After casting and sounding about, like a mariner seeking a haven on a strange coast, I finally decided on buying a half interest in the gallery of Mead Brothers, 805, Broadway; Harry Mead retaining his, or his wife’s share of the business, but leaving me to manage the “uptown” branch. This turned out to be an unfortunate speculation, which involved me in a lawsuit with one of Mead’s creditors, and compelled me to get rid of a very unsatisfactory partner in the best way and at any cost that I could. Mead’s creditor, by some process of law that I could never understand, stripped the gallery of all that belonged to my partner, and even put in a claim for half of the fixtures. Over this I lost my temper, and had to pay, not the piper, but the lawyer. I also found that Mrs. Henry Mead had a bill of sale on her husband’s interest in the business, which I ended by buying her out. Husband and wife are very seldom one in America. Soon after getting the gallery into my own hands, refurnishing and rearranging, the Prince of Wales’s visit to New York was arranged, and as the windows of my gallery commanded a good view of Broadway, I let most of them very advantageously, retaining the use of one only for myself and family. There were so many delays, however, at the City Hall and other places on the day of the procession, that it was almost dark when the Prince reached 805, Broadway, and all my guests were both weary of waiting so long, and disappointed at seeing so little of England’s future King.
When I recommenced business on Broadway on my own account there was only one firm taking cartes-de-visite, and I introduced that form of portrait to my customers, but they did not take very kindly to it, though a house not far from me was doing a very good business in that style at three dollars a dozen, and Messrs. Rockwood and Co. appeared to be monopolising all the carte-de-visite business that was being done in New York; but eventually I got in the thin edge of the wedge by exhibiting four for one dollar. This ruse brought in sitters, and I began to do very well until Abraham Lincoln issued his proclamation calling for one hundred thousand men to stamp out the Southern rebellion. I remember that morning most distinctly. It was a miserably wet morning in April, 1861, and all kinds of business received a shock. People looked bewildered, and thought of nothing but saving their money and reducing their expenses. It had a blighting effect on my business, and I, not knowing, like others, where it might land me, determined to get rid of my responsibilities at any cost, so I sold my business for a great deal less than it was worth, and at a very serious loss. The outbreak of that gigantic civil war and a severe family bereavement combined, induced me to return to England as soon as possible. Before leaving America, in all probability for ever, I went to Washington to bid some friends farewell, and while there I went into Virginia with a friend on Sunday morning, July 21st, and in the afternoon saw the smoke and heard the cannonading of the first battle of Bull Run, and witnessed, next morning, the rout and rush into Washington of the demoralised fragments of the Federal army. I wrote and sent a description of the stampede to a friend in Glasgow, which he handed over to the Glasgow Herald for publication, and I have reason to believe that my description of that memorable rout was the first that was published in Great Britain.
As soon as I could settle my affairs I left New York with my family, and arrived in London on the 15th of September, 1861. It was a beautiful sunny day when I landed, and, after all the trouble and excitement I had so recently seen and experienced, London, despite its business and bustle, appeared like a heaven of peace.
Mr. Jabez Hughes was about the last to wish me “God speed” when I left England, so he was the first I went to see when I returned. I found, to my disappointment, that he was in Paris, but Mrs. Hughes gave me a hearty welcome. After a few days’ sojourn in London I went to Glasgow with the view of recommencing in that city, where I had many friends; but while there, and on the very day that I was about to sign for the lease of a house, Mr. Hughes wrote to offer me the management of his business in Oxford Street. It did not take me long to decide, and by return post that same night I wrote accepting the offer. I concluded all other arrangements as quickly as possible, returned to London, and entered upon my managerial duties on the 1st November, 1861. I had long wished and looked out for an opportunity to settle in London and enlarge my circle of photographic acquaintance and experience, so I put on my new harness with alacrity and pleasure.
Among the earliest of my new acquaintances was George Wharton Simpson, Editor of the Photographic News. He called at Oxford Street one evening while I was the guest of Mr. Hughes, by whom we were introduced, and we spent a long, chatty, and pleasant evening together, talking over my American experience and matters photographic; but, to my surprise, much of our conversation appeared in the next issue of his journal (vide Photographic News, October 11th, 1861, pp. 480-1). But that was a power, I afterwards ascertained, which he possessed to an eminent degree, and which he utilized most successfully at his “Wednesday evenings at home,” when he entertained his photographic friends at Canonbury Road, N. Very delightful and enjoyable those evenings were, and he never failed to cull paragraphs for the Photographic News from the busy brains of his numerous visitors. He was a genial host, and his wife was a charming hostess; and his daughter Eva, now the wife of William Black the novelist, often increased the charm of those evenings by the exhibition of her musical abilities. It is often a wonder to me that other editors of photographic journals don’t pursue a similar plan, for those social re-unions were not only pleasant, but profitable to old friend Simpson. Through Mr. Simpson’s “at homes,” and my connection with Mr. Hughes, I made the acquaintance of nearly all the eminent photographers of the time, amongst whom may be mentioned W. G. Lacy, of Ryde, I.W. The latter was a very sad and brief acquaintanceship, for he died in Mr. Hughes’s sitting-room on the 21st November, 1861, in the presence of G. Wharton Simpson, Jabez Hughes, and myself, and, strangely enough, it was entirely through this death that Mr. Hughes went to Ryde, and became photographer to the Queen. Mr. Lacy made his will in Mr. Hughes’s sitting-room, and Mr. Simpson sole executor, who sold Mr. Lacy’s business in the Arcade, Ryde, I.W., to Mr. Hughes, and in the March following he took possession, leaving me solely in charge of his business in Oxford Street, London.
About this time Mr. Skaife introduced his ingenious pistolgraph, but it was rather in advance of the times, for the dry plates then in the market were not quite quick enough for “snap shots,” though I have seen some fairly good pictures taken with the apparatus.
At this period a fierce controversy was raging about lunar photography, but it was all unnecessary, as the moon had photographed herself under the guidance of Mr. Whipple, of Boston, U.S., as early as 1853, and all that was required to obtain a lunar picture was sufficient exposure.
On December 3rd, 1861, Thomas Ross read a paper and exhibited a panoramic lens and camera at a meeting of the Photographic Society, and on the 15th October, 1889, I saw the same apparatus, in perfect condition, exhibited as a curiosity at the Photographic Society’s Exhibition. No wonder the apparatus was in such good condition, for I should think it had never been used but once. The plates were 10 inches long, and curved like the crescent of a new moon. Cleaning board, dark slide, and printing-frame, were all curved. Fancy the expense and trouble attending the use of such an apparatus; I should think it had few buyers. Certainly I never sold one, and I never met with any person who had bought one.
Amateurs have ever been the most restless and discontented disciples of the “Fathers of Photography,” always craving for something new, and seeking to lessen their labours and increase their facilities, and to these causes we are chiefly indebted for the marvellous development and radical changes of photography. No sooner was the Daguerreotype process perfected than it was superseded by wet collodion, and that was barely a workable process when it became the anxiety of every amateur to have a dry collodion process, and multitudes of men were at work endeavouring to make, modify, or invent a means that would enable them to use the camera as a sort of sketch-book, and make their finished picture at home at their leisure. Hence the number of Dry Plate processes published about this period, and the controversies carried on by the many enthusiastic champions of the various methods. Beer was pitted against tea and coffee, honey against albumen, gin against gum, but none of them were equal to wet collodion.
The International Exhibition of 1862 did little or nothing in the interests of photography. It is true there was a scattered and skied exhibition at the top of a high tower, but as there was no “lift,” I suspect very few people went to see the exhibits. I certainly was not there more than once myself. Among the exhibitors of apparatus were the names of Messrs. McLean, Melhuish and Co., Murray and Heath, P. Meagher, T. Ottewill and Co., but there was nothing very remarkable among their exhibits. There was some very good workmanship, but the articles exhibited were not beyond the quality of the every-day manufacture of the best camera and apparatus makers.