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

by George Francis Train

I could not imagine, at first, what this meant. It seemed to convey only some presage of disaster. I left the gay scenes of the parade and hurried to my room at the hotel. There I made instant preparation for a trip to Louisville.

Before leaving Boston, however, I learned what it was that had caused my friend in Louisville so much concern. Some time before, there had been a marriage of a Kentucky girl with a Northerner—the much-talked of wedding of Bigelow Lawrence and Miss Sallie Ward. It had aroused a great deal of bitter feeling, because of the increasing tension and friction between the North and the South. This was none of my affair; nor did I share the feeling on either side. Indeed, at that time, I knew little and cared less about the sectional differences between the North and South. The only interest I had in the South at that time was a commercial one in our shipping business, and the more personal interest attaching to that portion of the South that held my future wife.

My own approaching marriage to Miss Davis had, it seems, been regarded as of sufficient importance to arouse the same feeling that had been created by the Lawrence-Ward marriage. My friends were manifesting much solicitude. What most alarmed them was the fact that a number of gallant Kentuckians were trying to marry Miss Davis themselves, and thus patriotically save her for the South. Among these patriots were Senator James Shields, Mexican hero of Belleville, Ill., Lieutenant Merriman of the navy, and an officer of the army. There was, also, a suitor from my side of the line—"Ned" Baker, of Springfield, Ill., who was afterward United States consul-general at Montevideo. In her letters to me she had mentioned all of these gentlemen, but I was not particularly anxious about the matter, feeling that there was safety in numbers. But now that my friends were interesting themselves, I thought it full time that I should be looking after affairs myself.

I was doomed to suffer from the inconsistency of woman. When I reached Louisville I wrote to her, mentioning the reports sent me by friends. This angered her. She became indignant because I had taken any notice of these rumors, and refused to see me on that day. But on the following day she was in a milder mood, ready to see me. This meeting put to rest forever all doubts, suspicions, and jealousies, and my fears melted into thin air.

But for all this, I was determined to take no further chances with three or four rivals, and decided that I should not again leave my affianced bride behind me. I insisted upon an immediate ceremony, and we were married by the rector of the Episcopal church in Louisville, October 5, '51. Her father, Colonel George T. M. Davis, was then editor of Haldeman's Louisville Courier. Belle Key, the famous Kentucky beauty, whose sister, Annie Key, married Matthew Ward, who killed a Kentuckian in a duel, was my wife's bridesmaid, and Sylvanus J. Macey, son of William H. Macey, was groomsman. My wife was only seventeen years old. She was very beautiful. Her picture appeared in the Book of Beauty the following year.

We came east from Louisville on our wedding journey, stopping at Cincinnati, where I had a curious experience. The Burnett House was the most popular hotel in the city at that time, and we stayed there. It had just fitted up the first "bridal chamber" in this country, if not in the world. Every little hotel has one now; but then such a thing was unheard of, so far as I have been able to ascertain. At any rate, Mr. Drake, the clerk, asked me if I did not wish to take the "bridal chamber." He told me it was the only one in the world. As I was ever keen and ready for a novelty, I replied that of course I would.

I had already been in a great many hotels in this country. The prevailing rate of charge was about $2 a day, at that time. I supposed that this splendid room would cost a little more, being a special apartment—perhaps about $5 a day. It cost $15! But I was willing to pay for the honor of occupying the first "bridal chamber" in the world.

From Cincinnati, we came directly on to Boston, and stayed at the Winthrop House, where I had been before. I soon had a conference with the Boston house which I represented, and it was determined that I should return to Liverpool and resume charge of the branch there, but in somewhat different and better circumstances. I returned in '52. The ship we sailed on was the Daniel Webster, built by Donald Mackay in East Boston, and which I had named in special honor of my friend, the great Daniel. Captain Howard was in command.

The trip was destined to be eventful. Five days after leaving Boston we ran into a heavy gale from the west. Our boat was very sturdy, and we had no fears, but I knew that many smaller and less seaworthy ships would suffer in such a driving storm. We were, therefore, on the lookout for vessels in distress.

For the greater part of the time, during the height of the gale, I stood on the bridge closely scanning the horizon line in front. Suddenly something seemed to rise and assume form out of the storm-wrack, and this gradually grew into the shape of a vessel. I saw that it was a wreck, shouted to the captain, but he, looking in the direction, could make out nothing. My eyes seemed to be better than his, although his had been trained by long practise at sea. He could not see much better when he got his glasses turned in the direction I indicated, but finally he discovered the vessel, though he did not seem desirous of leaving his present course to offer assistance.