in the New York Sun in 1835, was one of the most skilful and successful of these literary frauds. Successive numbers of that paper contained a pretended extract from the pages of a supplement to the Edinburgh Journal of Science, under the title of 'Great Astronomical Discoveries latterly made by Sir John Herschel, LL.D., F.R.S., at the Cape of Good Hope.' The paper had a remarkable air of scientific research, such as might deceive all but the most learned and wary. The Herschel telescope was represented as affording a distinct view of lunar roads, rocks, seas, cascades, forests, houses, people, and monsters of various shapes. The 'Roorback Hoax' was a shameless attempt to injure the character of J. K. Polk, when he was a candidate for the Presidency, by representing him as possessing forty-three slaves who had his initials branded into their flesh. The deception was wrought by simply adding to a sentence in Featherstonehaugh's Travels in America four lines of the hoaxer's own, recording the disgraceful lie referred to. We confess that we cannot recognise the morality of a transaction which Mr. Maverick records in the history of the New York Times, without apparently the slightest suspicion of its dishonesty. When the New York Herald got hold of the single survivor of the ill-fated Atlantic steamer, Arctic, which was lost in September, 1854, an assistant on the Times succeeded, by means of an adroit pressman, in purloining an early copy from the Herald press-rooms, and actually publishing the Herald's report an hour earlier than that journal. We cannot understand what Mr. Maverick means by representing the Herald as 'playing a trick to keep the news from the other papers,' unless the Herald was actually bound to supply its contemporaries gratuitously with the exclusive news it had obtained from the survivor at its own sole expense. The transaction seems to us merely a clever specimen of American 'smart-ness.'
But we must draw these observations to a close. We cannot but admit that the press of America, with all its defects, is an engine of great power. It is on this ground we desire for it a close approximation to those intellectual and moral qualities which have given British journalism such an influence over the affairs of the whole world. In fact, two such nations as America and Britain, working in the same language, should be always learning from each other; for the eager energy of the one should push forward the occasionally lagging progress of the other, and our matured caution restrain their hasty inexperience. America is great in all that leads to immediate and available results. She has given us several of the greatest mechanical inventions of the age; she has far excelled us in the theory and practice of religious liberty, as well as in the more liberal recognition of denominational brotherhood among the religious sects; while she has furnished a noble example of public spirit in the support of religion, missions, and education. Let us hope that in time she will equal, if not surpass us in a periodical literature, which, if even still more intensely political than ours, will display a breadth and strength of thought, together with a wisdom and dignity, which will add immensely to its power. There is one aspect of Transatlantic literature which already contrasts favourably with our own, and that is its generally cordial recognition of Evangelical Christianity. With the exception of the German and French newspapers, which chafe under the restraints of a Christian country, and scoff at Judaic sabbaths, Pharisaic church-going, and tyrannical priest craft, there are no newspapers of any position in the States that are avowedly anti-Christian; and there is less disposition than formerly, on the part of the American press generally, to exclude all reference to distinctive Christianity. It was considered a remarkable circumstance at the time of the American revival that several newspapers, notorious for a thinly disguised infidelity, and for a most undisguised enmity to Evangelical religion, should not only publish the most ample reports of the movement, but commend it in a way that has had no parallel in English journalism, even before the tide of public opinion had turned decisively in its favour. It is the common custom still for American newspapers to print the sermons of popular preachers, and to publish a large amount of religious intelligence. The press is also intensely Protestant, and has contributed to the growth of that enormous assimilating power by which American Protestantism has absorbed generation after generation of the Roman Catholic emigrants. The statistics of the Propaganda declare that one half of the whole number has been lost to the Church of Rome and the explanation is, that they can no more escape from the influence of American ideas than from the effects of the atmosphere and climate.
It becomes, therefore, a matter of the greatest consequence that the literary guides of a nation with such a destiny as America, should understand the responsibilities under which their power is exercised. They should take care above all things, to use their influence not to materialize the mind of society, by obtruding material concerns too much upon the attention, to the neglect of those moral and spiritual interests which constitute the very foundation of its greatness. This is a real danger, for, as De Tocqueville remarks, the tendency of modern democracy is to concentrate the passions of men upon the acquisition of comforts and wealth. They cannot be ignorant that the most clearly marked line of social progress over the whole world is coincident with the line of the Christian faith; that wherever true religion has had free access to the centres of human action, a palpable advance has been made in knowledge, liberty, and refinement while poverty, injustice, and licentiousness, which are the ulcers of a depraved society, have in that degree been checked and healed. They must understand that honesty is the grand necessity of the world at this time, in its politics as well as its theology, in its commerce as well as its science. Let these things be understood by the leaders of American thought, and we cannot but anticipate a proud future for their country. It is a subject of just congratulation to England that her children have stamped their character on a vast continent, and that instead of discontented colonies subjected to her caprice, he can now point to a great people, with all the best life of the ancient nations throbbing in their veins, flourishing exactly in proportion to their freedom, and trained, through all their bloody disasters which almost threatened to ruin their work, to build a stronger rampart, and to reclaim a broader shore for posterity. The interests of humanity demand that a nation so strong in all the material elements of civilization, and manifesting such an impetuous disregard of limit and degree in all its enterprises, should be equally strong in its intelligence and its Christianity.
British Quarterly Review
January, 1871
There is no country in the world which so finely illustrates the diffusive spirit of modern civilization as America; for though in other lands human nature seems to rise to a greater height in individual instances, and to stand out in more picturesque relief, it is the nation which has excelled them all in equalizing the rights, the enjoyments, and the intelligence of man. Many circumstances have contributed to this happy result. America has been clogged by none of the mischievous remains of feudal institutions, and but little affected by those violations of political economy, older than the age of reason, which have checked the free and natural development of European communities. Its provisions for popular education were from the first singularly wise, liberal, and ample; there was no legislation to restrict all civil and social advantages to the members of a single religious sect; and no taxes on knowledge or artificial monopolies of any kind, to prevent the people from having access to that full variety of opinions, inquiries, and statements of fact, which is necessary to intellectual advancement. Above all, it was born old, with all the elements of European civilization to start with, and equipped with a complete literature, in which it would seem almost impossible to find place for any great genius, and with the best English works placed within every man's reach, at less than a tenth of their original cost. Taking these things in connection with the boundless material resources of the country, it is not by any means difficult to explain the magical rapidity of its advances in wealth and population, the signal prosperity it has already enjoyed, and the extraordinary power and greatness to which it is evidently destined.
The development of the press, like the improvement of the means of civilization, is a certain sign of the relative advancement of a nation. We use the term civilization here to signify not so much the development of some elevated and delicate parts of human nature such as art, philosophy, or politeness, as that of political liberty and social progress; and in this sense the progress of the press becomes historically the most constant and faithful indication of the general progress of a nation. The truth of this proposition becomes evident, from the close connection that exists between the press and the public, from the action and reaction, the efflux and reflux, from the true corporate unity which brings into the press the life-blood of the country. We depend upon the newspaper for distributing knowledge, as well as creating it; it is an instrument by which the opinions and feelings of the people may be guided and developed, as well as communicated and ascertained. It is in fact an essential element in the peculiar spirit and tendency which characterizes our modern civilization. Still we are far from holding that it is a perfect instrument, or free from very serious drawbacks. Eminent men like Lamartine speak of it in terms of extravagant eulogy, predicting that before the century shall have run out journalism will be the whole press, the whole human thought, and that the only book possible from day to day will be the newspaper; a great English novelist speaks of it as a link in the great chain of miracles which prove our national greatness; and Bulwer Lytton calls it the chronicle of civilization, the great mental camera which throws a picture of the whole world upon a single sheet of paper. These somewhat rhetorical representations are very common, but they are far from exact or truthful. We suspect that the newspaper tends in all countries to ignore, more or less, all knowledge that will not render its teaching popular; that its chief figures are often the wicked, the worthless, and the shallow; and that its pictures, though generally faithful, are often false, distorted, and narrow. De Toqueville liked the liberty of the press, rather from the evils it prevented, than from the advantages it created; and Montalembert represents Liberty as saying to the Press, like the unhappy swain—'Nec cum te nec sine te vivere possum.' John Stuart Mill has two objects of hatred; Puritanism, with its positive creed and agressive zeal, and the ascendancy of the middle classes, through the newspaper press, with all their mediocrity and bigotry. He has always protested, in the interests of his great idol, individuality, against 'the régime of public opinion,' against the various 'usurpations upon the liberty of private life,' against the moral intolerance of society, carried on through the newspapers. Amidst these various estimates of the press we are disposed to take a middle course. It may sometimes be wielded by unworthy hands, for unworthy purposes; its liberty may run into licence, and the rules of good taste and propriety be violated; its policy on public questions may be unscrupulous and unprincipled; but we remember that modern progress would have been impossible without it; that the people are not its slaves, but its patrons and critics; and we would lay no other restraint upon it than the invisible fetters imposed by the intelligence and good feeling of its readers. Whether, then, we consider the amount and quality of intellectual force put forth in it, the character of mind acted on by it, and the wide area over which it operates, especially in England and America, where it has the greatest expansion, we cannot but regard it as a subject for sincere congratulation that its influence has been exercised so uniformly on the side of public safety and public morals, that there has been a gradual improvement of late years in the moral tone of newspaper management, and that it has succeeded in creating and fostering a healthy and independent public opinion on all the questions of the age.
The great development of the American press has taken place during the last thirty years, keeping pace exactly with the advancing prosperity of the country. A large number of new and powerful processes, as well as influences of a more general kind, were converging towards this result. The education of the people, the progress of legislation, the discoveries of science, the inventions of art, conspired to make literature, especially in the newspaper form, a prime necessity of American life, and to place it within every man's reach on easy terms; while every improvement made in the art of communication and travel still farther contributed to its growth, and increased its utility. So it has come to pass that America is the 'classic soil of newspapers;' everybody is reading; every class is writing; literature is permeating everywhere; publicity is sought for every interest and every order; no political party, no religious sect, no theological school, no literary or benevolent association is without its particular organ; there is a universality of print; the soldiers fighting in Mexico or in the Southern states are printing the journal of their exploits on the battle-field; the press is seizing on the whole public life and upon so much of private life as through social irregularity, or individual force of character, or national taste, necessarily emerges into publicity; fostering on the one hand the worship of the almighty dollar, but establishing a strong and wholesome counterpoise, by stimulating that zeal for public education, that enthusiastic spirit of philanthropy, and that truly munificent liberality by which the American people have been always distinguished. As we have already intimated, the modern development of the press is just thirty years old. There was no telegraph before 1843; no fast ocean-steamer to carry news from the old world for some years later; and no Associated Press to organize the supply of intelligence. The first American newspaper was printed at Boston, in 1690, fifty years after the appearance of the first English newspaper; in 1775 there were only 34 nespapers; in 1800, 200; in 1830, 1,000; and the latest statistics give no less than 5,244 as the total number of journals published in the United States, of which 542 are daily, 4,425 are weekly, and 127 are monthly.
Our common idea of the American newspaper is that of a print published by a literary Barnum, whose type, paper, talents, morality, and taste are all equally wretched and inferior; who is certain to give us flippancy for wit, personality for principle, bombast for eloquence, malignity without satire, and news without truth or reliability; whose paper is prolific of all kinds of sensational headings; and who is obliged, in the service of his advertising customers, to become enthusiastic on the subject of hams, exuberant in the praises of hardware, and highly imaginative in the matter of dry-goods. Perhaps this representation might apply, with some degree of correctness, to a portion of the newspaper press, especially that published in the country towns and villages; but we shall immediately see that American literary enterprise, especially in the great cities, is not to be judged by such unworthy examples. The work of Mr. Maverick, which appears at the head of this article, supplies a large amount of information concerning American journalism, connecting its more recent development with the name of Henry J. Raymond, a well-known Republican politician, who founded the New York Times, one of the most respectable and powerful newspapers in the States. We cannot say much for the book on literary grounds: it exhibits nearly all the worst qualities of Transatlantic journalism itself—flimsiness, personality, and haste; but its information is very interesting and acceptable to European readers. The facts of Raymond's life may be supplied in a few sentences. He was born in 1820, at Lima, in the state of New York; he graduated at the University in Vermont; he went to New York city in 1840, and was introduced to newspaper life by Horace Greeley; he passed ten laborious years on the Tribune, and the Courier and Inquirer; and in the year 1851 he may be justly said to have opened a new era in American journalism, by establishing the Times, a daily paper, which carried temperance and dignity into political discussion, banishing all personalities, and maintaining a high critical and moral tone, which was all but unknown before that period. Like most American journalists, he engaged actively in politics, becoming in 1849 a member of the New York Legislature, and afterwards speaker of the House of Representatives, and Lieutenant-Governor of the State; and in 1864, member of Congress. He was a sincere and upright politician, who always staunchly opposed the slave party in the United States, but lost popularity and credit, by his exceedingly foolish and unfortunate championship of President Johnson, through all his remarkable freaks of obstinacy and eccentricity. On returning home from his office, on the night of the 18th June, 1869, he dropped down in the hall of his house, in a fit of apoplexy, and died five hours afterwards, without recovering consciousness. He was in his fiftieth year. Henry Ward Beecher said, in the funeral oration at his grave, that Raymond 'was a man without hate, and, he might almost say, without animosity; his whole career had been free from bitterness;' and Horace Greeley bore this high testimony to his professional ability;—'I doubt whether this country has known a journalist superior to Henry J. Raymond. He was unquestionably a very clever and versatile, but not powerful writer; and excelled especially in newspaper management.' We shall have occasion to refer again to his services as a journalist.
In proposing to give some account of the American press, both secular and religious, we have to remark that the first great stimulus given to newspaper enterprise in America was by James Gordon Bennett, the well-known editor of the New York Herald, which was established in the year 1834. This able journalist was born in 1800, at Newmill, Keith, Banffshire, of Roman Catholic parents. He was originally designed for the priesthood, and had passed through a portion of his preliminary training in the Roman Catholic College of Blairs, near Aberdeen, but ultimately abandoned the prospects of a clerical life, and emigrated to America, in his nineteenth year—as he said himself—'to see the country where Franklin was born.' There he formed an early connection with the press, but it was not, as we have said, till 1834 that he founded the Herald. We are all more or less familiar with the moral and intellectual characteristics of this newspaper—unsparing personality, intolerable egotism, and sleepless hatred of England; but we are not so foolish as to imagine that the Herald became popular and successful because Americans are fond of personal abuse, or private scandal, or of the ceaseless denunciation of this country. These offences against good taste and right feeling existed long before the publication of the Herald. The secret of its remarkable success lay in the vigour and tact with which Bennett laboured day and night to furnish ample and early intelligence of events in all parts of the world, without regard to cost and labour. Mr. Maverick tells us that 'all the old and heavy-weighted journals, which lazily got themselves before the New York public, day by day, thirty years ago, were undeniably sleepy,' and that the ruthless Bennett shocked the staid propriety of his time by introducing the rivalries and the spirit of enterprise which have ever since been distinguishing characteristics of New York newspaper life.' The Herald was successful, then, because Bennett made it his business to present his readers with fresh, ample, and correct news. No editorial eloquence, no skilful flattery of national prejudice or party feeling, could have atoned for any shortcoming in this respect. The other newspaper managers were soon compelled to imitate his energy and skill in the supply of news, and Mr. Maverick has informed us how effectively his example was sometimes followed, by his rivals. On one occasion, before the days of the telegraph, the leading New York journals dispatched reporters to Boston, to obtain an early account of a speech by Daniel Webster, who was then in the plenitude of his fame. Two reporters represented each journal; but Raymond alone represented the Tribune. On their return home by the steamer the other reporters passed the night in convivial pleasantries; but Raymond was busily engaged all the time, in a retired part of the vessel, writing off his report for a batch of printers who were on board with their 'cases' of type; so that the entire report, making several columns of the Tribune, was prepared for being printed on the arrival of the steamer at New York, at five o'clock in the morning. The feat was a remarkable instance of newspaper enterprise. The Hudson River steamboats afterwards regularly carried corps of printers with types, from Albany to New York, to prepare the speeches of legislators for next morning's journals. Carrier-pigeons were employed to convey the latest European news from Halifax or Boston to Wall-street; and pilot-boats made long voyages, in stormy weather, to meet Atlantic steamers in search of early news. In election times pony-expresses were appointed by rival journals to carry early intelligence of results; as in railway times, locomotive engines were raced on rival lines of railroad in the interests which had paid high prices 'for the right of way.' Sometimes a little of that 'smartness,' which is so popular in America, was displayed in these newspaper rivalries, as when, on one occasion, the Tribune reporter ran off to New York on a special engine, hired expressly for the Herald, and thus succeeded in publishing an early and exclusive edition of some important news.
The success of the Herald led Horace Greeley to found the Tribune, in 1841. We can see at once that, like Bennett and Raymond, he was greatly endowed with that species of sagacity which divines at a glance the capabilities of a new project or speculation. Greeley was the son of a New England farmer, and came to New York a poor penniless boy. His earlier essays in newspaper management were total failures; but the Tribune was remarkably successful from its very commencement. It eschewed the coarse and violent style of the Herald, and pursued a far more generous and enlightened policy on public questions, while it almost rivalled the business-like energy of its earlier contemporary; but it ultimately injured itself by its championship of socialism, and a host of other secular heresies. For, though Greeley was of a remarkably practical turn of mind, at least in the management of his own business, he was a great theorist, committed to every recherché novelty in faith and life, a moral philosopher, after a fashion of his own, sincere and liberal in his ideas, with deep sympathies for the working classes, advocating their rights, and seeking their elevation, while he did not fear to expose their follies and their faults. The Tribune became, under his management, the organ of socialism and spirit-rapping, woman's rights, vegetarianism, temperance, and peace principles. It seemed, in fact, the premature harbinger of the'good time coming,' adept in all the cant of reform, and familiar with the whole philosophy of progress, a very clear vein of sense being perceptible to critical minds, in the elegant sophistry with which it vindicated its own course, and tried to overwhelm all objectors. It attemted, in fact, to turn to account the remarkable tremour of the public mind, which arose from what was seen or said between 1845 and 1855 of mesmerism, electro-biology, spirit-rapping, Swedenborgianism, and psychology; but we are glad to know that the Tribune has greatly improved in its general views, and comes more into accord with common ideas on these curious subjects.
It was the disgust and disappointment of the public with the socialistic heresies of the Tribune, as well as with the shameless and indecent personalities of the Herald, that led to the establishment of the Times, in the year 1851. It took rank at once as a dignified and able journal. Its influence was exercised from the first on the side of morality, industry, education, and religion; and to use the words of an eminent English journalist, now at the American press, 'it encouraged truthfulness, carried decency, temperance, and courtesy into discussion, and helped to abate the greatest nuisance of the age, the coarseness, violence, and calumny, which does so much to drive sensible and high-minded and competent men out of public life, or keep them from entering it.' No one, certainly, has ever done more than Henry J. Raymond for the elevation of the American newspaper. We cannot justly overlook the substantial services done in the same department by the New York Evening Post, under the management of its veteran editor, William Cullen Bryant, the poet; by the New York World, a new paper distinguished by the talent, incisiveness, and dignity of its articles; and by the Nation, managed by Mr. Gorkin, an Irishman, once connected with the London press, and which stands upon the intellectual level of the best European periodicals.
We are indebted to Mr. Maverick for a tolerably full account of the present position of New York journalism. There are 150 newspapers published in that city, of which 24 are daily papers, two of them published in the French language, and three in German. The remainder are weekly journals, of which eighteen are in German, one in Italian, and two in Spanish. There are no less than 258 German newspapers in all America, the largest number being published in Pennsylvania. There are eighteen religious newspapers published in New York. We have the following information in reference to the literary and mechanical arrangement of the daily press:
'Each of the great daily papers of New York to-day employs more than a hundred men, in different departments, and expends half a millon dollars annually, with less concern to the proprietors than an outlay of one-quarter of that sum would have occassioned in 1840. The editorial corps of the papers issued in New York on the first day of the present year numbered at least half a score of persons; the reporters were in equal force; sixty printers and eight or ten pressmen were employed to put in type and to print the contents of each issue of the paper; twenty readers, and a dozen mailing clerks and bookkeepers managed the business details of each establishment. Editorial salaries now range from twenty-five to sixty dollars a week; reporters receive from twenty to thirty dollars a week; and the gross receipts of a great daily paper for a year often reach the sum of one million dollars, of which an average of one third is clear profit. These statistics are applicable to four or five of the daily morning journals of New York.
There is much literary ability displayed in the daily and weekly journals of Washington, Philadelphia, Boston, and other leading cities. The Boston Post is a leading newspaper in that city. It is answerable for all the paradoxical absurdities of the famous Mrs. Partington. The Washington National Era, like the National Intelligencer, of the same capital, has a high position, as a literary and political journal. It was through its columns that Mrs. Stowe first gave to the world her 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' just as Judge Haliburton first published 'Sam Slick, the Clockmaker,' in the pages of a Nova Scotian weekly newspaper.
It is a remarkable fact that the Americans have never produced a Quarterly worthy of the name, except the 'North American Review,' which is certainly below the intellectual level of the four or five English reviews which are reprinted in New York every quarter within a fortnight of their publication in England. It was said, in explanation of the fact that the French had never succeeded in maintaining a review on the plan of the English Quarterlies, that their opinions and parties change so often, and the nation was so volatile, that they could not wait a quarter of a year upon anybody. But this explanation will not apply to the Americans. The 'North American Review' has always had on its list of contributors the very best names in native literature, such as Longfellow, Everett, J. R. Lowell, Motley, Jared Sparks, Caleb Cushing, George Bancroft, and others. Yet its success has been very partial. Its literary position ought to have been far more decided. The 'Atlantic Monthly' holds a deservedly high place in American letters, with such authors as Emerson, Holmes, and Mrs. Stowe among its principal contributors; but its influence has always been thrown into the scale against Evangelical Christianity. 'Harper's Magazine,' published in New York, is illustrated monthly for the fashionable world, with a circulation of 150,000 copies. 'Bonner's Ledger' has pushed its way into the front rank of weekly magazines, by its romances, its essays, and its poetry, from such writers as Parton, Beecher, Everett, Saxe, Bryant, and many others. The sporting world has its Wilkes' Spirit of the Times; the advocates of woman's rights have the Revolution, in the hands of Susan B. Anthony and E. C. Stanton; the grocers have a Grocer's Journal; the merchants a Dry Goods Reporter; the billiards-players, a Billiard-cue; and the dealers in tobacco, a Tobacco Leaf. The advocates of Spiritualism and Socialism have a large number of journals in their service. But, strange to relate, the Americans have not a single comic periodical like our 'Punch.' Mr. Maverick says that, in the course of a dozen years, many attempts have been made to establish such a print, but without success. 'Vanity Fair' was the best of the class, but its wit and its pictorial illustrations were equally poor and trivial. All the comic papers that flourished for a few years were only remarkable for the immense amount of bad wit they contained, for a wilderness of worthlessness, for an endless process of tickling and laughter; with only an occasional gleam of genuine humour and imagination. If the Americans have failed in producing such a periodical, it is not from the want of literary men possessed of the vis comica, for Oliver Wendell Holmes, James R. Lowell, Shelton, Butler, and Saxe are first-rate humourists. The English comic papers can command all the abounding talent of men like Douglas Jerrold, Albert Smith, W. M. Thackeray, Mark Lemon, Shirley Brooks, Thomas Hood, F. Burnand, and a host of other satirists. The Americans, however, have never had a Tenniel, a Doyle, a Leech, a Du Maurier, or a Keene, to throw off, week after week, the most amusing and instructive pictorial satires. All they have hitherto done in this department is to copy with tolerable taste and skill the best cartoons and wood-cuts of 'Punch' and our illustrated magazines. Perhaps America has yet to find its Bradbury and Evans. It is evidently most in want of a publisher. After all, there is hardly anything the Americans need more than a good comic paper, to moderate the intensity of their politics, to laugh down the extravagant follies of American society, to measure the strength of their public men, to register their blunders, and expose their hollowness, to watch over the caprices of fashion, to criticize the press itself, with its coarseness and scurrility, its disgraceful advertisements, and its downright fabrications; taking good care to keep free from those sins which so easiy beset satirists, rancour, obscenity, and attacks on private character. They need a satirical journal, just to apply to all things the good old test of common sense; and when uncommon wit is allied with common sense in branding any custom or habit as evil, it must be very deeply rooted if it cannot be overturned or modified. Besides, the Americans, as a hard-working race, need a refreshing humour to relieve the strain upon their mental and physical energies. Emerson remarked of Abraham Lincoln, that humour refreshed him like sleep or wine; and a nation so eager in all kinds of work deserves the innocent relaxation that comes from literature in its most sparkling and pleasing form.
The volume of Mr. Maverick makes almost no allusion to an important department of the American press, which demands some notice at our hands, viz., that which ministers to the intellectual and moral wants of the Irish Roman Catholic immigrants. There is no city of any magnitude which does not possess its Catholic organ. New York city is the proper centre of the Catholic press, but Philadelphia, Baltimore, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Chicago, Detroit, New Orleans, Boston, Charleston, and St. Louis have each their weekly paper for the Irish population. Intellectually, these papers are very inferior, and so illiberal that almost every question is viewed from the single standpoint of creed, race, or country. The liberal policy of a free and progressive state has hardly produced the slightest effect upon them. It is a very remarkable fact that in America, as in other countries, journalism is not wielded in the service of Romanism with any freshness and power, except by converts from Protestantism. We find Brownson's Reviews, the Freeman's Journal, the Shepherd of the Valley (now discontinued), and Catholic Herald, in the hands of perverts, just as in Europe the Tablet was founded by a convert from Quakerism, the Dublin Review is in the hands of an Oxford pervert, and the Historisch-politische Blätter of Munich as founded by Professor Phillips, and maintained in great scientific efficiency by Yarke, both converts from Lutheranism. The Irish press in America is very ultramontane. It seems drunk with the very spirit of religious servility, mad with the hatred of liberty, and adopts the strictest Roman Catholic doctrines, following them out to their extremest consequences, with a rudeness and arrogance of style approaching to vulgarity. Orestes Brownson says that the Pope is nowhere so truly Pope, and finds nowhere, so far as Catholics are concerned, so little resistance in the full exercise of his authority as in the United States. No European editor, except Veuillot, ever wrote in the style of Brownson himself, who is intellectually without a peer among Romish editors; for he takes the strongest and most unpopular ground as the very foundation of his ecclesiastical and political theories. Veuillot shocked the good sense and liberal feeling of Europe, by defending the Inquisition and the St. Bartholomew massacre; but Brownson despises all prudential consideration, in claiming for his church the right to put heretics to death, for he holds that this is punishment, and not persecution. The Shepherd of the Valley held that the question of punishing heretics was one of mere expediency, and declared that in the event of his church gaining the ascendance in America, there would be an end of religious toleration. The Pittsburgh Catholic censured these outspoken utterances; but the Boston Pilot rebuked its Pittsburgh contemporary for its censures, declaring that the Shepherd of the Valley said nothing that was not true; yet saying itself, with marked inconsistency, 'No Catholic wishes to abridge the religious rights of Protestants.' It is in perfect consistency with such ultramontane ideas that these Irish newspapers uniformly take the side of royal despots in great national struggles, and deny all sympathy to revolutionary leaders except those of Ireland. Though they usually cry out lustily when any step in American legislation or any popular combination manifests even an appearance of hostility to Catholic interests, they actually had the audacity, in 1859, to defend those royal miscreants of Italy, who rioted in the misery of their subjects, and of whom it was truly said, 'They kept one-half of their people in prison and the other half in fear of it.' They sympathised with the Poles in their last insurrection, because their oppressor was a schismatic; they had no sympathy with Hungarians, or Italians, or Spaniards, because their oppressors were Catholics. The Boston Pilot—the most popular journal of the Irish—forgot its rôle so far in 1848, as to take a liberal view of the European revolutionists. The result was that the Univers in giving an account of Catholic journalism in America, excluded the Pilot from its list of the orthodox; the clergy, moreover, condemned it; and it was obliged to express its pentence for such an error of judgment. The Pilot, after all, is more reasonable and less fanatical than most of the Catholic papers, and is specially copious in its reports of Catholic news. All these Irish newspapers are, without exception, bitterly anti-English in their tone and spirit. One might suppose that having escaped from misery and poverty, and launched upon a new career of prosperity and contentment, the Irish could afford to forget England; but, like their teachers at the press, they are strong in historical grudges, and their hatred to this country is as much theological as political. The Irish-American journalist delights in copying into his paper the abuse of England, collected from all quarters of the world, and in times of war or rebellion depreciates our triumphs and magnifies our misfortunes. The Catholic clergy have found it hard to control the opinions of a portion of their Irish countrymen, who, though sufficiently submissive in spiritual concerns, have shown a disposition to assert an independence of clerical control in matters affecting the interests of Ireland. Sometimes, indeed, the clergy have been led to humour this national feeling, as when they were in the habit of attending the 'Tom Moore Club,' at Boston, though it had been more than suspected that the favourite poet had died out of the pale of the church. At length the Shepherd of the Valley pointedly condemned their appearance at the annual banquet, on the ground that the poet was ashamed of his country's religion during life, and that English preachers performed the obsequies at his grave. The appearance of Thomas Francis Meagher in America, after his escape from penal servitude in Australia, greatly perplexed the bishops and clergy; but the mot d'ordre went forth, and all the Catholic newspapers in America, with a single exception, assailed him with the greatest bitterness, for his enlightened opinions upon religious liberty, and upon the relation between Church and State. Thousands of the Irish, notwithstanding, rallied round Meagher; and the Irish-American was established, for the vindication and enforcement of his principles. There are a few other organs of Irish nationality, including the Irish People, of John Mitchell, published in America, but, with the exception of the People, they are all contemptible, in every point of view. You find in their pages column after column of windy jargon and tawdry rhetoric, which would consign an English editor to a madhouse. This gaudy and ornate style, with a profusion of florid imagery and Oriental hyperbole quite overpowering, seems to characterise every Nationalist journal. It is these papers that have inflated the Fenian bubble. We pity the deplorable ignorance of the Irish masses, their misguided enthusiasm, and their preposterous pertinacity in the pursuit of visionary ends; but we have no language too severe to apply to their intellectual leaders who pursue their ignoble calling from a mercenary calculation of the profits to be derived from bottomless credulity. We fear that the Irish press generally has succeeded in imparting an education to the emigrés that can serve only to nurture hatreds, which, like curses, too often come home to roost, and that some considerable time can be expected to elapse before all of the appliances of American civilization and Christianity shall succeed, as they most certainly will, in the assimilation of such intractable materials.
Our notice of the American press would be incomplete without some account of that ample supply of religious literature which is furnished by thousands of weekly, monthly, and quarterly periodicals. The religious newspaper is almost peculiar to America, and is far superior to any similar publication in England. The English paper is more ecclesiastical and less religious; the American, while equally strenuous and careful in the advocacy of denominational claims, supplies much of what we usually obtain here from the Sunday Magazine and the Family Treasury. The literary superiority of the religious press over the secular in America arises mainly from the fact that its conductors and contributors are mostly clergymen who have been graduates of colleges, and are possessed of a considerable amount of classical culture and training. Every denomination has a larger number of weekly organs. The two leading newspapers of the class are the New York Independent and the New York Observer, the former an organ of the Congregationalists, and the latter of the Presbyterians. The Independent was originally conducted by the Rev. Dr. Bacon, the Rev. Dr. Thompson, and the Rev. Richard Storrs, jun.; it afterwards passed into the hands of the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, who wielded it with great power and efficiency in the anti-slavery cause; and it is now managed by Theodore Tilton in company with several others. It contains a great variety of religious, political, and general news, devotional and literary pieces of great merit, together with foreign and domestic correspondence, written with an excellent spirit. Mr. Beecher has established, and conducts, the Christian Union, another religious paper, which is rapidly rising to popularity and power. The Advance, a religious paper published in Chicago, and conducted by Dr. Patten, is one of the best of the religious papers of America. The Observer is one of the oldest and best established papers, once exceedingly Conservative in its views of slavery, but always distinguished by sound judgment, good taste, and fair culture. The Methodists are well represented by the Christian Advocate and Journal, and the Baptists by the Examiner and Chronicle. The monthly organ of the American Tract Society has a circulation of about 200,000, which it owes to its catholic character and its extraordinary cheapness. The quarterly literature of the American churches is of a very high character. The Bibliotheca Sacra is the great organ of New England theology, and the Biblical Repertory and Princeton Review and all British reviews in publishing the names of its contributors, and it has succeeded in gathering to its pages a vast amount of the most versatile talent from nearly all the Congregational Colleges of America. Its most original contributor in the domain of metaphysical theology is Professor Austin Phelps, of Andover, whose articles on 'The Instrumentality of the Truth in Regeneration,' and 'Human Responsibility as related to Divine Agency in Conversion,' published within the last two or three years, prove that much of the genius and spirit of Jonathan Edwards still exists in New England theology. Another eminent contributor, Professor Park, of Andover, who is also its principal editor, has been frequently in collision with Dr. Hodge of the Princeton Review, on points of Calvinistic divinity. Professor Bascom has been recently publishing in its pages a series of articles on 'The Natural Theology of Social Science'—a subject hitherto left too much in the hands of secularists—and has succeeded in lifting it with advantage into the higher sphere of theology. The articles of this review are generally marked by a high style of ability and scientific thoroughness: and are, many of them, worthy of being reproduced, as they have been, from time to time, in the British and Foreign Evangelical Review. The spirit of its management is exceedingly liberal. We observe, for example, that it recently published an article on 'Christian Baptism,' from the professor of a Baptist College, in conformity with a plan adopted by the conductors of securing from representative men of different sects and schools of thought, articles unfolding distinctive, theological opinions, and exhibiting with something like scientific precision the exact peculiarities of meaning attached to the terminology of the respective schools. The Princeton Review is the oldest quarterly in the United States. It was established in 1825 by Dr. Charles Hodge, the well-known commentator on the Epistle to the Romans, who was then, and still is, a Professor in the Princeton Theological Seminary; but it was not till 1829 that it ceased to be a mere repertory of selections from foreign work in the department of biblical literature. It is, beyond all question, the greatest purely theological review that has ever been published in the English tongue, and has waged war in defence of the Westminster standards for a period of forty years, with a polemic vigour and unity of design without any parallel in the history of religious journalism. If we were called to name any living writer who, to Calvin's exegetical tact, unites a large measure of Calvin's grasp of mind and transparent clearness in the department of systematic theology, we should point to this Princeton Professor. He possesses, to use the words of an English critic, the power of seizing and retaining with a rare vigour and tenacity, the great doctrinal turning-points in a controversy, while he is able to expose with triumphant dexterity the various subterfuges under which it has been sought to elude them. His articles furnish a remarkably full and exact repository of historic and polemic theology; especially those on 'Theories of the Church,' 'The Idea of the Church,' 'The Visibility of the Church,' 'The Perpetuity of the Church,' all of which have been reproduced in English reviews. The great characteristic of his mind is the polemic element; accordingly we find him in collision with Moses Stuart, of Andover, in 1833, and with Albert Barnes in 1835; on the doctrine of imputation; with Professor Park, in 1851, on 'The Theology of the Intellect and the Theology of the Feelings;' with Dr. Niven, of the Mercersburg Review, in 1848, on the subject of the 'Mystical Presence,' the title of an article which attempted to apply the modern German philosophy to the explanation and subversion of Christian doctrines; with Professor Schaff, in 1854, on the doctrine of historical development; and with Horace Bushnell, in 1866, on vicarious sacrifice. In fact, a theological duel has been going on between Andover and Princeton for nearly forty years, the leading controversialists of Andover being Stuart, Park, Edward Beecher, Baird, and Fisher, and those of Princeton, Hodge, the Alexanders, and Atwater. Hodge has contributed one hundred and thirty-five articles to the Review since its commencement; Dr. Archibald Alexander—a venerable divine, who resembled John Brown, of Haddington, in many respects—contributed seventy-seven; his son, Dr. James Waddel Alexander, twice a Princeton Professor, and afterwards pastor of the wealthiest congregation in New York, contributed one hundred and one articles; another son, Dr. Joseph Addison Alexander, the well-known commentator on Isaiah, contributed ninety-two, mostly on classical and Oriental subjects; and Dr. Atwater, another Princeton professor of great learning and versatility, contributed sixty-four on theological and metaphysical subjects. The articles in the Princeton on science, philosophy, literature, and history, have generally displayed large culture and research. The review of Cousin's Philosophy, in 1839, by Professor Dod, was one of the most remarkable papers that appeared on the subject in America, and was afterwards reprinted separately on both sides of the Atlantic. Another theological quarterly of America, is the New Englander, published at Newhaven, Connecticut, and representative principally of Yale scholarship. Nearly all the leading names in New England theology, such as Bellamy, Hopkins, Emmons, Dwight, Griffin, Tyler, and Taylor, among the dead, and Bushnell, Beecher, and Bacon, among the living, are associated with the venerable University of Yale. Tryon Edwards (the great-grandson of Jonathan Edwards) is one of the contributors to the New Englander. The professors and graduates of the college are its principal contributors. Among them are to be found the distinguished names of Dr. Noah Porter and President Woolsey. The former has recently contributed to the New Englander a series of valuable articles, just reprinted in a small volume, on 'The American Colleges and the American Public;' an able discussion of the fundamental principles of University education. The Mercersburg Review is the quarterly organ of the German Reformed Church, and has been conducted, from its commencement, by Dr. Niven and Professor Schaff, the well-known historian. The Baptists have their Christian Review, the Methodists their Methodist Quarterly Review, the Lutherans their Evangelical Review, the Episcopalians their Protestant Episcopal Quarterly Review, and the Unitarians their Christian Examiner, which reflects from time to time the vicissitudes of Unitarian opinion. There is one fact suggested by this review of the American religious press, viz., that Episcopacy holds a very inferior place beside Independency and Presbyterianism in theological authorship. We all know how greatly things are changed, even in England, since Dr. Arnold deplored, and all but despised, the culture of Dissenters, for we have Dean Alford, but the other day, confessing in the Contemporary Review, 'Already the Nonconformists have passed us by in biblical scholarship, and ministerial training.' But in the United States, the palm of theological scholarship has always rested in the hands of Congregational and Presbyterian divines. The best theological seminaries, the ablest theological reviews and the most original as well as extensive authorship in the various branches of theology, belong to the two denominations referred to.
We shall now proceed, as briefly as possible, to make some observations of a critical nature upon the intellectual and moral character of the American press generally. It is not, certainly, in any spirit of national superiority that we point to the undoubted fact that notwithstanding the great expansion of newspaper literature in the States, the wide diffusion of popular education, and the circulation of English books of the best kind at a mere nominal cost, the Americans have as yet produced nothing representatively like our London Times, or Punch, or the Athenæum, or the Illustrated London News, or the Saturday Review, or the Art Journal, or the Edinburgh and Quarterly. They have not even produced a single great newspaper writer like Captain Stirling, of the Times, Albany Fonblanque, sen., of the Examiner, or Hugh Miller, of the Edinburgh Witness, for Bennett, Greeley, and Raymond, though capital editors, are all greatly inferior to these men in that art of scholarly, dignified, and tasteful leader-writing, which gives such a power and charm to London journalism. Newspaper writing is, perhaps, the most difficult of all writing; there is none at least in which excellence is so rarely attained. The capacity of bringing widely-scattered information into a focus, of drawing just conclusions from well-selected facts, of amplifying, compressing, illustrating and succession of topics, all on the spur of the moment, without a moment's stay to examine or revise argues great intellectual cultivation. The articles may not be of a lofty order, or demand for their execution the very highest kind of talent, but the power of accomplishing it with success is very uncommon, and of all the varieties of ways in which incompetency is manifested, an irrepresible tendency to fine writing is associated with a greater number of them. De Tocqueville says that democratic journalism has a strong tendency to be virulent in spirit and bombastic in style. It certainly runs the risk of lawlessness, inaccuracy, and irreverence, with much of vehemence, and with little taste, imagination, or profundity. One serious charge we have to bring against the American newspapers is,that they have soreley vulgarized and vitiated the English language. We are aware that many of them imagine the language of their country to be the standard as to idiom, pronounciation, and spelling, and any English variation from their golden rule as erroneous and heterodox; but such critics are entitled to no consideration whatever. If men of education at the American press refuse to study the style of the great authors who fixed and purified the language of our common forefathers, so that we may have one and not two languages spoken on opposite sides of the Atlantic, let them at least imitate such writers of their own as Washington Irving, Horace Bushnell, Oliver Wendel Holmes, and Nathaniel Hawthorne, whose pure and native English is wholly free from all the corruptions and affectations of phrase which overrun American newspapers, simply because it is beautifully modelled upon the most elegant and polished writers of English literature. In fact, the Americans have always been greatly in need of a critical organ, like the old Edinburgh Review, to purify the literary atmosphere from the clouds and mists of false taste which deface it, to stand censor on books and newspapers, a recognized authority in the literary republic, for whose quarterly judgments readers might look with interest, and authors with trembling. The North American Review, though written with great spirit, learning, and ability, and abounding in profound and original discussions on the most interesting subjects has never filled the place of the Edinburgh, and, indeed, its own style is not free from the common sin of affectation. It is pleasant to think of William Cullen Bryant, the poet, hanging up in the office of his newspaper—the New York Evening Post, a catalogue of words that no editor or reporter is ever to be allowed to use. [This Index Expurgatorius puts the ban upon such words as these:—bogus, authoress, poetess, collided, début, donate, donation, loafer, located, ovation, predicate, progressing, pants, rowdies, roughs, secesh, osculate for kiss, endorse for approve, lady for wife, jubilant for rejoicing, bagging for capturing, loaned for lent, posted for informed, and realized for obtained.] Let us hope that the literary men of America, of all classes, will seriously aim at the formation of a purer, chaster and juster style of writing, for what they have hitherto produced has been defective in taste rather than in talent.
Another great sin of American journalism is its intolerable personality, violence, and exaggeration. This was the disgrace of our own English press at no distant period. Cobbett was a great sinner in this respect. He had much to do with raising the intellectual, and lowering the moral reputation of the modern newspaper. The wide diffusion of enlightened views on politics and religion is attested, however, in a remarkable manner among ourselves, by the moderation of tone which we now see in journals which, about twenty years ago, were remarkable for their scurrility and violence. It is no longer a recommendation to an English newspaper to be known as an assailant of the Royal Family, the aristocracy, the bench of bishops, or parsons. Several publications that, a few years since, professed atheism and secularism, have become extinct, and the quondam organs of Chartism and fierce democracy have been obliged to become respectable. But many of the American newspapers are much worse than the English were a quarter of a century ago. With us, faction has become less mischievous and shameless; unfounded accusations less common and less malignant; invectives more measured and decorous; not merely because the evil passions which required to be fed with the abuse of individuals have calmed down, but because the British press is now guided by the principle of attacking public opinion, not private characters, measures, not men; and its quarrels are usually governed by the laws of honour and chivalry, which proscribe all base advantages. But an American newspaper cannot assail another newspaper without mentioning the editor's name and calling him coward or rascal. If you cannot answer your opponent's objections you caricature his appearance, or dress, or diet, or accent, a Bennett is in the habit of treating Greeley; and if you are foiled by his wit, you recover your advantage by stabbing his character. No allusions become too indecorous for your taste; no sarcasms too bitter for your savage spite; and no character pure enough to be sacred from your charges and insinuations. The American editor pursues his antagonist as if he were a criminal. The New York World lately devoted four columns of it space to illustrate by quotations the amenities of American journalism. The majority of the papers seem to subsist on the great stable of falsehood and personality, and enjoy all the advantages which spring from an utter contempt for the restraints of decency and candour and we are strongly of opinion that this work of cruel intimidation is pursued with unrelenting eagerness, not from the influence of angry passions or furious prejudices but in the cold-blooded calculation of the profits which idle curiosity or the vulgar appetite for slander may enable its authors to derive from it. We are not prepared to endorse all the strong statements made by infuriated rivals concerning the proprietor of the New York Herald; but he leaves us in no doubt, himself as to the light in which he regarded his own frequent chastisements. Immediately after James Watson Webb had severely whipped him in the streets of New York, the whole affair was recounted in the Herald with a sensational circumstantiality that had an evident eye to business though we cannot overlook the remarkable good humour with which Bennett treated the whole affair:—
'The fellow,' he says 'no doubt wanted to let out the never-failing supply of good humour and wit which have created such a reputation for the Herald, and appropriate the contents to supply the emptiness of his own skull. He didn't succeed, however, in rifling me of my ideas. My ideas in a few days will flow as freshly as ever and he will find it to his cost.'
Imagine the London Times degraded to the condition of its responsible editor rejoicing in his own personal chastisement! American journalists fight like their French brethren. They never dream of explanations. Bullets and bowie-knives and the natural sequel of such recriminations as disgrace their newspapers. This extreme violence is part of the loose political morality so common there. Americans seem to be taught almost from their infancy to hate one-half of the nation, and so contract all the virulence and passion of party before they have come to the age of reason; but before their newspapers can be said to enter upon the course of real usefulness which is open to them, they must have come to believe that political differences may exist without their opponents being either rogues or fools. Jefferson said in his day that the scurrility of the press drove away the best men from public life, and would certainly have driven away Washington had he lived to suffer from its growing excesses. James Fenimore Cooper, the celebrated novelist, had a horror of newspapers, and instituted actions at law against a host of them for literary libels. He once remarked, 'The press of this country tyrannizes over public men of letters, the arts, the stage, and even private life. Under the semblance of maintaining liberty, it is gradually establishing a despotism as ruthless and grasping and one that is quite as vulgar as that of any Christian state known.' This view of the case is certainly serious and suggestive. Party violence may be carried to a length that defeats itself, for it may harden public men against all newspaper criticism whatever, to the great injury of public affairs, and thus lower the estimation and disturb the course of public opinion. Nowhere are fools more dogmatic than in politics, and nowhere are wise men more doubtful and silet; but American party writers have no respect for the Horation maxim, 'in medio tutissimus'—the secret of that moderation of opinion which has distinguished the most genial and sagacious men in our political world. They must really learn to cultivate a love of truth and justice; they should seek to attain the power of holding the scales steadily, while the advantages or disadvantages of every question are fairly weighed; they should stamp upon their professional life the impress of personal rectitude and honour, and not wait--to copy the tone of the old apologies—till a higher standard of public morals, and a more intelligent cultivation of political and literary inquiries, shall have raised for them a new class of readers. It is the perrogative of genius to create the light by which it is to be understood and appreciated; but the working talents of a country, which are identified with its immediate interests, ought at least to rise a little above the surrounding level.
We are led, from this point, to notice another defect in American journalism,—the absence of the anonymous usage, which is, indeed, mainly answerable for the scurrility and violence already referred to. The British editor is usually unknown to the public; the French journalist subscribes his name at the foot of his articles; but the American editor publishes his name and address boldly at the top of his newspaper. The effect of this custom is to identify the authority of the journal with the personal influence of the editor; it tends to a habit of deciding questions on personal grounds, and to a far too marked superfluity of the tu quoque argument. The object of the American journalist is not so much the instruction of the public as the political advancement of himself, for journalism usually forms the first stage in the course of an ambitious politician, or a rising statesman; and the American usage is certainly very well adapted to this end. Our anonymous habit limits the discussions of the press and abolishes egotism, while it certainly tends to debar personalities. It has been remarked, as a suggestive fact, that personality is the common vice of the only free press in the world, which ignores the anonymous principle; and that in England, under a contrary usage, personality is little known, always reprobated, and, indeed, in cases of flagrant personal attacks, the authorship is usually but thinly disguised. It is absurd to defent the American habits as manly and ours as cowardly; for their habit tends to make writers far from circumspect or considerate of the feelings of others. But, in fact, the publicity in which American journalists delight is only akin to the publicity of American life generally. The British public would not tolerate the intrusion of the press into private or family concerns; yet one New York paper published, in the panic of 1857, the name of every gentleman who bought a silk dress for his wife, or gave a dinner-party to his friends. Other newspapers criticize the dress and appearance of ladies at balls and cricket parties, the personality of their praise being almost as offensive as at other times the coarseness of their vituperation.
We confess that we do not entertain a very high opinion of the morality of the American press, though we admit there has been a sensible improvement within the last thirty years. Emerson made the remark, in his 'English Traits,' that the London Times was an 'immoral institution,' on the ground we presume, of its frequent changes of opinion. We are far from defending the leading journal in its policy of tergiversation—for there can be no doubt it ever fights on the stronger side, upholds no falling cause, and advocates no great principle—but it was never yet bought with bribes or cowed by intimidation. It has sometimes shown that it is conducted on principles superior to mere money considerations, for, during the Railway mania of 1845, when its advertising sheet was overrun with projected lines of railway, realizing to the proprietors the enormous sum of from £2,839 to £6,687 per week, the Thunderer turned its fire on these projects, and lost nearly £3,000 in a single week. We do not charge the American press with any flagrant changes of policy or principle, for we believe it is, in these respects, sufficiently consistent. But we deplore the absence of high moral purpose, as well as independence in its discussions of public questions. The American people demand a large amount of flattery; they have come almost to loathe the wholesome truth; they must be pampered with constant adulations, so that no one will venture to tell them their faults, and, neither at home nor abroad, dare moralists venture a whisper to their prejudice. This is a serious drawback, America wants more writers of the class who are said to prefer their country's good to its favour, and more anxious to reform its vices than cherish the pride of its virtues. Besides, we strongly suspect that the American journalist is very careless about the truth. We mean the truth of fact, which is part of the historic disposition of the age, as opposed to all that is sensational. He resembles the French rather than the English journalist in the tendency to regard good news as more important than correct news. The English journals make it their business to present their readers with the news and not advice, with facts and not opinions, so that they can form opinions for themselves, and the power of our press is thus enormously increased, but only on conditions that effectually prevent the arbitrary exercise of it. The American writers for the press have followed our example in some degree, but their disposition to provide startling and sensational intelligence is too often manifested at the expense of truth. Mr. Maverick gives an account of a number of disreputable hoaxes played by the newspapers upon the public of America, which were justified, we presume, to the consciences of the authors by the observation of Lord Bacon--'A mixture of lies doth ever add pleasure; doth any man doubt that if there were taken from men's minds vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, and the like, it would leave the minds of a number of men poor shrunken things?' The 'Moon Hoax,' which was published in the New York Sun in 1835, was one of the most skilful and successful of these literary frauds. Successive numbers of that paper contained a pretended extract from the pages of a supplement to the Edinburgh Journal of Science, under the title of 'Great Astronomical Discoveries latterly made by Sir John Herschel, LL.D., F.R.S., at the Cape of Good Hope.' The paper had a remarkable air of scientific research, such as might deceive all but the most learned and wary. The Herschel telescope was represented as affording a distinct view of lunar roads, rocks, seas, cascades, forests, houses, people, and monsters of various shapes. The 'Roorback Hoax' was a shameless attempt to injure the character of J. K. Polk, when he was a candidate for the Presidency, by representing him as possessing forty-three slaves who had his initials branded into their flesh. The deception was wrought by simply adding to a sentence in Featherstonehaugh's Travels in America four lines of the hoaxer's own, recording the disgraceful lie referred to. We confess that we cannot recognise the morality of a transaction which Mr. Maverick records in the history of the New York Times, without apparently the slightest suspicion of its dishonesty. When the New York Herald got hold of the single survivor of the ill-fated Atlantic steamer, Arctic, which was lost in September, 1854, an assistant on the Times succeeded, by means of an adroit pressman, in purloining an early copy from the Herald press-rooms, and actually publishing the Herald's report an hour earlier than that journal. We cannot understand what Mr. Maverick means by representing the Herald as 'playing a trick to keep the news from the other papers,' unless the Herald was actually bound to supply its contemporaries gratuitously with the exclusive news it had obtained from the survivor at its own sole expense. The transaction seems to us merely a clever specimen of American 'smart-ness.'
But we must draw these observations to a close. We cannot but admit that the press of America, with all its defects, is an engine of great power. It is on this ground we desire for it a close approximation to those intellectual and moral qualities which have given British journalism such an influence over the affairs of the whole world. In fact, two such nations as America and Britain, working in the same language, should be always learning from each other; for the eager energy of the one should push forward the occasionally lagging progress of the other, and our matured caution restrain their hasty inexperience. America is great in all that leads to immediate and available results. She has given us several of the greatest mechanical inventions of the age; she has far excelled us in the theory and practice of religious liberty, as well as in the more liberal recognition of denominational brotherhood among the religious sects; while she has furnished a noble example of public spirit in the support of religion, missions, and education. Let us hope that in time she will equal, if not surpass us in a periodical literature, which, if even still more intensely political than ours, will display a breadth and strength of thought, together with a wisdom and dignity, which will add immensely to its power. There is one aspect of Transatlantic literature which already contrasts favourably with our own, and that is its generally cordial recognition of Evangelical Christianity. With the exception of the German and French newspapers, which chafe under the restraints of a Christian country, and scoff at Judaic sabbaths, Pharisaic church-going, and tyrannical priest craft, there are no newspapers of any position in the States that are avowedly anti-Christian; and there is less disposition than formerly, on the part of the American press generally, to exclude all reference to distinctive Christianity. It was considered a remarkable circumstance at the time of the American revival that several newspapers, notorious for a thinly disguised infidelity, and for a most undisguised enmity to Evangelical religion, should not only publish the most ample reports of the movement, but commend it in a way that has had no parallel in English journalism, even before the tide of public opinion had turned decisively in its favour. It is the common custom still for American newspapers to print the sermons of popular preachers, and to publish a large amount of religious intelligence. The press is also intensely Protestant, and has contributed to the growth of that enormous assimilating power by which American Protestantism has absorbed generation after generation of the Roman Catholic emigrants. The statistics of the Propaganda declare that one half of the whole number has been lost to the Church of Rome and the explanation is, that they can no more escape from the influence of American ideas than from the effects of the atmosphere and climate.
It becomes, therefore, a matter of the greatest consequence that the literary guides of a nation with such a destiny as America, should understand the responsibilities under which their power is exercised. They should take care above all things, to use their influence not to materialize the mind of society, by obtruding material concerns too much upon the attention, to the neglect of those moral and spiritual interests which constitute the very foundation of its greatness. This is a real danger, for, as De Tocqueville remarks, the tendency of modern democracy is to concentrate the passions of men upon the acquisition of comforts and wealth. They cannot be ignorant that the most clearly marked line of social progress over the whole world is coincident with the line of the Christian faith; that wherever true religion has had free access to the centres of human action, a palpable advance has been made in knowledge, liberty, and refinement while poverty, injustice, and licentiousness, which are the ulcers of a depraved society, have in that degree been checked and healed. They must understand that honesty is the grand necessity of the world at this time, in its politics as well as its theology, in its commerce as well as its science. Let these things be understood by the leaders of American thought, and we cannot but anticipate a proud future for their country. It is a subject of just congratulation to England that her children have stamped their character on a vast continent, and that instead of discontented colonies subjected to her caprice, he can now point to a great people, with all the best life of the ancient nations throbbing in their veins, flourishing exactly in proportion to their freedom, and trained, through all their bloody disasters which almost threatened to ruin their work, to build a stronger rampart, and to reclaim a broader shore for posterity. The interests of humanity demand that a nation so strong in all the material elements of civilization, and manifesting such an impetuous disregard of limit and degree in all its enterprises, should be equally strong in its intelligence and its Christianity.
British Quarterly Review
January, 1871
Editor's Literary Record.
Books sold by aid of agents do not require the same literary qualities as those which seek a market through the ordinary avenues of trade. They are made, usually, for a transient sale, and for the purpose of meeting a temporary demand. We have learned, therefore, to look with suspicion upon books which bear upon their title-page the ominous words, "Sold by subscription only," and greatly as we have been attracted by the theme of Mr. Augustus Maverick's book, Raymond and New York Journalism (A. S. Hale and Co.), a perusal of it has only intensified the doubts which the announcement that it was published by subscription had awakened in our minds. Mr. Maverick is an editor, by nature as well as by experience. We are not greatly surprised, therefore, to find in his volume the water-marks rather of a shrewd editor than of a painstaking author, of one who has written and scissored—especially scissored (our readers will perhaps excuse the doubtful but convenient word)—with an editor's eye to the market, with reference not so much to literary excellence as to the supposed demands of the public—not the general public, but the special public, at whose purses he aimed. As a biography of Mr. Raymond it lacks that tender, affectionate, sympathetic appreciation of the man which gives a true biography its charm. Moreover, the editor or author lacked the materials necessary to any full and fair delineation of his inner life.
As a history of New York Journalism it is better than a personal biography. Henry J. Raymond was emphatically a journalist. He had the editorial genius. His very weaknesses and failures were the results of the same qualities which gave him success. He studied the course of public opinion, and aimed rather to represent the best thought and feeling of the community than to instruct or to reform it. Mr. Maverick, therefore, in writing Mr. Raymond's biography, has done well to make his theme include some account of New York Journalism, its growth, and its methods. It is this part of his volume which is the most entertaining—this which he has written con amore. He is thoroughly at home in it. He has been a member of the editorial fraternity for a quarter of a century, and is as young and fresh and full of boyish vitality as ever. He has seen the inside machinery of a daily journal, and knows how to describe it. He tells with infinite zest how "Bennett was beaten at his own game." He tell with a merry twinkle the story of the moon hoax; and even the lugubrious tones with which he describes the horrors which the editor has to suffer at the hands of "newspaper bores" are an unmistakable affectation, put on by one who relishes the ridiculous so keenly as to be comparatively indifferent to the discomfort of his position. But even of this part of his work he has written his own condemnation in the sentence, "The history of the American press, properly arranged and conscientiously elaborated, is yet to be written." It is not a history of New York Journalism, but a gossip about it. Take it all in all, his somewhat overgrown volume may be characterized as a spicy, gossipy, fragmentary, entertaining, appreciative, unphilosophical, illogical, unsystematic, and highly readable book; a book which we have read all through with interest, but which we lay down, saying to ourselves, not only the history of the American press, but the life of Henry J. Raymond, "properly arranged and conscientiously elaborated, is yet to be written;" and which makes us look forward more eagerly than before to the biography which is now in course of preparation by a gentleman long associated with Mr. Raymond in editorial labor.
Harper's Magazine
April, 1871
Books sold by aid of agents do not require the same literary qualities as those which seek a market through the ordinary avenues of trade. They are made, usually, for a transient sale, and for the purpose of meeting a temporary demand. We have learned, therefore, to look with suspicion upon books which bear upon their title-page the ominous words, "Sold by subscription only," and greatly as we have been attracted by the theme of Mr. Augustus Maverick's book, Raymond and New York Journalism (A. S. Hale and Co.), a perusal of it has only intensified the doubts which the announcement that it was published by subscription had awakened in our minds. Mr. Maverick is an editor, by nature as well as by experience. We are not greatly surprised, therefore, to find in his volume the water-marks rather of a shrewd editor than of a painstaking author, of one who has written and scissored—especially scissored (our readers will perhaps excuse the doubtful but convenient word)—with an editor's eye to the market, with reference not so much to literary excellence as to the supposed demands of the public—not the general public, but the special public, at whose purses he aimed. As a biography of Mr. Raymond it lacks that tender, affectionate, sympathetic appreciation of the man which gives a true biography its charm. Moreover, the editor or author lacked the materials necessary to any full and fair delineation of his inner life.
As a history of New York Journalism it is better than a personal biography. Henry J. Raymond was emphatically a journalist. He had the editorial genius. His very weaknesses and failures were the results of the same qualities which gave him success. He studied the course of public opinion, and aimed rather to represent the best thought and feeling of the community than to instruct or to reform it. Mr. Maverick, therefore, in writing Mr. Raymond's biography, has done well to make his theme include some account of New York Journalism, its growth, and its methods. It is this part of his volume which is the most entertaining—this which he has written con amore. He is thoroughly at home in it. He has been a member of the editorial fraternity for a quarter of a century, and is as young and fresh and full of boyish vitality as ever. He has seen the inside machinery of a daily journal, and knows how to describe it. He tells with infinite zest how "Bennett was beaten at his own game." He tell with a merry twinkle the story of the moon hoax; and even the lugubrious tones with which he describes the horrors which the editor has to suffer at the hands of "newspaper bores" are an unmistakable affectation, put on by one who relishes the ridiculous so keenly as to be comparatively indifferent to the discomfort of his position. But even of this part of his work he has written his own condemnation in the sentence, "The history of the American press, properly arranged and conscientiously elaborated, is yet to be written." It is not a history of New York Journalism, but a gossip about it. Take it all in all, his somewhat overgrown volume may be characterized as a spicy, gossipy, fragmentary, entertaining, appreciative, unphilosophical, illogical, unsystematic, and highly readable book; a book which we have read all through with interest, but which we lay down, saying to ourselves, not only the history of the American press, but the life of Henry J. Raymond, "properly arranged and conscientiously elaborated, is yet to be written;" and which makes us look forward more eagerly than before to the biography which is now in course of preparation by a gentleman long associated with Mr. Raymond in editorial labor.
Harper's Magazine
April, 1871
Review
Economic Dialogues in Ancient China; Selections from the Kuan-Tzu, A Book Written Probably Three Centuries before Christ. Translated by T'AN PO-FU and WEN KUNG-WEN; directed, edited, and published by LEWIS MAVERICK. Pp. x + 470. Maps, annotated bibliography, index. Carbondale, Illinois: distributed by FAR EASTERN PUBLICATIONS, YALE UNIVERSITY, 1954.
Professor Richard Wilhelm once wrote, "Chinese society is psychologically built up, then, on the basis of its economic life: from individual to family, from family to state, from state to mankind." These selections from the famous, if shadowy, Kuan-tzu are welcome additions to insights into Chinese economic life, either from the point of view of economic history or of the origins and development of economic thought.
Kuan Chung (or Kuan I-wu) was born about 710 B. C. and died, according to tradition, in 645 B. C. About 685 B. C., he became minister to Duke Huan of his native state of Ch'i, which then occupied the northern part of the Shantung Peninsula. Beyond doubt, Kuang Chung for years administered affairs of state with marked success. Equally beyond doubt, the Kuan-tzu was much later spuriously attributed to him. At least its dialogues are a monument to his fame as an administrator and adviser; and its contents symbolize the important body of thinking which lies somewhere between the Confucians and the Legalists. The influence of Confucian and Mencian thought may be present, as may be the hand of Hsün-tzu, whose tenets are certainly consistent with the Kuan-tzu.
A rendition of the Kuan-tzu in English may now be added to the growing Western literature on the philosophy of classical China, wherein quite naturally major attention has gone to the Confucian School. Less adequate is the coverage of economic aspects of this philosophy, and more specifically, the practical thought and policies of the Legalists. Professor Kirby has reported that another English translation, by Professor F. S. Drake of the University of Hongkong, is in preparation.
This translation of dialogues from the Kuan-tzu is the product of a joint and courageous enterprise, undertaken by the American economist, Professor Lewis A. Maverick, whose previous work on Chinese influences upon the European Enlightenment is well known; and two of his students at Southern Illinois University, T'an Po-fu and Wen Kung-wen. Professor Hsiao Kung-ch'uan of the University of Washington served as expert critic.
The volume also contains commentaries (translated from the Chinese) by two modern writers: Huang Han, "Economic Thought in the Kuan-tzu" (Shanghai, Commercial Press, 1936); and Fan Ping-t'ung, "Physiocratic Doctrine in Ancient China" (Chinese Economics, Vol. II, No. 11, November, 1934). The commentary by Huang is perhaps one of the two best available, so far as the economic content of the Kuan-tzu is concerned. His selections are presented according to topics, thus offering a more thorough and systematic discussion of the economic content than does the excised translation of the original. Huang cites a passage and then restates the contents, partly to achieve emphasis, and partly to put the statement into twentieth century vernacular. Fan's commentary, in contrast, is merely a sketchy treatment of physiocracy, derived from classics including the Kuan-tzu.
A real gem is the Introduction, contributed by the editor, who reviews briefly the historical evidence on Kuan Chung; on the Kuan-tzu, which he concludes was probably written about 300 B. C.; and presents a topical index, by essays; a survey of Chinese economic history and of the social content of the Chinese classics; and an evaluation of the reception of Chinese thought, both in Japan and in the West.
It is no accident, of course, that legalistic thought found an even more sympathetic audience in Japan than in China. Indeed, the structure, techniques of rule, and moral precepts of the later Japanese Shogunate resemble somewhat the confederation of princes constructed by Duke Huan and his minister. Among Japanese writers, Ogyu Sorai (1666-1728) for example, admired the Chinese classics and wrote skillful commentaries on the Kuan-tzu, as well as the Han Fei-tzu. In modern times Professor Miyazaki Ichisada of Kyoto (then Imperial) University wrote of Kuan Tzu, "Kanshi [in Japanese] has been numbered among the Legalists [in Japanese, Ho-ka], yet he did not simply order people about by means of strict laws. In the application of law he found the prerequisite for putting into convenient shape the economic life of the people."
The sinologist will be interested in the editor's speculation as to the actual date of the Kuan-tzu (Introduction, pp. 2-5), and in Huang's carefully marshalled evidence, placing it in the Era of Warring States (Chapter II, pp. 226-262). He may, however, find fault in the fact that many passages in the translation are arbitrarily omitted because the meaning is obscure, and yet an equal number are allowed to stand with little more than an informed guess as to meaning. Again, there is necessarily a great deal of repetition and quite a few discrepancies between the rendering in the translation and illustrative passages in the commentaries. Yet we are told the same team developed both translations. Nevertheless, this reviewer was not bothered by lively differences of opinion, revealed in the notes, between the translators and critic, on the one hand, and the project editor, on the other.
One can only agree with the editor in his aim and laud his courage in producing the volume. It has been argued that even the part should await the definitive translation of the whole of the Kuan-tzu by sinologists and classical scholars. In that case, many of us-students of the social sciences and, more particularly, of Chinese and Japanese economic history and economic thought-would never read it in translation. It is for such a group the book is designed.
In which case, and on that ground too, the translation should still be used with some caution. The topics spread before us-state controls, the doctrine of "the light and the heavy," media of exchange, emphasis on agriculture, control of handicrafts and commerce, state control of salt and iron, and legalist thought in general-are all of significant and lasting interest. It is stretching a point and unnecessarily so, however, constantly to fit these fascinating essays into the modern discipline and jargon of economics. The same fault can be found with Chen Huan-chang's earlier work. Nor is this done solely in the title of the present translation, under the rubric "Economic Dialogues." The footnotes to the main translation, mostly by the editor, and especially the neat organization of topics in Huang's commentary, which is almost Russian-like in its claims for "first inventions" of economic laws, might lead one to believe the ancient Chinese had already formulated a systematic economic theory. It would have been better to borrow the terminology of (Western) classical economics, at the very least. After all, Adam Smith, David Ricardo, and David Hume-much like their earlier Oriental counterparts-were, first, MORAL PHILOSOPHERS; second, masters of POLITICAL ECONOMY; and last, ECONOMISTS in any modern sense. Furthermore, there are advantages in recognizing, for example, a distinction between political thought and political theory. The Kuan-tzu is not, perhaps fortunately, a clue to modern, abstract ECONOMIC THEORY in China; it is rather, superb evidence of early and persistent Chinese SOCIO-ECONOMIC THOUGHT. Indeed, even the modern economist can find much of value in the Kuan-tzu, if he wishes to measure his universal principles against the less well-known Chinese culture complex, unfamiliar Chinese economic history, and independent Chinese economic thought.
Ardath W. Burks, Rutgers University
Journal of the American Oriental Society
Jul.-Sep., 1956
Economic Dialogues in Ancient China; Selections from the Kuan-Tzu, A Book Written Probably Three Centuries before Christ. Translated by T'AN PO-FU and WEN KUNG-WEN; directed, edited, and published by LEWIS MAVERICK. Pp. x + 470. Maps, annotated bibliography, index. Carbondale, Illinois: distributed by FAR EASTERN PUBLICATIONS, YALE UNIVERSITY, 1954.
Professor Richard Wilhelm once wrote, "Chinese society is psychologically built up, then, on the basis of its economic life: from individual to family, from family to state, from state to mankind." These selections from the famous, if shadowy, Kuan-tzu are welcome additions to insights into Chinese economic life, either from the point of view of economic history or of the origins and development of economic thought.
Kuan Chung (or Kuan I-wu) was born about 710 B. C. and died, according to tradition, in 645 B. C. About 685 B. C., he became minister to Duke Huan of his native state of Ch'i, which then occupied the northern part of the Shantung Peninsula. Beyond doubt, Kuang Chung for years administered affairs of state with marked success. Equally beyond doubt, the Kuan-tzu was much later spuriously attributed to him. At least its dialogues are a monument to his fame as an administrator and adviser; and its contents symbolize the important body of thinking which lies somewhere between the Confucians and the Legalists. The influence of Confucian and Mencian thought may be present, as may be the hand of Hsün-tzu, whose tenets are certainly consistent with the Kuan-tzu.
A rendition of the Kuan-tzu in English may now be added to the growing Western literature on the philosophy of classical China, wherein quite naturally major attention has gone to the Confucian School. Less adequate is the coverage of economic aspects of this philosophy, and more specifically, the practical thought and policies of the Legalists. Professor Kirby has reported that another English translation, by Professor F. S. Drake of the University of Hongkong, is in preparation.
This translation of dialogues from the Kuan-tzu is the product of a joint and courageous enterprise, undertaken by the American economist, Professor Lewis A. Maverick, whose previous work on Chinese influences upon the European Enlightenment is well known; and two of his students at Southern Illinois University, T'an Po-fu and Wen Kung-wen. Professor Hsiao Kung-ch'uan of the University of Washington served as expert critic.
The volume also contains commentaries (translated from the Chinese) by two modern writers: Huang Han, "Economic Thought in the Kuan-tzu" (Shanghai, Commercial Press, 1936); and Fan Ping-t'ung, "Physiocratic Doctrine in Ancient China" (Chinese Economics, Vol. II, No. 11, November, 1934). The commentary by Huang is perhaps one of the two best available, so far as the economic content of the Kuan-tzu is concerned. His selections are presented according to topics, thus offering a more thorough and systematic discussion of the economic content than does the excised translation of the original. Huang cites a passage and then restates the contents, partly to achieve emphasis, and partly to put the statement into twentieth century vernacular. Fan's commentary, in contrast, is merely a sketchy treatment of physiocracy, derived from classics including the Kuan-tzu.
A real gem is the Introduction, contributed by the editor, who reviews briefly the historical evidence on Kuan Chung; on the Kuan-tzu, which he concludes was probably written about 300 B. C.; and presents a topical index, by essays; a survey of Chinese economic history and of the social content of the Chinese classics; and an evaluation of the reception of Chinese thought, both in Japan and in the West.
It is no accident, of course, that legalistic thought found an even more sympathetic audience in Japan than in China. Indeed, the structure, techniques of rule, and moral precepts of the later Japanese Shogunate resemble somewhat the confederation of princes constructed by Duke Huan and his minister. Among Japanese writers, Ogyu Sorai (1666-1728) for example, admired the Chinese classics and wrote skillful commentaries on the Kuan-tzu, as well as the Han Fei-tzu. In modern times Professor Miyazaki Ichisada of Kyoto (then Imperial) University wrote of Kuan Tzu, "Kanshi [in Japanese] has been numbered among the Legalists [in Japanese, Ho-ka], yet he did not simply order people about by means of strict laws. In the application of law he found the prerequisite for putting into convenient shape the economic life of the people."
The sinologist will be interested in the editor's speculation as to the actual date of the Kuan-tzu (Introduction, pp. 2-5), and in Huang's carefully marshalled evidence, placing it in the Era of Warring States (Chapter II, pp. 226-262). He may, however, find fault in the fact that many passages in the translation are arbitrarily omitted because the meaning is obscure, and yet an equal number are allowed to stand with little more than an informed guess as to meaning. Again, there is necessarily a great deal of repetition and quite a few discrepancies between the rendering in the translation and illustrative passages in the commentaries. Yet we are told the same team developed both translations. Nevertheless, this reviewer was not bothered by lively differences of opinion, revealed in the notes, between the translators and critic, on the one hand, and the project editor, on the other.
One can only agree with the editor in his aim and laud his courage in producing the volume. It has been argued that even the part should await the definitive translation of the whole of the Kuan-tzu by sinologists and classical scholars. In that case, many of us-students of the social sciences and, more particularly, of Chinese and Japanese economic history and economic thought-would never read it in translation. It is for such a group the book is designed.
In which case, and on that ground too, the translation should still be used with some caution. The topics spread before us-state controls, the doctrine of "the light and the heavy," media of exchange, emphasis on agriculture, control of handicrafts and commerce, state control of salt and iron, and legalist thought in general-are all of significant and lasting interest. It is stretching a point and unnecessarily so, however, constantly to fit these fascinating essays into the modern discipline and jargon of economics. The same fault can be found with Chen Huan-chang's earlier work. Nor is this done solely in the title of the present translation, under the rubric "Economic Dialogues." The footnotes to the main translation, mostly by the editor, and especially the neat organization of topics in Huang's commentary, which is almost Russian-like in its claims for "first inventions" of economic laws, might lead one to believe the ancient Chinese had already formulated a systematic economic theory. It would have been better to borrow the terminology of (Western) classical economics, at the very least. After all, Adam Smith, David Ricardo, and David Hume-much like their earlier Oriental counterparts-were, first, MORAL PHILOSOPHERS; second, masters of POLITICAL ECONOMY; and last, ECONOMISTS in any modern sense. Furthermore, there are advantages in recognizing, for example, a distinction between political thought and political theory. The Kuan-tzu is not, perhaps fortunately, a clue to modern, abstract ECONOMIC THEORY in China; it is rather, superb evidence of early and persistent Chinese SOCIO-ECONOMIC THOUGHT. Indeed, even the modern economist can find much of value in the Kuan-tzu, if he wishes to measure his universal principles against the less well-known Chinese culture complex, unfamiliar Chinese economic history, and independent Chinese economic thought.
Ardath W. Burks, Rutgers University
Journal of the American Oriental Society
Jul.-Sep., 1956
Early Life
Although it was the largest town in Texas in 1854, San Antonio had a total population of only about 5300. More than half of these were descendents of Mexico and Spain, many of them native San Antonians. Anglo-Americans numbered considerably less than 2000, and many of these had recently arrived from the eastern states. Seven hundred Germans and Alsatians would be joined in the next few years by increasing numbers of their countrymen. Negro slaves almost equaled the German immigrants in number.
Here on May 7, 1854, Albert Maverick was born in the Maverick homestead at the corner of Alamo Plaza, where the Gibbs Building now (1965) stands. He died in 1947 at the age of 92 years at his home on Sunshine Ranch, which at the time had just been taken into the City of San Antonio.
Albert was the ninth in a family of ten children born to the Texas pioneers, Mary Adams and Samuel Augustus Maverick, and youngest of the six who grew to adult life. An active, healthy boy, with a life-long sense of humor which sometimes led him into trouble, he recalled with some chagrin one of his boyhood capers. Albert and another boy on their ponies, each holding the end of a rope stretched between them, galloped down the road to trip an old Mexican man who was trudging along with a load of wood on his back.
As a boy, Albert became a great friend of the famous scout and Indian fighter, Polycarpio Rodriguez, commonly "Mr. Polly." Some of the most vivid remembrances he carried through life were of hunting and fishing trips with Mr. Polly into hill country above San Antonio, where, even at that time, there was still danger of raids by the dread Comanches. From Mr. Polly he learned all manner of things about the birds and the wild animals; how to find water by watching the bees; how to find a trail through the wilderness; how to be self-reliant.
In 1868, at the age of fourteen, Albert started keeping a diary. At that time he was attending the German-English School, going swimming in the the San Antonio River once or twice every day when weather permitted, and receiving $3.00 a month to cut wood for the large household and to care for the chickens. Rats were a big problem in San Antonio at that time, and unless the young chickens were well housed at night, they would disappear before they reached an age to roost in the trees.
His diary reveals other incidents in his young life. Albert's friend, Will Terrell, had a little green snake for which he had traded 100 marbles, but Albert wanted the snake very much and finally became the lawful owner by giving Will two of his squabs [young pigeons] for it. In May of that year he started to dancing school and became an excellent ballroom dancer.
Times were very hard in San Antonio after the Civil War, but by 1868 the enterprising and intrepid Texas trail drivers were bringing money into the state, and land began to regain some of its value. Albert's father was one of the largest (if not the largest) of landowners in Texas, and so in 1869, when Albert was fifteen, money was available to send him off to school. He went the ninety miles to Bastrop by stagecoach, but as there were only two passengers that day, the extra seats were filled with a pay load of sides of bacon. (This was the Mail Coach, and two months later it was held up and robbed.) Cadet Maverick arrived at Texas Military Institute smelling very much like salt pork. Albert's most vivid remembrance of T.M.I. was the large number of flies in the mess hall and kitchen, for this was many years before the advent of fly screens. At the closing of the school year, the Commandant of the school knocked ten demerits off of Albert's record because his gun had been kept in such fine condition.
In the summer of 1870 Albert's father, Samuel A. Maverick, died, ending a long and very distinguished career as a public servant. On September 12, 1870, Albert left San Antonio for Austin, to which town Texas Military Institute (later incorporated into the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas) had just been moved from Bastrop. Although by modern highway Austin is only 76 miles from San Antonio, our traveler had to spend two nights on the road before reaching there. Five other San Antonio boys departed on the coach which left San Antonio at noon, all bound for T.M.I. Camp was pitched that night on a German farmer's place at New Braunfels and the travelers slept on the open prairie. Somehow during the night all the boys' clothes, except Albert's, disappeared. They were later found tied to the corral fence, and the driver's clothes were found tied to the horses' tails.
On the second day some rain was encountered, and travel was slow. Camp was made near the Blanco River crossing. On the third day the coach passed through Mountain City and reached Austin about 3 P.M.
On his first day at school, Maverick was promoted from Private to Sergeant Major, a rank which he held for some months until he was demoted after being caught at one of his many pranks.
One day while Maverick drilled his squad on the parade grounds, he spied a Negro man dressed in a Yankee uniform and standing on the east side of the grounds watching the military activities. Maverick marched his squad along the east side and when at a safe distance, had them halt and fix bayonets. "About Face, Forward March." When opposite the Negro onlooker came the sharp command: "Column right, Quick time, Charge." The Negro wasted no time, departed in great haste, managing to escape by climbing over a cliff.
Albert stayed at school throughout the Christmas holidays that year, and became very much taken with Miss Lilla Porter of Austin. He visited Dr. Porter's home often and danced with Miss Lilla. "The prettiest girl in the state of Texas,—the very image of love, beauty and perfection itself. Her face is fair to look upon, her eyes bright as diamonds, her hair long and curled and black as charcoal." Albert was sixteen.
On February 25, 1871, the German students at T.M.I. recieved news that Paris had fallen, and there was a great German celebration. Albert did not record his reactions.
Near the end of March, Maverick saw many herds of cattle driven across the Colorado River, and heard the shouts of joy that went up from the drovers as the last beef "took to the water." Albert wrote in his diary: "900 beeves in one herd today; yesterday two droves of 900 each, and the day before that, one drove of 3000." Around 5700 animals headed north in only three days, from one ford, on only one of the rivers in the great state of Texas!
Food was not good at the Institute, and often insufficient to meet the desires of growing boys. Albert took part in many nocturnal foraging parties, not only in the college pantry, but also into the surrounding fields. Chickens and pigs were killed and cooked, and either eaten on the spot or smuggled back into the dormitory.
In 1871-1872 Albert transferred to the Bellevue High School in Bellevue, Virginia, and although he often said in later life that he was never a good student, his diploma states that he graduated "with honor" in Latin, Algebra, Geometry, Orthography and Composition.
Near the end of August, 1875, Albert left San Antonio to enter the University of Virginia. He left by stagecoach which took him through the little town of Houston to the western terminus of the Southern Pacific Railway, then building a line from New Orleans toward the Pacific Coast. He entered the University September 1, and not long thereafter he was taken by a friend to visit at Piedmont, the home of the Jesse Lewis Maury family. At Piedmont he met Jane Lewis Maury, a very small girl of seventeen. Somehow, after this meeting, things were never quite the same.
At the University Albert was noted for his athletic ability and strength and for his good humor, which might on occasion take the form of a practical joke. One morning when it was discovered that the great iron gates at the University entrance had disappeared, the young man from Texas was the first suspect. The gates were very heavy and could hardly have been carried off by one man; and where could they have been hidden? The incident had created quite a furor, which developed into a big mystery at the University. To the best of the writer's knowledge, Albert never admitted or denied having carried off the gates; and they were never found.
A friend and fellow student at the University, William Gordon Robertson (later Judge William G. Robertson of Roanoake, Va.), wrote this entry in his own diary:—"Albert Maverick, San Antonio, Texas. A man, every inch of him. Strong not only in body but mind. True as steel, generous, modest and unassuming. A vein of humor peculiarly his own—one of the best companions and the truest of friends. Not a hard student, too much animal spirit for that—."
At the end of his college year in April, 1876, according to Albert Maverick, his professors at the University told him they liked him very much and that they were giving him passing marks in all his classes, but on one condition:—that he not come back to the University again.
James S. Maverick
A Maverick Abroad
Although it was the largest town in Texas in 1854, San Antonio had a total population of only about 5300. More than half of these were descendents of Mexico and Spain, many of them native San Antonians. Anglo-Americans numbered considerably less than 2000, and many of these had recently arrived from the eastern states. Seven hundred Germans and Alsatians would be joined in the next few years by increasing numbers of their countrymen. Negro slaves almost equaled the German immigrants in number.
Here on May 7, 1854, Albert Maverick was born in the Maverick homestead at the corner of Alamo Plaza, where the Gibbs Building now (1965) stands. He died in 1947 at the age of 92 years at his home on Sunshine Ranch, which at the time had just been taken into the City of San Antonio.
Albert was the ninth in a family of ten children born to the Texas pioneers, Mary Adams and Samuel Augustus Maverick, and youngest of the six who grew to adult life. An active, healthy boy, with a life-long sense of humor which sometimes led him into trouble, he recalled with some chagrin one of his boyhood capers. Albert and another boy on their ponies, each holding the end of a rope stretched between them, galloped down the road to trip an old Mexican man who was trudging along with a load of wood on his back.
As a boy, Albert became a great friend of the famous scout and Indian fighter, Polycarpio Rodriguez, commonly "Mr. Polly." Some of the most vivid remembrances he carried through life were of hunting and fishing trips with Mr. Polly into hill country above San Antonio, where, even at that time, there was still danger of raids by the dread Comanches. From Mr. Polly he learned all manner of things about the birds and the wild animals; how to find water by watching the bees; how to find a trail through the wilderness; how to be self-reliant.
In 1868, at the age of fourteen, Albert started keeping a diary. At that time he was attending the German-English School, going swimming in the the San Antonio River once or twice every day when weather permitted, and receiving $3.00 a month to cut wood for the large household and to care for the chickens. Rats were a big problem in San Antonio at that time, and unless the young chickens were well housed at night, they would disappear before they reached an age to roost in the trees.
His diary reveals other incidents in his young life. Albert's friend, Will Terrell, had a little green snake for which he had traded 100 marbles, but Albert wanted the snake very much and finally became the lawful owner by giving Will two of his squabs [young pigeons] for it. In May of that year he started to dancing school and became an excellent ballroom dancer.
Times were very hard in San Antonio after the Civil War, but by 1868 the enterprising and intrepid Texas trail drivers were bringing money into the state, and land began to regain some of its value. Albert's father was one of the largest (if not the largest) of landowners in Texas, and so in 1869, when Albert was fifteen, money was available to send him off to school. He went the ninety miles to Bastrop by stagecoach, but as there were only two passengers that day, the extra seats were filled with a pay load of sides of bacon. (This was the Mail Coach, and two months later it was held up and robbed.) Cadet Maverick arrived at Texas Military Institute smelling very much like salt pork. Albert's most vivid remembrance of T.M.I. was the large number of flies in the mess hall and kitchen, for this was many years before the advent of fly screens. At the closing of the school year, the Commandant of the school knocked ten demerits off of Albert's record because his gun had been kept in such fine condition.
In the summer of 1870 Albert's father, Samuel A. Maverick, died, ending a long and very distinguished career as a public servant. On September 12, 1870, Albert left San Antonio for Austin, to which town Texas Military Institute (later incorporated into the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas) had just been moved from Bastrop. Although by modern highway Austin is only 76 miles from San Antonio, our traveler had to spend two nights on the road before reaching there. Five other San Antonio boys departed on the coach which left San Antonio at noon, all bound for T.M.I. Camp was pitched that night on a German farmer's place at New Braunfels and the travelers slept on the open prairie. Somehow during the night all the boys' clothes, except Albert's, disappeared. They were later found tied to the corral fence, and the driver's clothes were found tied to the horses' tails.
On the second day some rain was encountered, and travel was slow. Camp was made near the Blanco River crossing. On the third day the coach passed through Mountain City and reached Austin about 3 P.M.
On his first day at school, Maverick was promoted from Private to Sergeant Major, a rank which he held for some months until he was demoted after being caught at one of his many pranks.
One day while Maverick drilled his squad on the parade grounds, he spied a Negro man dressed in a Yankee uniform and standing on the east side of the grounds watching the military activities. Maverick marched his squad along the east side and when at a safe distance, had them halt and fix bayonets. "About Face, Forward March." When opposite the Negro onlooker came the sharp command: "Column right, Quick time, Charge." The Negro wasted no time, departed in great haste, managing to escape by climbing over a cliff.
Albert stayed at school throughout the Christmas holidays that year, and became very much taken with Miss Lilla Porter of Austin. He visited Dr. Porter's home often and danced with Miss Lilla. "The prettiest girl in the state of Texas,—the very image of love, beauty and perfection itself. Her face is fair to look upon, her eyes bright as diamonds, her hair long and curled and black as charcoal." Albert was sixteen.
On February 25, 1871, the German students at T.M.I. recieved news that Paris had fallen, and there was a great German celebration. Albert did not record his reactions.
Near the end of March, Maverick saw many herds of cattle driven across the Colorado River, and heard the shouts of joy that went up from the drovers as the last beef "took to the water." Albert wrote in his diary: "900 beeves in one herd today; yesterday two droves of 900 each, and the day before that, one drove of 3000." Around 5700 animals headed north in only three days, from one ford, on only one of the rivers in the great state of Texas!
Food was not good at the Institute, and often insufficient to meet the desires of growing boys. Albert took part in many nocturnal foraging parties, not only in the college pantry, but also into the surrounding fields. Chickens and pigs were killed and cooked, and either eaten on the spot or smuggled back into the dormitory.
In 1871-1872 Albert transferred to the Bellevue High School in Bellevue, Virginia, and although he often said in later life that he was never a good student, his diploma states that he graduated "with honor" in Latin, Algebra, Geometry, Orthography and Composition.
Near the end of August, 1875, Albert left San Antonio to enter the University of Virginia. He left by stagecoach which took him through the little town of Houston to the western terminus of the Southern Pacific Railway, then building a line from New Orleans toward the Pacific Coast. He entered the University September 1, and not long thereafter he was taken by a friend to visit at Piedmont, the home of the Jesse Lewis Maury family. At Piedmont he met Jane Lewis Maury, a very small girl of seventeen. Somehow, after this meeting, things were never quite the same.
At the University Albert was noted for his athletic ability and strength and for his good humor, which might on occasion take the form of a practical joke. One morning when it was discovered that the great iron gates at the University entrance had disappeared, the young man from Texas was the first suspect. The gates were very heavy and could hardly have been carried off by one man; and where could they have been hidden? The incident had created quite a furor, which developed into a big mystery at the University. To the best of the writer's knowledge, Albert never admitted or denied having carried off the gates; and they were never found.
A friend and fellow student at the University, William Gordon Robertson (later Judge William G. Robertson of Roanoake, Va.), wrote this entry in his own diary:—"Albert Maverick, San Antonio, Texas. A man, every inch of him. Strong not only in body but mind. True as steel, generous, modest and unassuming. A vein of humor peculiarly his own—one of the best companions and the truest of friends. Not a hard student, too much animal spirit for that—."
At the end of his college year in April, 1876, according to Albert Maverick, his professors at the University told him they liked him very much and that they were giving him passing marks in all his classes, but on one condition:—that he not come back to the University again.
James S. Maverick
A Maverick Abroad
A Beloved Pioneer Couple
In March 20th, last, Mr. and Mrs. Albert Maverick, Sr., of San Antonio, celebrated the sixtieth anniversary of their marriage at the home of their son, James S. Maverick, on the Sunshine Ranch near San Antonio. Mr. Maverick is the son of the Texas patriot, Samuel Maverick, whose place in history is well grounded. On March 20, 1877, Albert Maverick was happily married to Miss Jeannie L. Maury, of Charlotesville, Virginia, and they became the parents of eleven children, one of whom is the Hon. Maury Maverick, now a member of Congress. About a year after their marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Albert Maverick purchased a ranch in Bandera county, and moved here. This was in 1878, when the country was still the wild frontier. In 1928 Mrs. Maverick wrote a sketch of their experiences in Bandera county, which we published in Frontier Times. The ranch property, located on the Medina river and Winan’s Creek, comprised several thousand acres of rich grazing land, and was purchased from a man named Mott of Galveston. Since the Mavericks disposed of the property it has been cut up into several small ranches and farms, the old headquarters place now being owned by George Miller.
In writing of this ranch, Mrs. Maverick said: “It was a most beautiful place when we moved there. It looked like a well kept park. Occasional big postoak and liveoak trees shaded green grass which went to the very edges of the river and creek. Mr. Mott, who had been ‘batching’ there with John Gahagan, went back to Galveston, but John stayed, fortunately for us. He was considered a cranky old Irishman, and when he had headaches he would tie a red bandana on his head, get a quirt and whip every dog in sight. In reality he was one of the kindest men, and was a Godsend to two greenhorns like we were. Coming from Virginia, where darkies were plentiful, I was one of the poorest housekeepers to be found. I did not know how to boil water, but Mrs. Annie E. Brown came over and saved our lives. Mrs. Brown was a well educated lady and had been raised by her uncle, who was a banker of New Orleans, but she, like many others at that time, had been stranded in Texas during the gold rush to California. She always carried her own feather bed wherever she went. We were devoted friends and when I came back to San Antonio she came with me, and went to Europe with Mr. Maverick’s sister, whose husband was minister to Belgium.
“I was the first woman to set foot on the Mott ranch, and when the chickens, dogs and stock of all kinds, caught sight of me the shock was too great, and they all took to the brush. The house was just what one might expect it to be—kept by two middle-aged bachelors. Mr. Mott was small, fat, and red, and was very nervous, so much so that when a hen would do her duty by laying an egg her cackling would annoy him to such an extent that he would rush out and throw stones until she quieted down. Consequently, every fall a wagon load of stones would have to be cleaned out of the corn house before the new crop could be stored. John was an entirely different type—tall, thin, and gotten up in a most attractive style. He rode a good horse, and always wore a pistol and cartridge belt, high boots, high hat, and red handkerchief around his neck. I think he must have belonged to the better class in Ireland. He was well educated, and spoke of taking fencing lessons which is only taught to people of means. He had beautiful hunting dogs, and was very fond of animals, and on one occasion when he lit the fire to make coffee he was deeply grieved because he shut the oven door and burnt up his cat.
“For the next few years we lived in Bandera county there was a great flux of people from everywhere, and there was a good deal of money spent. The people did not know how they were going to do it, but they all expected to get rich some way. Above us on the river, a little below Medina City, a young blood from Boston, Job Parker, bought a ranch, put up a nice house, and bought most anything in sight that anyone brought around. Somebody sold him a drove of geese and told him they always roosted in trees and that he must put planks up to the trees and drive them up until they were accustomed to the place. The cowboys made it convenient to be on time for the drive, and had great fun watching the procedure. Mr. Parker brought with him from Boston a young friend, a sailor named Ladd, to run the ranch. You can imagine how successful they were. This young scapegrace, we understood, was a wayward son of a fine old Boston family, and he had the earmarks not entirely rubbed off. He had been to Harvard, and once he had eight Harvard friends to come and visit him. Some of them were most attractive men. My cousin, Miss Price, was spending the winter with us, and Miss Jeannie Carpenter, about the same age, whose parents had recently moved above us on the river, made a very gay company at my house on the ranch. We had lots of ponies to ride, and there was always some excuse for the girls to go on some jaunt. I had a grand outfit for horseback that would be very amusing now, but was considered the latest thing at that time—a very expensive English side-saddle, a dark blue habit, fitting as tight as the skin, and a beaver hat. In this grand costume I accompanied the girls and the young men. John Gahagan led the trail to a camp meeting given under a brush arbor. One night on the way we encountered a pole-cat. My pony was the first to strike it, consequently my habit had to be buried for some time. The young people were hilarious over the experience, and I had some trouble quieting them down before we arrived at the meeting, when some one remarked in an undertone, ‘Hicks’ dog has killed another pole-cat.’ Mr. Ventris Pue was often with us, and it was at my house about that time that he met Miss Jeannie Carpenter, whom he afterwards married. She was a dear, sweet girl, and we were very fond of her.
“Mr. Parker did not prove a credit to his family by any means and didn’t tarry long in the country. On his last visit he borrowed a very beautiful Indian shield from a gentleman in Bandera county, who, of course, prized it highly. Mr. Parker told him that ‘Mrs. Maverick wished to exhibit it in San Antonio.’ He left it at our house for awhile and then took it off north with him, explaining to me that he had bought it. We were much distressed that our name had been used in the affair.
“One of the next celebrated people we had to visit us was King Fisher, at the height of his career. He arrived late one evening with a lot of cowboys and a good sized bunch of cattle. Someone explained that he wished to sleep in the house for fear of being killed in the night by some one of his various enemies. That night he was careful when he sat at the supper table not to be a target for a gun, but as Rose Kalka, a little Polish girl, happened to touch him while handling around the batter cakes, he jumped like his time had come. He slept in a small room on the gallery. The cattle bellowed all night long. Someone had told me of his many wild experiences, how he said that he had killed twenty-seven men, one for each year of his life. After all was quiet, I spent a very restless time—and one time when he got up to get a drink of water from the bucket, I held my baby very tight, thinking we would die together. I didn’t realize that he was a man-killer, and not a baby-killer. To my inexperienced eye, he was a very innocent-looking cowboy, tall and thin and dark. He and I had a very pleasant conversation about his wife and babies before I knew who he was. Not very long after this visit he was shot in San Antonio at the Jack Harris Theater, with Ben Thompson.
“My second daughter was born in Bandera and named Agatha. Mr. Maverick’s mother was to have been with me, but we missed count, so she didn’t arrive. I was very ignorant on such subjects, so Miss Agatha arrived almost unattended. The old Polish midwife arrived, riding straddle—unheard of for women in those days. She relieved the extreme anxiety of Mrs. Brown and a neighbor. I was entirely exhausted and went to sleep. When I awoke my eyes opened on quite a medieval scene. The room was darkened, a big wood fire was roaring in the rough stone fire-place. The clock ticked on the mantel shelf, and the only person I could see was the old Polish midwife, kneeling at the side of the bed praying audibly. She had a little gray shawl around her shoulders, a big white apron on, and her hair was very smooth. She held a rosary in her hand, and with her eyes raised to heaven, she looked like an old painting. Seeing I was awake, she brought the baby triumphantly to me, and a worse looking specimen I never saw. A poor wretched looking little thing-long black hair, and a sight to behold. The old Polish lady believed in the ways of the old country and did not believe in the modern invention of pins, so she had torn up a piece of cloth into wide strings and bound the baby in swaddling clothes, which I had heard of, but had never seen before. All the babies in the country that year had a hard time. There had been a dreadful drouth through the country, and no one had anything fresh to eat, which Dr. Hudspeth, a good old doctor from Houston, explained was the reason babies had something which was not recognized then, but is now, a form of scurvy. It gave the babies a sore mouth and a nasty little eruption, and my baby was not cured until I went to Virginia to my old home where we had different food. We had many jokes in the country about the food that year. Somebody said that they had biscuits, molasses and coffee for supper; condensed milk, but no butter. When I mentioned keeping a cow for milk I was laughed at, although there were hundreds of cows. Our fruits consisted of prunes and dried apples. A man volunteered to bring me some fresh goat meat. When it arrived, the man laid it down in the kitchen window, and as the sun shone on it it was a shiny blue. I took one look, and decided it meant starvation. There were no eggs, and John Gahagan remarked that a hen would have to have an iron beak and feet to scratch anything out of the hard, dry ground.
“We decided in a year or two that we were not a grand success at ranching, and moved back to San Antonio with a very affectionate remembrance of the friends we had made while living there.”
Mr. and Mrs. Maverick are kindly remembered by many of those friends who are yet among the living. Sixty years is a long span, and many changes have occurred since the young couple honeymooned on their ranch nestled among the blue hills of Bandera. In those days it usually required four days to journey to San Antonio and back in a horse-drawn carriage, over a rough and dangerous roadway. Today the trip can be made there and back in four hours and still have plenty of time to attend to brief business matters in the city. After removing to San Antonio Mr. and Mrs. Maverick reared their family of eleven children, and took their place among the leading families of the Alamo City. We hope they will be spared to celebrate many more happy anniversaries.
J. Marvin Hunter
Frontier Times
May, 1937
In March 20th, last, Mr. and Mrs. Albert Maverick, Sr., of San Antonio, celebrated the sixtieth anniversary of their marriage at the home of their son, James S. Maverick, on the Sunshine Ranch near San Antonio. Mr. Maverick is the son of the Texas patriot, Samuel Maverick, whose place in history is well grounded. On March 20, 1877, Albert Maverick was happily married to Miss Jeannie L. Maury, of Charlotesville, Virginia, and they became the parents of eleven children, one of whom is the Hon. Maury Maverick, now a member of Congress. About a year after their marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Albert Maverick purchased a ranch in Bandera county, and moved here. This was in 1878, when the country was still the wild frontier. In 1928 Mrs. Maverick wrote a sketch of their experiences in Bandera county, which we published in Frontier Times. The ranch property, located on the Medina river and Winan’s Creek, comprised several thousand acres of rich grazing land, and was purchased from a man named Mott of Galveston. Since the Mavericks disposed of the property it has been cut up into several small ranches and farms, the old headquarters place now being owned by George Miller.
In writing of this ranch, Mrs. Maverick said: “It was a most beautiful place when we moved there. It looked like a well kept park. Occasional big postoak and liveoak trees shaded green grass which went to the very edges of the river and creek. Mr. Mott, who had been ‘batching’ there with John Gahagan, went back to Galveston, but John stayed, fortunately for us. He was considered a cranky old Irishman, and when he had headaches he would tie a red bandana on his head, get a quirt and whip every dog in sight. In reality he was one of the kindest men, and was a Godsend to two greenhorns like we were. Coming from Virginia, where darkies were plentiful, I was one of the poorest housekeepers to be found. I did not know how to boil water, but Mrs. Annie E. Brown came over and saved our lives. Mrs. Brown was a well educated lady and had been raised by her uncle, who was a banker of New Orleans, but she, like many others at that time, had been stranded in Texas during the gold rush to California. She always carried her own feather bed wherever she went. We were devoted friends and when I came back to San Antonio she came with me, and went to Europe with Mr. Maverick’s sister, whose husband was minister to Belgium.
“I was the first woman to set foot on the Mott ranch, and when the chickens, dogs and stock of all kinds, caught sight of me the shock was too great, and they all took to the brush. The house was just what one might expect it to be—kept by two middle-aged bachelors. Mr. Mott was small, fat, and red, and was very nervous, so much so that when a hen would do her duty by laying an egg her cackling would annoy him to such an extent that he would rush out and throw stones until she quieted down. Consequently, every fall a wagon load of stones would have to be cleaned out of the corn house before the new crop could be stored. John was an entirely different type—tall, thin, and gotten up in a most attractive style. He rode a good horse, and always wore a pistol and cartridge belt, high boots, high hat, and red handkerchief around his neck. I think he must have belonged to the better class in Ireland. He was well educated, and spoke of taking fencing lessons which is only taught to people of means. He had beautiful hunting dogs, and was very fond of animals, and on one occasion when he lit the fire to make coffee he was deeply grieved because he shut the oven door and burnt up his cat.
“For the next few years we lived in Bandera county there was a great flux of people from everywhere, and there was a good deal of money spent. The people did not know how they were going to do it, but they all expected to get rich some way. Above us on the river, a little below Medina City, a young blood from Boston, Job Parker, bought a ranch, put up a nice house, and bought most anything in sight that anyone brought around. Somebody sold him a drove of geese and told him they always roosted in trees and that he must put planks up to the trees and drive them up until they were accustomed to the place. The cowboys made it convenient to be on time for the drive, and had great fun watching the procedure. Mr. Parker brought with him from Boston a young friend, a sailor named Ladd, to run the ranch. You can imagine how successful they were. This young scapegrace, we understood, was a wayward son of a fine old Boston family, and he had the earmarks not entirely rubbed off. He had been to Harvard, and once he had eight Harvard friends to come and visit him. Some of them were most attractive men. My cousin, Miss Price, was spending the winter with us, and Miss Jeannie Carpenter, about the same age, whose parents had recently moved above us on the river, made a very gay company at my house on the ranch. We had lots of ponies to ride, and there was always some excuse for the girls to go on some jaunt. I had a grand outfit for horseback that would be very amusing now, but was considered the latest thing at that time—a very expensive English side-saddle, a dark blue habit, fitting as tight as the skin, and a beaver hat. In this grand costume I accompanied the girls and the young men. John Gahagan led the trail to a camp meeting given under a brush arbor. One night on the way we encountered a pole-cat. My pony was the first to strike it, consequently my habit had to be buried for some time. The young people were hilarious over the experience, and I had some trouble quieting them down before we arrived at the meeting, when some one remarked in an undertone, ‘Hicks’ dog has killed another pole-cat.’ Mr. Ventris Pue was often with us, and it was at my house about that time that he met Miss Jeannie Carpenter, whom he afterwards married. She was a dear, sweet girl, and we were very fond of her.
“Mr. Parker did not prove a credit to his family by any means and didn’t tarry long in the country. On his last visit he borrowed a very beautiful Indian shield from a gentleman in Bandera county, who, of course, prized it highly. Mr. Parker told him that ‘Mrs. Maverick wished to exhibit it in San Antonio.’ He left it at our house for awhile and then took it off north with him, explaining to me that he had bought it. We were much distressed that our name had been used in the affair.
“One of the next celebrated people we had to visit us was King Fisher, at the height of his career. He arrived late one evening with a lot of cowboys and a good sized bunch of cattle. Someone explained that he wished to sleep in the house for fear of being killed in the night by some one of his various enemies. That night he was careful when he sat at the supper table not to be a target for a gun, but as Rose Kalka, a little Polish girl, happened to touch him while handling around the batter cakes, he jumped like his time had come. He slept in a small room on the gallery. The cattle bellowed all night long. Someone had told me of his many wild experiences, how he said that he had killed twenty-seven men, one for each year of his life. After all was quiet, I spent a very restless time—and one time when he got up to get a drink of water from the bucket, I held my baby very tight, thinking we would die together. I didn’t realize that he was a man-killer, and not a baby-killer. To my inexperienced eye, he was a very innocent-looking cowboy, tall and thin and dark. He and I had a very pleasant conversation about his wife and babies before I knew who he was. Not very long after this visit he was shot in San Antonio at the Jack Harris Theater, with Ben Thompson.
“My second daughter was born in Bandera and named Agatha. Mr. Maverick’s mother was to have been with me, but we missed count, so she didn’t arrive. I was very ignorant on such subjects, so Miss Agatha arrived almost unattended. The old Polish midwife arrived, riding straddle—unheard of for women in those days. She relieved the extreme anxiety of Mrs. Brown and a neighbor. I was entirely exhausted and went to sleep. When I awoke my eyes opened on quite a medieval scene. The room was darkened, a big wood fire was roaring in the rough stone fire-place. The clock ticked on the mantel shelf, and the only person I could see was the old Polish midwife, kneeling at the side of the bed praying audibly. She had a little gray shawl around her shoulders, a big white apron on, and her hair was very smooth. She held a rosary in her hand, and with her eyes raised to heaven, she looked like an old painting. Seeing I was awake, she brought the baby triumphantly to me, and a worse looking specimen I never saw. A poor wretched looking little thing-long black hair, and a sight to behold. The old Polish lady believed in the ways of the old country and did not believe in the modern invention of pins, so she had torn up a piece of cloth into wide strings and bound the baby in swaddling clothes, which I had heard of, but had never seen before. All the babies in the country that year had a hard time. There had been a dreadful drouth through the country, and no one had anything fresh to eat, which Dr. Hudspeth, a good old doctor from Houston, explained was the reason babies had something which was not recognized then, but is now, a form of scurvy. It gave the babies a sore mouth and a nasty little eruption, and my baby was not cured until I went to Virginia to my old home where we had different food. We had many jokes in the country about the food that year. Somebody said that they had biscuits, molasses and coffee for supper; condensed milk, but no butter. When I mentioned keeping a cow for milk I was laughed at, although there were hundreds of cows. Our fruits consisted of prunes and dried apples. A man volunteered to bring me some fresh goat meat. When it arrived, the man laid it down in the kitchen window, and as the sun shone on it it was a shiny blue. I took one look, and decided it meant starvation. There were no eggs, and John Gahagan remarked that a hen would have to have an iron beak and feet to scratch anything out of the hard, dry ground.
“We decided in a year or two that we were not a grand success at ranching, and moved back to San Antonio with a very affectionate remembrance of the friends we had made while living there.”
Mr. and Mrs. Maverick are kindly remembered by many of those friends who are yet among the living. Sixty years is a long span, and many changes have occurred since the young couple honeymooned on their ranch nestled among the blue hills of Bandera. In those days it usually required four days to journey to San Antonio and back in a horse-drawn carriage, over a rough and dangerous roadway. Today the trip can be made there and back in four hours and still have plenty of time to attend to brief business matters in the city. After removing to San Antonio Mr. and Mrs. Maverick reared their family of eleven children, and took their place among the leading families of the Alamo City. We hope they will be spared to celebrate many more happy anniversaries.
J. Marvin Hunter
Frontier Times
May, 1937
Ranch Life in Bandera County in 1878
About 1878, Mr. Maverick had little or nothing to do, so he spent most of his time riding around the country looking for a ranch. I had been raised on a farm in Virginia, and of course, thought all respectable people lived in the country. He had a beautiful "paint pony" which was supposed to have been a descendant of some Arabian stock brought out to Texas to be used by the U. S. Government: whether she was or not, she was a "dear girl" and was named "Lady." As a boy, Mr. Maverick had spent a good deal of time on Jose Policarpo Rodriquez ranch in Bandera County. He had hunted with Mr. Polly and had an affectionate and romantic idea of the country. In those days there were no fences and the Indians and sheep men had been in the habit of burning the grass every spring, so there was no underbrush and even the large trees were often burnt at the bottom and the trunks of the trees would be hollow to the branches. In the springtime all the way from San Antonio to Bandera it would seem as if you traveled through a beautiful park. The stage stopped at Mrs. Miller's ranch on the San Geronimo, or if you traveled in your own conveyance, people camped anywhere there was water or good grass for the horses. I saw a bear on Red Bluff Creek one day going up, another time I was wonder struck at the beauty of my first view of Polly's Peak and another mountain near, where hundreds of white goats were being herded near the top. It only needed the bright red serapes like the shepherds wear in Mexico to complete the beauty of the scene.
After much riding, Mr. Maverick decided on a ranch situated on the Medina River and Winans Creek, lying between Bandera town and Medina City. Mr. Mott, of Galveston owned the place and he and John Gahagan batched there together. It was a most beautiful place when we moved there. It looked like a well kept park. Occasional big post oak and live oak trees shaded green grass which went to the very edges of the river and creek. Mr. Mott moved back to Galveston, but John stayed, fortunately for us. He was considered a cranky old Irishman and when he had head aches, he would tie a red bandana on his head, get a quirt and whip every dog in sight. In reality he was one of the kindest men and was a God send to two greenhorns like we were. Coming from Virginia, where darkies were plentiful, I was one of the poorest housekeepers to be found. I did not know how to boil water, but Mrs. Annie E. Brown, who recently died at Tarpley, came over and saved our lives. Mrs. Brown was a well educated lady and had been raised by her uncle who was a banker of New Orleans but she, like many others at that time, had been stranded in Texas during the gold rush to California. She always carried her own feather bed wherever she went and mentioned to me one day, "I have had to work so many years, I like to have some proof of better days, so I carry my bed and sewed up on the inside are some little trophies of my youth." She also mentioned that Big Foot Wallace wished to send her son to North Caroline to school, but for some reason she refused. We were devoted friends and when I came back to San Antonio, she came and went to Europe with Mr. Maverick's sister whose huband was minister to Belgium.
I was the first woman to set foot on the Mott Ranch and when the chickens, dogs and stock of all kinds, caught sight of me the shock was too great, and they took to the brush. The house was just what one might expect it to be—kept by two middle-aged bachelors. Mr. Mott was small, fat and red and was very nervous, so much so that when a hen would do her duty by laying an egg, her cackling would annoy him to such an extent he would rush out and thrown stones until she quieted down. Consequently, every fall a wagon load of stones would have to be cleaned out of the corn house before the new crop could be stored.
John was an entirely different type—tall, thin, and gotten up in a most attractive style. He rode a good horse and always wore a pistol and cartridge belt, high boots, high hat and red handkerchief around his neck. I think he must have belonged to the better class in Ireland. He was well educated and spoke of taking fencing lessons which is only taught to the people of means. He had beautiful hunting dogs and was very fond of animals, and on one occasion when he lit the fire to make coffee he was deeply grieved because he shut the stove door and burnt up his cat.
For the few years we lived in Bandera there was a great influx of people from everywhere and there was a good deal of money spent. The people did not know how they were going to do it, but they all expected to get rich some way. Above us on the river a little below Medina City a young blood from Boston, Job Parker, bought a ranch, put up a nice house and bought most anything in sight that anyone brought around. Somebody sold him a drove of geese and told him they always roosted in trees, that he must put planks up to the trees and drive them up until they were accustomed to the place. The cow boys made it convenient to be on time for the drive and had great fun watching the procedure. Mr. Parker brought with him from Boston, a young friend, a sailor named Ladd, to run the ranch. You can imagine how successful they were. This young scrapegrace, we understood was a wayward son of a fine old Boston family and he had the earmarks not entirely rubbed off. He had been to Harvard and once he had eight Harvard friends come and visit him. Some of them were most attractive men. My cousin, Miss Price, was spending the winter with us and Miss Jeannie Carpenter about the same age, whose parents had recently moved above us on the river, made a very gay company at my house at the ranch. We had lots of ponies to ride and there was always some excuse for the girls to go on some jaunt. I had a grand outfit for horse back that would be very amusing now, but was considered the latest thing at the time. A very expensive English side saddle, a dark blue habit, fitting as tight as the skin, and a beaver hat—in this grand costume I accompanied the girls and young men. John Gahagan lead the trail to a camp meeting given under a brush arbor. One night on the way, we encountered a pole-cat: My pony was the first to strike it, consequently my habit had to be buried for some time. The young people were hilarious over the experience and I had some trouble quieting them down before we arrived at the meeting, when someone remarked in an undertone "Hick's dog has killed another polecat." Mr. Ventrus Pue was often with us and it was at my house about that time that he met Miss Jeannie Carpenter, whom he afterwards married. She was a dear, sweet girl and we were very fond of her.
Mr. Parker did not prove a credit to his family by any means and didn't tarry long in the country. On his last visit he borrowed a very beautiful Indian shield from a gentleman in Bandera County, who, of course, prized it very highly. Mr. Parker told him that "Mrs. Maverick wished to exhibit it in San Antonio." He left it at my house for awhile and then took it off north with him, explaining to me that he had bought it. We were much distressed that our name had been used in the affair.
Another quite interesting man who visited us whom some Bandera people may remember, was the French Count Dodur de Karoman. He was a most imposing figure, six feet four in his stocking feet. He had been a soldier in Algiers and was of a very military bearing and handsome, dignified and claimed to be a very great rider. He would give the Texas boys suggestions which they did not appreciate, so they invited him over to our ranch one day when a lot of young horses were to be broken. The Frenchman announced that he could ride anything they chose to bring out. Nothing suited the cow-boys better than such confidence. They brought out a young Nornan horse about four years old, full of life and as wild as they are made. The count had on a most beautiful costume. Pure white silk helmet and a white silk military coat to his knees. The boys remarked, "We don't want to kill him," so they took the horse to a plowed filed, blindfolded him and held him for the count to get well into the saddle. Then the blinks were pulled off. The Count's ride was of short duration. The blinds once removed, the horse showed the whites of his eyes, shivered and started to buck. It was only a few moments later when the Count's six feet four was flat in the dust. There was unheard of merriment when the boys went to catch the horse. The Frenchman explained with much dignity that he really didn't care to ride again. He went from our house to a place near Boerne where a lot of young Englishmen were dipping sheep. He offered some small advice, which they didn't appreciate and they suggested that he ride on, or they would catch and dip him—in the sheep vat. He evidently felt that he was unappreciated in the country and went back to San Antonio, where he married the daughter of a barkeeper and left for Panama.
One of the next celebrated people we had to visit us was King Fisher, at the height of his career. He arrived late one evening with a lot of cowboys and a good sized bunch of cattle. Someone explained that he wished to sleep in the house for fear of being killed in the night by some one of his various enemies. That night he was careful when he sat at the supper table not to be a target for a gun, but as Rose Kalka, a little Polish girl, happened to touch him while handling around the batter cakes, he jumped like his time had come. He slept in a small room on the gallery. The cattle bellowed all night long. Someone had told me of his many wild experiences, how he said that he had killed twenty-seven men, one for each year of his life. After all was quiet, I spent a very restless time—and one time when he got up to get a drink of water from the bucket, I held my baby very tight thinking we would die together. I didn't realize that he was a man killer and not a baby killer. To my inexperienced eye, he was a very innocent looking cow boy, tall and thin and dark. He and I had a very pleasant conversation about his wife and babies before I knew who he was. Not very long after this visit, he was shot in San Antonio at the White Elephant saloon, with Ben Thompson, and I hope passed on to the happy hunting ground.
One Christmas we had a grand gentleman's dinner at the ranch at one o'clock in the day. I knew how to make egg-nog like my mother used to make in Virginia, but strange to say, some of my guests preferred the whisky "straight" and a "few fingers" in a glass. The egg-nog did not have enough "bite." There was a joke which had quite a vogue those days. Someone gave a cowboy some whiskey with a few wasps inside. To the astonishment of his friends, he drank it down with evident pleasure, but though "it didn't have enough bite to it." I can't remember all the gentlemen's names at the party, but there was a Mr. Hicks, Buck Hamilton, Mr. Ventris Pue, Mr. Montague, Hugh Duffy, H. H. Carmichael, and others, about ten in all, whose names I can't remember.
My second daughter was born in Bandera and named Agatha. Mr. Maverick's mother was to have been with me, but we missed count so she didn't arrive. I was very ignorant on such subjects, so Miss Agatha arrived almost unattended. The old Polish midwife arrived, riding straddle—unheard of for women in those days. She relieved the extreme anxiety of Mrs. Brown and a neighbor. I was entirely exhausted and went to sleep. When I awoke, my eyes opened on quite a medieval scene. The room was darkened, a big wood fire was roaring in the rough stone fire place. The clock ticked on the mantle shelf and the only person I could see was the old Polish midwife kneeling at the side of the bed praying audibly. She had a little gray shawl around her shoulders, a big white apron on and her hair was very smooth. She held a rosary in her hand and with her eyes raised to heaven, she looked like an old painting. Seeing I was awake, she brought the baby triumphantly to me and a worse looking specimen I never saw. A poor wretched looking little thing—long black hair and a sight to behold. The old Polish lady believed in the ways of the old country and did not believe in the modern invention of pins, so she had torn a piece of cloth up into wide strings and bound the baby in swaddling clothes, which I had heard of but had never seen before. All the babies in the country that year had a hard time. There had been a dreadful drought through the country and no one had anything fresh to eat, which Dr. Hudspeth, a good old doctor from Houston, explained was the reason babies had something which was not recognized then, but is now, as a form of scurvy. It gave the babies a sore mouth and a nasty little eruption and my baby was not cured until I went home to Virginia to my old home where we had different food. We had many jokes in the country about the food that year. Some body said that they had biscuits, molasses and coffee for supper; condensed milk, no butter and when I mentioned keeping a cow for milk I was laughed at although there were hundreds of cows. Our fruits consisted of prunes and dried apples. A man volunteered to bring me some fresh goat meat. When it arrived, the man laid it down in the kitchen window and as the sun shown on it it was a shiney blue. I took one look and decided it meant starvation. There were no eggs, and John Gahagan remarked that a hen would have to have an iron beak and feet to scratch anything out of the hard, dry ground. We decided in a year or two that we were not a grand success at ranching and moved back to San Antonio with a very affectionate remembrance of the friends we had made while living there. Henry McKeen ran this ranch for some years for Mr. Maverick. While living there, he was married to Miss Obieske from up the river. The wedding was a grand affair, lots of people were there, but one thing to be remembered was the bride. She was dressed as the usual bride, white dress, tulle veil and orange blossoms. Her hair was almost a gold color and hung in curls to her knees. She had blue eyes, a fresh complexion, was about eighteen and I remember her as a beautiful sight.
I have forgotten to mention old Mr. Steward. He was quite an old man when I knew him. He belonged to an aristocratic family of Richmond, Va., and had been for many years in the U. S. Navy. He could hold a glass of wine and repeat poetry by the hour. He had seen a great deal of the world and was a very agreeable man. The hardships of a pioneer life were very hard on him and about the only fun he got out of it was to swear like a sailor at the whole "dam business." I went to see him once when he insisted on living alone in a little cabin by the river. I called and he at last told me to come in. In the most polished language he explained his great suffering, while he lay on a raw hide with very few garments on and scratched the mosquito bites with a carving knife. I was ashamed when I went back to San Antonio that I did not do more for his comfort. His death happened shortly after I left Bandera, but my excuse for not doing many things that would have been a pleasure, was because my whole time was taken up raising our children, and I feel certain it could not have been better or more happily spent.
Mrs. Albert Maverick, Sr.
Frontier Times
April, 1928
About 1878, Mr. Maverick had little or nothing to do, so he spent most of his time riding around the country looking for a ranch. I had been raised on a farm in Virginia, and of course, thought all respectable people lived in the country. He had a beautiful "paint pony" which was supposed to have been a descendant of some Arabian stock brought out to Texas to be used by the U. S. Government: whether she was or not, she was a "dear girl" and was named "Lady." As a boy, Mr. Maverick had spent a good deal of time on Jose Policarpo Rodriquez ranch in Bandera County. He had hunted with Mr. Polly and had an affectionate and romantic idea of the country. In those days there were no fences and the Indians and sheep men had been in the habit of burning the grass every spring, so there was no underbrush and even the large trees were often burnt at the bottom and the trunks of the trees would be hollow to the branches. In the springtime all the way from San Antonio to Bandera it would seem as if you traveled through a beautiful park. The stage stopped at Mrs. Miller's ranch on the San Geronimo, or if you traveled in your own conveyance, people camped anywhere there was water or good grass for the horses. I saw a bear on Red Bluff Creek one day going up, another time I was wonder struck at the beauty of my first view of Polly's Peak and another mountain near, where hundreds of white goats were being herded near the top. It only needed the bright red serapes like the shepherds wear in Mexico to complete the beauty of the scene.
After much riding, Mr. Maverick decided on a ranch situated on the Medina River and Winans Creek, lying between Bandera town and Medina City. Mr. Mott, of Galveston owned the place and he and John Gahagan batched there together. It was a most beautiful place when we moved there. It looked like a well kept park. Occasional big post oak and live oak trees shaded green grass which went to the very edges of the river and creek. Mr. Mott moved back to Galveston, but John stayed, fortunately for us. He was considered a cranky old Irishman and when he had head aches, he would tie a red bandana on his head, get a quirt and whip every dog in sight. In reality he was one of the kindest men and was a God send to two greenhorns like we were. Coming from Virginia, where darkies were plentiful, I was one of the poorest housekeepers to be found. I did not know how to boil water, but Mrs. Annie E. Brown, who recently died at Tarpley, came over and saved our lives. Mrs. Brown was a well educated lady and had been raised by her uncle who was a banker of New Orleans but she, like many others at that time, had been stranded in Texas during the gold rush to California. She always carried her own feather bed wherever she went and mentioned to me one day, "I have had to work so many years, I like to have some proof of better days, so I carry my bed and sewed up on the inside are some little trophies of my youth." She also mentioned that Big Foot Wallace wished to send her son to North Caroline to school, but for some reason she refused. We were devoted friends and when I came back to San Antonio, she came and went to Europe with Mr. Maverick's sister whose huband was minister to Belgium.
I was the first woman to set foot on the Mott Ranch and when the chickens, dogs and stock of all kinds, caught sight of me the shock was too great, and they took to the brush. The house was just what one might expect it to be—kept by two middle-aged bachelors. Mr. Mott was small, fat and red and was very nervous, so much so that when a hen would do her duty by laying an egg, her cackling would annoy him to such an extent he would rush out and thrown stones until she quieted down. Consequently, every fall a wagon load of stones would have to be cleaned out of the corn house before the new crop could be stored.
John was an entirely different type—tall, thin, and gotten up in a most attractive style. He rode a good horse and always wore a pistol and cartridge belt, high boots, high hat and red handkerchief around his neck. I think he must have belonged to the better class in Ireland. He was well educated and spoke of taking fencing lessons which is only taught to the people of means. He had beautiful hunting dogs and was very fond of animals, and on one occasion when he lit the fire to make coffee he was deeply grieved because he shut the stove door and burnt up his cat.
For the few years we lived in Bandera there was a great influx of people from everywhere and there was a good deal of money spent. The people did not know how they were going to do it, but they all expected to get rich some way. Above us on the river a little below Medina City a young blood from Boston, Job Parker, bought a ranch, put up a nice house and bought most anything in sight that anyone brought around. Somebody sold him a drove of geese and told him they always roosted in trees, that he must put planks up to the trees and drive them up until they were accustomed to the place. The cow boys made it convenient to be on time for the drive and had great fun watching the procedure. Mr. Parker brought with him from Boston, a young friend, a sailor named Ladd, to run the ranch. You can imagine how successful they were. This young scrapegrace, we understood was a wayward son of a fine old Boston family and he had the earmarks not entirely rubbed off. He had been to Harvard and once he had eight Harvard friends come and visit him. Some of them were most attractive men. My cousin, Miss Price, was spending the winter with us and Miss Jeannie Carpenter about the same age, whose parents had recently moved above us on the river, made a very gay company at my house at the ranch. We had lots of ponies to ride and there was always some excuse for the girls to go on some jaunt. I had a grand outfit for horse back that would be very amusing now, but was considered the latest thing at the time. A very expensive English side saddle, a dark blue habit, fitting as tight as the skin, and a beaver hat—in this grand costume I accompanied the girls and young men. John Gahagan lead the trail to a camp meeting given under a brush arbor. One night on the way, we encountered a pole-cat: My pony was the first to strike it, consequently my habit had to be buried for some time. The young people were hilarious over the experience and I had some trouble quieting them down before we arrived at the meeting, when someone remarked in an undertone "Hick's dog has killed another polecat." Mr. Ventrus Pue was often with us and it was at my house about that time that he met Miss Jeannie Carpenter, whom he afterwards married. She was a dear, sweet girl and we were very fond of her.
Mr. Parker did not prove a credit to his family by any means and didn't tarry long in the country. On his last visit he borrowed a very beautiful Indian shield from a gentleman in Bandera County, who, of course, prized it very highly. Mr. Parker told him that "Mrs. Maverick wished to exhibit it in San Antonio." He left it at my house for awhile and then took it off north with him, explaining to me that he had bought it. We were much distressed that our name had been used in the affair.
Another quite interesting man who visited us whom some Bandera people may remember, was the French Count Dodur de Karoman. He was a most imposing figure, six feet four in his stocking feet. He had been a soldier in Algiers and was of a very military bearing and handsome, dignified and claimed to be a very great rider. He would give the Texas boys suggestions which they did not appreciate, so they invited him over to our ranch one day when a lot of young horses were to be broken. The Frenchman announced that he could ride anything they chose to bring out. Nothing suited the cow-boys better than such confidence. They brought out a young Nornan horse about four years old, full of life and as wild as they are made. The count had on a most beautiful costume. Pure white silk helmet and a white silk military coat to his knees. The boys remarked, "We don't want to kill him," so they took the horse to a plowed filed, blindfolded him and held him for the count to get well into the saddle. Then the blinks were pulled off. The Count's ride was of short duration. The blinds once removed, the horse showed the whites of his eyes, shivered and started to buck. It was only a few moments later when the Count's six feet four was flat in the dust. There was unheard of merriment when the boys went to catch the horse. The Frenchman explained with much dignity that he really didn't care to ride again. He went from our house to a place near Boerne where a lot of young Englishmen were dipping sheep. He offered some small advice, which they didn't appreciate and they suggested that he ride on, or they would catch and dip him—in the sheep vat. He evidently felt that he was unappreciated in the country and went back to San Antonio, where he married the daughter of a barkeeper and left for Panama.
One of the next celebrated people we had to visit us was King Fisher, at the height of his career. He arrived late one evening with a lot of cowboys and a good sized bunch of cattle. Someone explained that he wished to sleep in the house for fear of being killed in the night by some one of his various enemies. That night he was careful when he sat at the supper table not to be a target for a gun, but as Rose Kalka, a little Polish girl, happened to touch him while handling around the batter cakes, he jumped like his time had come. He slept in a small room on the gallery. The cattle bellowed all night long. Someone had told me of his many wild experiences, how he said that he had killed twenty-seven men, one for each year of his life. After all was quiet, I spent a very restless time—and one time when he got up to get a drink of water from the bucket, I held my baby very tight thinking we would die together. I didn't realize that he was a man killer and not a baby killer. To my inexperienced eye, he was a very innocent looking cow boy, tall and thin and dark. He and I had a very pleasant conversation about his wife and babies before I knew who he was. Not very long after this visit, he was shot in San Antonio at the White Elephant saloon, with Ben Thompson, and I hope passed on to the happy hunting ground.
One Christmas we had a grand gentleman's dinner at the ranch at one o'clock in the day. I knew how to make egg-nog like my mother used to make in Virginia, but strange to say, some of my guests preferred the whisky "straight" and a "few fingers" in a glass. The egg-nog did not have enough "bite." There was a joke which had quite a vogue those days. Someone gave a cowboy some whiskey with a few wasps inside. To the astonishment of his friends, he drank it down with evident pleasure, but though "it didn't have enough bite to it." I can't remember all the gentlemen's names at the party, but there was a Mr. Hicks, Buck Hamilton, Mr. Ventris Pue, Mr. Montague, Hugh Duffy, H. H. Carmichael, and others, about ten in all, whose names I can't remember.
My second daughter was born in Bandera and named Agatha. Mr. Maverick's mother was to have been with me, but we missed count so she didn't arrive. I was very ignorant on such subjects, so Miss Agatha arrived almost unattended. The old Polish midwife arrived, riding straddle—unheard of for women in those days. She relieved the extreme anxiety of Mrs. Brown and a neighbor. I was entirely exhausted and went to sleep. When I awoke, my eyes opened on quite a medieval scene. The room was darkened, a big wood fire was roaring in the rough stone fire place. The clock ticked on the mantle shelf and the only person I could see was the old Polish midwife kneeling at the side of the bed praying audibly. She had a little gray shawl around her shoulders, a big white apron on and her hair was very smooth. She held a rosary in her hand and with her eyes raised to heaven, she looked like an old painting. Seeing I was awake, she brought the baby triumphantly to me and a worse looking specimen I never saw. A poor wretched looking little thing—long black hair and a sight to behold. The old Polish lady believed in the ways of the old country and did not believe in the modern invention of pins, so she had torn a piece of cloth up into wide strings and bound the baby in swaddling clothes, which I had heard of but had never seen before. All the babies in the country that year had a hard time. There had been a dreadful drought through the country and no one had anything fresh to eat, which Dr. Hudspeth, a good old doctor from Houston, explained was the reason babies had something which was not recognized then, but is now, as a form of scurvy. It gave the babies a sore mouth and a nasty little eruption and my baby was not cured until I went home to Virginia to my old home where we had different food. We had many jokes in the country about the food that year. Some body said that they had biscuits, molasses and coffee for supper; condensed milk, no butter and when I mentioned keeping a cow for milk I was laughed at although there were hundreds of cows. Our fruits consisted of prunes and dried apples. A man volunteered to bring me some fresh goat meat. When it arrived, the man laid it down in the kitchen window and as the sun shown on it it was a shiney blue. I took one look and decided it meant starvation. There were no eggs, and John Gahagan remarked that a hen would have to have an iron beak and feet to scratch anything out of the hard, dry ground. We decided in a year or two that we were not a grand success at ranching and moved back to San Antonio with a very affectionate remembrance of the friends we had made while living there. Henry McKeen ran this ranch for some years for Mr. Maverick. While living there, he was married to Miss Obieske from up the river. The wedding was a grand affair, lots of people were there, but one thing to be remembered was the bride. She was dressed as the usual bride, white dress, tulle veil and orange blossoms. Her hair was almost a gold color and hung in curls to her knees. She had blue eyes, a fresh complexion, was about eighteen and I remember her as a beautiful sight.
I have forgotten to mention old Mr. Steward. He was quite an old man when I knew him. He belonged to an aristocratic family of Richmond, Va., and had been for many years in the U. S. Navy. He could hold a glass of wine and repeat poetry by the hour. He had seen a great deal of the world and was a very agreeable man. The hardships of a pioneer life were very hard on him and about the only fun he got out of it was to swear like a sailor at the whole "dam business." I went to see him once when he insisted on living alone in a little cabin by the river. I called and he at last told me to come in. In the most polished language he explained his great suffering, while he lay on a raw hide with very few garments on and scratched the mosquito bites with a carving knife. I was ashamed when I went back to San Antonio that I did not do more for his comfort. His death happened shortly after I left Bandera, but my excuse for not doing many things that would have been a pleasure, was because my whole time was taken up raising our children, and I feel certain it could not have been better or more happily spent.
Mrs. Albert Maverick, Sr.
Frontier Times
April, 1928
My Grandmother's House
My Grandmother's house was big. It was high upon a hill in the country, six miles from downtown San Antonio.
The house had two stories with a porch along the southeast side to catch the breeze. A vine, called "Queen's Crown," blossomed on the porch railings. The house was made of wood and painted yellow ocre. It had a green shingle roof.
Guinea hens and peacocks meandered near the fishponds in the yard. Horses were kept safe in the stable outback.
Inside lived my Grandmother.
Her name was Jane Maury Maverick. I remember her in a black dress with a fresh lace collar pinned at the breast with a pink cameo. Grandma always wore her cameo. Her white hair was combed back into a bun. It curled in ringlets around her face.
Jane was born in Charlottesville, Virginia in 1858. Her parents were Lucy Jane and Jesse Lewis Maury. She was the third youngest in a family of eleven children.
Jane came to Texas in 1877 when she married my grandfather.
My grandfather, Albert Maverick, lived in the house, too. He was the youngest son of Texas pioneers Mary and Samuel Maverick.
Grandpa always dressed in a suit. He wore a gold pocket watch with a fancy gold chain attached to his trousers. He told his grandchildren that his watch was magic.
"If you will kiss the cover, the watch will open," said Grandfather. Then he would secretly press a little button and the cover would pop up.
He made children happy with little white sacks of candy from the Maverick Building downtown where he worked in the land office.
Long ago, when Albert was a young student at the University of Virginia in Charlotteville, he saw Jane pass by in a carriage with her family. Albert thought Jane was the most beautiful girl in the world, and he fell in love with her at first sight.
He went to the Maury home and asked for Jane's hand, but her parents said, "Jane is too young to marry." She was only 16 years old.
Albert traveled to England and France and waited for two long years before they were joined in marriage. They honeymooned in New Orleans and had their picture made, then rode the train to Texas.
One day Grandmother said, "Now let's give our home a name," and Grandmother named her home "Sunshine Ranch." Some people called it "The Big House".
The front door of "The Big House" opened into the main parlor. The walls of the parlor were covered with many pictures, some of which Grandmother had painted.
Grandmother was an artist. She also liked to paint pretty designs on colored bottles and fill them with sand for gifts.
A stairway in the parlor led upstairs to the children's rooms. Upstairs there were two bedrooms for the five girls on one side and two bedrooms for the six boys on another. But there was only one bathroom upstairs for all the children to share!
Grandmother's bedroom was downstairs. It was the warmest room. It had a big rock fireplace where Grandmother sat to knit and tell stories of the old days when she was a little girl in Virginia during the Civil War. "General Custer's army was camped at our home. The Yankee soldiers took all of our food. I found a little piece of bacon in the dirt and washed it off and ate it," said Grandma.
Near the door was Grandfather's dresser. He hid candied ginger in the highest drawer for children to find. Across the room, a wardrobe held blankets and made a wonderful hiding place.
Janie McNeel was my best friend. We usually played "Indian" and made secret houses in the yard, but we also liked to hide in that wardrobe. Grandmother would always find us and say, "Now you children go to the kitchen and find something good to eat."
So Janie and I would run across the porch through the little dining room where most meals were taken, into the kitchen.
Here Mrs. Gifford, with her little dog beside her, baked on an old black stove.
In the pantry there was a wooden pie safe, and sometimes inside we found the treasure - a delicious crumb cake from Mrs. Schneider's Bakery on Fredricksburg Road.
But the best room in the whole house was the big dining room. Every Sunday Grandmother covered the table with a fine lace cloth and piled it high with good things to eat. People came from all around everyone was welcomed to her table.
Some Sunday evenings Dr. Pompeo Coppini, the famous Italian sculptor, and Mrs. Coppini came. Some evenings Grandmother's favorite friend, Mattie Houston, and the Reverend and Mrs. Everett Jones were guests. Grandma held some 40 Christenings at the Sunshine Ranch for her grandchildren and for the children of the ranch workers.
The grown-ups were always served first at dinnertime and the children were served last. Grandmother often said, "Children should be seen but not heard."
We were always careful to behave like little angels in her presence.
After supper Grandfather carved watermelon on the porch near bottles of thick Jersey milk from Papa's dairy down the road.
Sister Ellen, cousin Barbarita and I would gobble our watermelon and rush down the porch steps, past the tall palm tree, to the pond where the lightening bugs hid.
Jamie Maverick
Author's Note
As a child I spent many hours in the Big House. Jane and Albert were the most kind, generous people I have ever known.
Grandma was a gifted writer. Together we collaborated on many little books. At last, I have printed one about her. Many thanks to sister Ellen for her help.
Grandmother's house was built in 1905 on the Babcock Road. It was designed by family friend, Alfred Giles, of Comfort, Texas. Several years after Jane's death in 1954, the house was demolished. Today the Faith Outreach Christian Academy fills the site on what is now known as Sunshine Ranch Road.
Nearby many of the family homes remain - reminders of the mystical, magical, never-never land of Grandma's Sunshine Ranch.
My Grandmother's house was big. It was high upon a hill in the country, six miles from downtown San Antonio.
The house had two stories with a porch along the southeast side to catch the breeze. A vine, called "Queen's Crown," blossomed on the porch railings. The house was made of wood and painted yellow ocre. It had a green shingle roof.
Guinea hens and peacocks meandered near the fishponds in the yard. Horses were kept safe in the stable outback.
Inside lived my Grandmother.
Her name was Jane Maury Maverick. I remember her in a black dress with a fresh lace collar pinned at the breast with a pink cameo. Grandma always wore her cameo. Her white hair was combed back into a bun. It curled in ringlets around her face.
Jane was born in Charlottesville, Virginia in 1858. Her parents were Lucy Jane and Jesse Lewis Maury. She was the third youngest in a family of eleven children.
Jane came to Texas in 1877 when she married my grandfather.
My grandfather, Albert Maverick, lived in the house, too. He was the youngest son of Texas pioneers Mary and Samuel Maverick.
Grandpa always dressed in a suit. He wore a gold pocket watch with a fancy gold chain attached to his trousers. He told his grandchildren that his watch was magic.
"If you will kiss the cover, the watch will open," said Grandfather. Then he would secretly press a little button and the cover would pop up.
He made children happy with little white sacks of candy from the Maverick Building downtown where he worked in the land office.
Long ago, when Albert was a young student at the University of Virginia in Charlotteville, he saw Jane pass by in a carriage with her family. Albert thought Jane was the most beautiful girl in the world, and he fell in love with her at first sight.
He went to the Maury home and asked for Jane's hand, but her parents said, "Jane is too young to marry." She was only 16 years old.
Albert traveled to England and France and waited for two long years before they were joined in marriage. They honeymooned in New Orleans and had their picture made, then rode the train to Texas.
One day Grandmother said, "Now let's give our home a name," and Grandmother named her home "Sunshine Ranch." Some people called it "The Big House".
The front door of "The Big House" opened into the main parlor. The walls of the parlor were covered with many pictures, some of which Grandmother had painted.
Grandmother was an artist. She also liked to paint pretty designs on colored bottles and fill them with sand for gifts.
A stairway in the parlor led upstairs to the children's rooms. Upstairs there were two bedrooms for the five girls on one side and two bedrooms for the six boys on another. But there was only one bathroom upstairs for all the children to share!
Grandmother's bedroom was downstairs. It was the warmest room. It had a big rock fireplace where Grandmother sat to knit and tell stories of the old days when she was a little girl in Virginia during the Civil War. "General Custer's army was camped at our home. The Yankee soldiers took all of our food. I found a little piece of bacon in the dirt and washed it off and ate it," said Grandma.
Near the door was Grandfather's dresser. He hid candied ginger in the highest drawer for children to find. Across the room, a wardrobe held blankets and made a wonderful hiding place.
Janie McNeel was my best friend. We usually played "Indian" and made secret houses in the yard, but we also liked to hide in that wardrobe. Grandmother would always find us and say, "Now you children go to the kitchen and find something good to eat."
So Janie and I would run across the porch through the little dining room where most meals were taken, into the kitchen.
Here Mrs. Gifford, with her little dog beside her, baked on an old black stove.
In the pantry there was a wooden pie safe, and sometimes inside we found the treasure - a delicious crumb cake from Mrs. Schneider's Bakery on Fredricksburg Road.
But the best room in the whole house was the big dining room. Every Sunday Grandmother covered the table with a fine lace cloth and piled it high with good things to eat. People came from all around everyone was welcomed to her table.
Some Sunday evenings Dr. Pompeo Coppini, the famous Italian sculptor, and Mrs. Coppini came. Some evenings Grandmother's favorite friend, Mattie Houston, and the Reverend and Mrs. Everett Jones were guests. Grandma held some 40 Christenings at the Sunshine Ranch for her grandchildren and for the children of the ranch workers.
The grown-ups were always served first at dinnertime and the children were served last. Grandmother often said, "Children should be seen but not heard."
We were always careful to behave like little angels in her presence.
After supper Grandfather carved watermelon on the porch near bottles of thick Jersey milk from Papa's dairy down the road.
Sister Ellen, cousin Barbarita and I would gobble our watermelon and rush down the porch steps, past the tall palm tree, to the pond where the lightening bugs hid.
Jamie Maverick
Author's Note
As a child I spent many hours in the Big House. Jane and Albert were the most kind, generous people I have ever known.
Grandma was a gifted writer. Together we collaborated on many little books. At last, I have printed one about her. Many thanks to sister Ellen for her help.
Grandmother's house was built in 1905 on the Babcock Road. It was designed by family friend, Alfred Giles, of Comfort, Texas. Several years after Jane's death in 1954, the house was demolished. Today the Faith Outreach Christian Academy fills the site on what is now known as Sunshine Ranch Road.
Nearby many of the family homes remain - reminders of the mystical, magical, never-never land of Grandma's Sunshine Ranch.
Lillian Maverick Padgitt
Lillian Maverick Padgitt, age 94, died July 8, 2007. Born to Lillian Williams and Albert Maverick Jr. at Sunshine Ranch in San Antonio, Texas, Lillian was a direct descendant of Samuel Augustus Maverick, signer of the Texas Declaration of Independence. Rancher, homemaker and historic preservationist, Lillian lived a full loving life and was always ready to “talk about Texas.”
Lillian graduated from Main Avenue High School and Westmoreland College (Trinity University) in San Antonio. She married Coleman County rancher James Thomas Padgitt, Jr. on December 6, 1932. Lillian and Jim divided their time between the Padgitt Ranch on the banks of the Colorado River and San Antonio, celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary before Jim’s death in 1983.
Some of Lillian’s greatest interests were the history of San Antonio and its unique architecture. She served as President of the San Antonio Conservation Society, President of the Alamo Mission Chapter of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas and Regent of the Captain William Buckner Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution. She was the founding chairman of the Conservation Society’s Las Posadas in 1966 and chairman for the first 25 years of Anticuchos at A Night in Old San Antonio. She also enjoyed memberships in St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, the Battle of Flowers Association, Live Oak Garden Club, Military Civilian, The Argyle and was an early board member of The National Trust for Historic Preservation.
Lillian is survived by two daughters, Lillian Padgitt Morris of San Antonio, Texas and Jane Maverick Padgitt of Leaday, Texas; her seven grandchildren, Catherine Morris Helland and husband Hans, James Padgitt Morris and wife Sally, Hannah Day Morris, Hal Goggan Kuntz II and wife Barbara, Peter Maverick, Ellen Day Dotson, and Byrd Padgitt Sowell; six great grandchildren; and countless Maverick relatives.
Lillian was preceded in death by her beloved husband, Lieutenant Colonel James T. Padgitt, Jr., ANG WWII; daughter, Willie Day Padgitt Kuntz; three sisters, Jane Lewis McMillan, Amelia Epler Nolen, and Mary Adams Lambie; brother, Albert Maverick III; and devoted son-in-law, Robert Selig Morris.
The Padgitt family gives thanks to all the people who have loved and cared for Lillian in the last several years. You know who you are and you are part of a great team.
Lillian had a wonderfully generous spirit. She loved people and people loved her.
* * *
Lillian Williams Maverick was born at the home of her paternal grandparents Albert and Jane Maury Maverick on Sunshine Ranch, seven miles from downtown San Antonio. Sunshine Ranch would hold many adventures as Lillian grew up with her cousins, around forty of them.
Lillian's Westmoreland College roommate, Velma Sealy, introduced her to James Thomas Padgitt Jr. of Coleman County, a graduate of Culver Military Academy and the Wharton School of Business. In 1932 the pair were married at Christ Episcopal Church by Reverend Samuel Orr Capers. They went on their honeymoon by train to Mexico, high romance in those days. After their wedding trip, the young Padgitts lived and worked with his parents on their historic ranch at the confluence of the Concho and Colorado Rivers, a crossing of the Western Trail which headed to Dodge City, Kansas.
In World War II, Jim's 36th Infantry Division was one of the first to be mobilized. Lil and then two little girls, Lillita and Day, followed him until he shipped out for North Africa. Anxiously awaiting a v-mail, [they] learned by radio that the 36th made the initial landing at Salerno, Italy. Jim was the first field grade officer to wade ashore in the European campaign. Fighting up the 'boot of Italy' he was wounded; he eventually made it home to Coleman where life became quieter and more settled with the birth of a third daughter Jane. In Coleman Lillian was regent of the Captain William Buckner chapter of the D.A.R. founded by Jim's mother, Willie Day Padgitt.
By 1956 the Padgitts bought a house in San Antonio from Edna Steves Vaughan, which she and her husband Curtis Sr. had built in 1922 as a young couple. They continued to ranch and to participate in sheep shearing season and to be part of Coleman County.
LILLIAN'S CIVIC CONTRIBUTION: In San Antonio Lillian joined the Conservation Society and the Daughters of the Republic of Texas. Soon after, she was asked to join the Battle of Flowers Association — the initial idea of a flower-battle parade having been proposed by her grandmother's sister Ellen Maury Slayden after her visit with her U.S. Congress-man husband James L. Slayden to Valencia, Spain.
Applying her energies and skills, Lillian became president of The Daughters of the Republic of Texas. This association always made her feel close to her great-grandfather, Samuel Augustus Maverick. He had been elected by the men at the Alamo while he was on the trip in their behalf.
Rena Maverick Green encouraged her younger cousin Lillian to join the Conservation Society which Rena had helped to found. This became another passion for Lillian. As president (1963-1965), she dealt with the developers and signed the first check of seed money to save the Old Ursuline Convent downtown, now the Southwest Craft Center. Also the Navarro House was opened to the public during her presidency. Soon after, she was the mastermind and first chairman in 1966 of the Conservation Society's Las Posadas on the River.
Night in Old San Antonio's Anticuchos loom large in Lillian's career with Conservation. She was the first NIOSA chairman and served in that capacity for 25 years, (always with the enthusiastic help of Jim). A most important and crucial part of the volunteer team was her sister Jane Lewis (Maverick) and Jane's husband Bill McMillan, who had developed the Anticuchos recipe (marinated beef on a stick) in their kitchen.
Anticuchos was one of the top money-making booths that helped the continuing cause of saving historic buildings and San Antonio's heritage. It also helped Night in Old San Antonio host some of the early large groups to San Antonio such as one of the first annual meetings of the National Trust for Historic Preservation (Lillian was a member of their board of directors), and the meeting of the Southern Governors.
A MOTHER REMEMBERED: Lillian was compassionate and spirited and alert. She knew and wanted other to know of historic trees, native plants and grasses. Once she saved a gigantic oak on Patterson near Broadway by getting the grocery next to it to water it through a Texas drought. She sometimes carried a stem of side oats gramma in her purse, pulling it out to teach some unsuspecting person in the elevator with her that it is the state grass of Texas. People remembered and lived her. She talked to strangers and they became friends. She was more than generous. If anyone admired something that she was wearing, she would take it off and give it to them. She gave spontaneously from the heart.
She got the big picture and never bothered with details. She could always get somebody else to tend to helping implement her active ideaphoria.
Family person, open-hearted Christian to the core, homemaker, rancher, friend of all, sensitive individual fully present to the present moment, historic preservationist who loved to talk about Texas with grandchildren or strangers — that was 'Lil!
Lillian Maverick Padgitt, age 94, died July 8, 2007. Born to Lillian Williams and Albert Maverick Jr. at Sunshine Ranch in San Antonio, Texas, Lillian was a direct descendant of Samuel Augustus Maverick, signer of the Texas Declaration of Independence. Rancher, homemaker and historic preservationist, Lillian lived a full loving life and was always ready to “talk about Texas.”
Lillian graduated from Main Avenue High School and Westmoreland College (Trinity University) in San Antonio. She married Coleman County rancher James Thomas Padgitt, Jr. on December 6, 1932. Lillian and Jim divided their time between the Padgitt Ranch on the banks of the Colorado River and San Antonio, celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary before Jim’s death in 1983.
Some of Lillian’s greatest interests were the history of San Antonio and its unique architecture. She served as President of the San Antonio Conservation Society, President of the Alamo Mission Chapter of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas and Regent of the Captain William Buckner Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution. She was the founding chairman of the Conservation Society’s Las Posadas in 1966 and chairman for the first 25 years of Anticuchos at A Night in Old San Antonio. She also enjoyed memberships in St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, the Battle of Flowers Association, Live Oak Garden Club, Military Civilian, The Argyle and was an early board member of The National Trust for Historic Preservation.
Lillian is survived by two daughters, Lillian Padgitt Morris of San Antonio, Texas and Jane Maverick Padgitt of Leaday, Texas; her seven grandchildren, Catherine Morris Helland and husband Hans, James Padgitt Morris and wife Sally, Hannah Day Morris, Hal Goggan Kuntz II and wife Barbara, Peter Maverick, Ellen Day Dotson, and Byrd Padgitt Sowell; six great grandchildren; and countless Maverick relatives.
Lillian was preceded in death by her beloved husband, Lieutenant Colonel James T. Padgitt, Jr., ANG WWII; daughter, Willie Day Padgitt Kuntz; three sisters, Jane Lewis McMillan, Amelia Epler Nolen, and Mary Adams Lambie; brother, Albert Maverick III; and devoted son-in-law, Robert Selig Morris.
The Padgitt family gives thanks to all the people who have loved and cared for Lillian in the last several years. You know who you are and you are part of a great team.
Lillian had a wonderfully generous spirit. She loved people and people loved her.
* * *
Lillian Williams Maverick was born at the home of her paternal grandparents Albert and Jane Maury Maverick on Sunshine Ranch, seven miles from downtown San Antonio. Sunshine Ranch would hold many adventures as Lillian grew up with her cousins, around forty of them.
Lillian's Westmoreland College roommate, Velma Sealy, introduced her to James Thomas Padgitt Jr. of Coleman County, a graduate of Culver Military Academy and the Wharton School of Business. In 1932 the pair were married at Christ Episcopal Church by Reverend Samuel Orr Capers. They went on their honeymoon by train to Mexico, high romance in those days. After their wedding trip, the young Padgitts lived and worked with his parents on their historic ranch at the confluence of the Concho and Colorado Rivers, a crossing of the Western Trail which headed to Dodge City, Kansas.
In World War II, Jim's 36th Infantry Division was one of the first to be mobilized. Lil and then two little girls, Lillita and Day, followed him until he shipped out for North Africa. Anxiously awaiting a v-mail, [they] learned by radio that the 36th made the initial landing at Salerno, Italy. Jim was the first field grade officer to wade ashore in the European campaign. Fighting up the 'boot of Italy' he was wounded; he eventually made it home to Coleman where life became quieter and more settled with the birth of a third daughter Jane. In Coleman Lillian was regent of the Captain William Buckner chapter of the D.A.R. founded by Jim's mother, Willie Day Padgitt.
By 1956 the Padgitts bought a house in San Antonio from Edna Steves Vaughan, which she and her husband Curtis Sr. had built in 1922 as a young couple. They continued to ranch and to participate in sheep shearing season and to be part of Coleman County.
LILLIAN'S CIVIC CONTRIBUTION: In San Antonio Lillian joined the Conservation Society and the Daughters of the Republic of Texas. Soon after, she was asked to join the Battle of Flowers Association — the initial idea of a flower-battle parade having been proposed by her grandmother's sister Ellen Maury Slayden after her visit with her U.S. Congress-man husband James L. Slayden to Valencia, Spain.
Applying her energies and skills, Lillian became president of The Daughters of the Republic of Texas. This association always made her feel close to her great-grandfather, Samuel Augustus Maverick. He had been elected by the men at the Alamo while he was on the trip in their behalf.
Rena Maverick Green encouraged her younger cousin Lillian to join the Conservation Society which Rena had helped to found. This became another passion for Lillian. As president (1963-1965), she dealt with the developers and signed the first check of seed money to save the Old Ursuline Convent downtown, now the Southwest Craft Center. Also the Navarro House was opened to the public during her presidency. Soon after, she was the mastermind and first chairman in 1966 of the Conservation Society's Las Posadas on the River.
Night in Old San Antonio's Anticuchos loom large in Lillian's career with Conservation. She was the first NIOSA chairman and served in that capacity for 25 years, (always with the enthusiastic help of Jim). A most important and crucial part of the volunteer team was her sister Jane Lewis (Maverick) and Jane's husband Bill McMillan, who had developed the Anticuchos recipe (marinated beef on a stick) in their kitchen.
Anticuchos was one of the top money-making booths that helped the continuing cause of saving historic buildings and San Antonio's heritage. It also helped Night in Old San Antonio host some of the early large groups to San Antonio such as one of the first annual meetings of the National Trust for Historic Preservation (Lillian was a member of their board of directors), and the meeting of the Southern Governors.
A MOTHER REMEMBERED: Lillian was compassionate and spirited and alert. She knew and wanted other to know of historic trees, native plants and grasses. Once she saved a gigantic oak on Patterson near Broadway by getting the grocery next to it to water it through a Texas drought. She sometimes carried a stem of side oats gramma in her purse, pulling it out to teach some unsuspecting person in the elevator with her that it is the state grass of Texas. People remembered and lived her. She talked to strangers and they became friends. She was more than generous. If anyone admired something that she was wearing, she would take it off and give it to them. She gave spontaneously from the heart.
She got the big picture and never bothered with details. She could always get somebody else to tend to helping implement her active ideaphoria.
Family person, open-hearted Christian to the core, homemaker, rancher, friend of all, sensitive individual fully present to the present moment, historic preservationist who loved to talk about Texas with grandchildren or strangers — that was 'Lil!
