When admitted to the audience chamber, instead of making salaams he walked directly up to the bey and in a frank and friendly manner took his hand and, shaking it heartily, said: "How do you do, Mr. Bey, how do you do? Don't get up, Mr. Bey, don't get up; I will take a seat alongside of you. I hope you are well. How are Mrs. Bey and the children? I hope they are all well. I have been a long time coming, and I am glad to see you, Mr. Bey. We have a fine ship; you must come and see us, Mr. Bey, do come." The Captain, after a short interview about current events, rose to leave, and with some expression of solicitude for the bey's health, he retired a few steps, when, suddenly stopping, he turned to the bey, drew from his pocket a large envelope, and remarked, "O, Mr. Bey, I forgot to hand you these papers. Here they are. Don't read them now; you will have plenty of time to do that before we leave."
When the Captain was on his way back to his ship, an officer of the court, riding furiously, overtook him, rode past, and, planting his horse in front of the carriage, stopped it, and, bowing, exclaimed: "O howadji, the bey says that claim will be paid."[21]
A few years ago I was the guest of Commodore Morgan at the life-saving station on Indian River, or rather on the broad Atlantic near Indian River inlet, and I regret that I did not think to ask him to tell me the story himself.
Society in Washington in the forties was largely Southern, and had not lost the courtly dignity and grace of colonial days. It was quiet, gentle, and refined, where it is now loud, boisterous, and rough in a measure, from the power of suddenly accumulated wealth that dominates over all the conditions of life, social and industrial. On New Year's and other occasions we used to call on Mrs. Madison. Her face retained marks of that beauty that has been transmitted to canvas and adorns the East Room of the presidential mansion. I have seen her wearing a turban.
On the 1st of April, 1853. I received a letter informing me of the death of Joseph L. Roberts, who died on the 28th of March previous at his residence on his plantation near Natchez, Miss., and requesting me to come there immediately, if possible. Gen. Jesup, ever considerate as he was, gave me leave to visit the family. Mr. Roberts had been the cashier of the branch Bank of the United States at Norfolk, Va., then president of the branch Bank of the United States Bank of Pennsylvania, and at his death was the agent of the latter institution. His wife was Miss Mary Symington, one of the beautiful women of Philadelphia.
As I had been engaged to Miss E. Matilda, their second daughter, we were married on the 26th of April, 1853, and soon after we went to Washington.
I remained on duty in the War Department until the spring of 1854. As I had become tired of hotel life, and wished the quietness of a home, I requested Gen. Jesup to assign me to some Western post, and he sent me to Fort Smith, Ark.
The military reservation of Fort Smith is separated from the town by a street, and the dividing line between Arkansas and the Choctaw Nation runs through the garrison grounds. When Mrs. French crossed the street and went into the town, I became both the commander and the garrison, and "my right there was none to dispute."
My duties were light and were mainly receiving and forwarding supplies to the troops stationed at Forts Washita and Gibson. Several times I went in a light carriage to Fort Washita, through the Choctaw people, a distance of one hundred and eighty miles, accompanied by only my servant boy. The accommodations on the road were always clean and good and the people kind. On one occasion my duties required me to go from Washita to Fort Towson (eighty miles), on the Red river, to examine the public buildings and sell them. Col. Braxton Bragg fitted me out on a mule with a hard saddle, and I started off alone. That day I rode forty miles to "the boggy" without seeing any person; rested at night with an Indian family, and rode the next day to Fort Towson. I was met there by a committee of Choctaws, wealthy men and well educated. One of them owned slaves in number sufficient to raise three hundred bales of cotton yearly, and "lived sumptuously every day." They went with me to examine the buildings. It would have been folly to sell and destroy such property, for it would bring nothing. So I recommended that it be deeded to the Choctaws for an academy, and it was given to them.
I made a journey to Fort Gibson through the Cherokee Nation. I had been advised to stop and take breakfast with an Indian family, for I would there, no doubt, see two beautiful and accomplished girls, members of the family. Report had not done them justice. There was only a delicate shade of Indian color in the white skin. They were lithe, tall, and graceful; and nature gave them hands as beautiful as ever Praxiteles shaped in marble. They had lately returned from Troy, N. Y., where they had been educated by Miss Willard. Pope's