My Life in Many States and in Foreign Lands, Dictated in My Seventy-Fourth Year

by George Francis Train

Mrs. George Francis Train.

Before I could determine this question for myself, he came to my assistance, and told me the young lady was the daughter of Colonel George T. M. Davis, who was captain and aide-de-camp, under General Scott, in the Mexican War, and afterward chief clerk in the War Department at Washington. He introduced himself as Dr. Wallace, and said that he was taking Miss Davis to her home in the West. I also learned that they were going to Oswego, where they would take a boat. I immediately exclaimed that I, also, was going in that direction, and was delighted to know we should be fellow passengers. In such matters—for love is like war—quickness of decision is everything. I would have gone in any direction, if only I could remain her fellow passenger.

And so we arrived at Niagara Falls together. Dr. Wallace was kind enough to permit me to escort his charge about the Falls, and I was foolish enough to do several risky things, in a sort of half-conscious desire to appear brave—the last infirmity of the mind of a lover. I went under the Falls and clambered about in all sorts of dangerous places, in an intoxication of love. It was the same old story, only with the difference that our love was mutually discovered and confessed amid the roaring accompaniment of the great cataract. We were at the Falls forty-eight hours, and before we left we were betrothed.

Soon afterward I sailed for London, as already set forth. It was not till '51 that I came back to America, principally for the purpose of marrying Miss Davis and taking her back to England with me.

I arrived in Boston shortly before the celebration of Bunker Hill Day, which was always a great occasion in that city. General John S. Tyler was grand-marshal of the day, and he appointed me one of his aides. It was a time when young people were usually left out of all public business arrangements. Only the middle-aged or old took part in anything of the spectacular nature in this great parade. Probably I attracted a great deal of attention, therefore, because of my youth, being then only twenty-one.

In truth, I felt a little flattered by the appointment, and determined to make as good a show as possible. Having been born and reared on a farm, I knew how to ride, so I got the stableman to give me the finest stepper he could furnish. He found a beautiful animal, with a frolicsome spirit, and I felt that I should prove at least a good part of the exhibition. I was decked in a flowing red, white, and blue sash that swept below the saddle-girths, and my horse was a proud-looking and dainty-paced beast. With a little rehearsing of my part, I was fully prepared.

On the occasion of the parade, I am quite sure, I was the observed of many observers. The spectators were let into the mystery of the beautiful caracoling and dancing of my horse, whom I touched occasionally with the spur in a particular way, and who acquitted himself with great credit. The populace thought he was trying to unseat me, or to run away, and that it was only by excellent horsemanship that I was able to hold my seat and look like a centaur. I am ashamed to say, at this far distance in retrospect, that it was a proud moment for me, and that I took so much pleasure in so idle and empty a show. But youth must be served.

I had charge of the Colonial Governors, who were the guests of the city, and of the President, and I escorted them from Boston to Charlestown. There were Sir John A. MacDonald, of Canada; Governor Tilly, of New Brunswick; the Honorable Joseph Howe, ex-Governor of Nova Scotia; and Millard Fillmore, President of the United States. President Fillmore and Sir John MacDonald rode on the back seat of the first carriage, and Howe and Tilly on the front seat. Somehow, Boston seemed to regard the colonial officials as equal to, if not a little better than the President. I suppose this was because of the sentiment of Bunker Hill, and because the presence of British representatives was a matter of pride and gratification.

But the day was to end in gloom. As I was in the midst of the gaiety and at the height of my exultation, a messenger handed me a despatch. I tore it open, and found that it was from a friend in Louisville, Ky., and contained a warning. Miss Davis, to whom I was betrothed, lived in Louisville, and I was soon to marry her there. The telegram urged me to hasten my journey, as the report of the coming marriage had created a great deal of bad feeling. My friend advised me to lay aside everything and go to Louisville with all possible despatch.