Nathaniel P. Banks, a fine-looking man with thick, iron-gray hair, was at this time Governor of the state. His imposing and martial air enabled him to appear to advantage at a military festival. His deep voice and good delivery made him effective as a speaker in a day when oratory was still highly considered. As a warrior he was not a success.
My mother used to tell us, with a mischievous air, a story of his experience in the army. On receiving a report that the enemy was attacking in force, he replied, laconically:
“Let them be repulsed forthwith.”
I remember how jolly and merry Mr. Andrew was as we stood, a party of plain citizens, in the throng that pressed as near as they could to the rope which divided us from the glory of uniforms blazing within the charmed circle. In those early days our beloved friend was the most delightful companion, brimful of fun, singing comic songs and telling funny stories, to the great delight of the Howe children. I remember hearing him repeat with gusto a ridiculous mock sermon from the text, “And they shall flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, where the lion roareth and the whangdoodle mourneth for its first-born.”
Although he amused us with the “flatboat” sermon, he was a truly religious man whose sympathies were by no means limited to his own sect.
In figure he was short and stout. His round, smooth face, fair, close-curling hair, and blue eyes, reminded one of a benevolent cherub in spectacles. His mouth was like a woman’s, it was so pretty and sensitive, yet, when the occasion called for it, his face never lacked the dignity of expression springing from serious and noble purpose.
We were present at his inauguration as Governor, and also on the occasion when he received, on behalf of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, the gun that had belonged to Theodore Parker’s grandfather. This was one of the guns that fired, at the battle of Lexington, the shot heard around the world. Governor Andrew, filled with an emotion shared by the audience, kissed the weapon as he was about to give it up. Whereupon Vanity Fair, the comic newspaper of the period, published an absurd cartoon representing the audience weeping floods of tears and waving their handkerchiefs, the people in the pit holding up umbrellas to ward off the briny stream dropping from the galleries!
In the days before he took office, Governor Andrew had been a familiar and delightful friend who came often to “Green Peace” and visited us also at Lawton’s Valley. Mrs. Andrew, who was a very pretty woman, usually accompanied him. His son, John Forrester, a pretty, fair-haired boy, later a member of Congress, we often saw, as well as the daughters. Elizabeth, or Bessie, looked very much like her father, and was said to be like him in character. Edith was a great friend of my sister Maud.
After our friend became Governor and the Great Rebellion cast its dark shadow—the shadow of the cross—upon his path, we saw him less frequently. The cares of office weighed heavily upon him in those terrible days of the war. We began to miss him from his accustomed seat in the Church of the Disciples—he could not even go to church because so many people followed and waylaid him with their endless petitions. We heard with indignation of the box of copperhead snakes sent him by some wicked person.
Toward the close of the war my mother and I had the pleasure of going, as members of the Governor’s party, to the Agricultural Fair and Ball at Barnstable. Usually the cadets accompanied him as escort, but this time the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company were chosen for the honor. We were disappointed at the exchange, for the Independent Corps of Cadets contained a number of young men whom we knew. However, the “Ancients” undeniably furnished a sufficient number of partners. This affair has been described in my mother’s Reminiscences and in her Life.