His will power was extraordinary; it was endowed with a persistence that overcame every obstacle of his life; there was an air of supreme confidence, of overwhelming vitality, about his every act. Nothing seemed to me more wonderful in him than this; and it entered into all his actions, from those that were important and far-reaching in their consequences to the workings of his daily life in the home. Though his way through these last milestones, during which I travelled with him, was chiefly through the triumphal archways he had raised for himself upon the foundations of his work, there were indications that their cornerstone was the will power of his nature.
Many incidents of the years before I knew him justify this opinion. One in particular illustrates the extraordinary perseverance of Dr. Talmage's character. When his son DeWitt was a boy, in a sudden mood of adventure one day, he enlisted in the United States Navy. Shortly afterwards he regretted having done so. Some one went to his father and told him that the boy was on board a warship at Hampton Roads, homesick and miserable. Dr. Talmage went directly to Washington, straight into the office of Mr. Thompson, the Secretary of the Navy. "I am Dr. Talmage," he said promptly; "my son has enlisted in the Navy and is on a ship near Norfolk. I want to go to him and bring him home. He is homesick. Will you write me an order for his release?" The Secretary replied that it had become an impression among rich men's sons that they could take an oath of service to the U.S. Government, and break it as soon as their fathers were ready, through the influence of wealth, to secure their release. He was opposed to such an idea, he said; and, therefore, though he was very sorry, he could not grant Dr. Talmage's request. The Doctor immediately took a chair in the office, and said firmly: "I shall not leave this office, Mr. Secretary, until you write out an order releasing my son."
The hour for luncheon came. The Secretary invited the Doctor to lunch with him. "I shall not leave this office, Mr. Secretary, until I get that order," was the Doctor's reply. The Secretary of the Navy left the office; after an absence of an hour and a half, he returned and found Dr. Talmage still sitting in the same place. The afternoon passed. Dinner time came round. "Dr. Talmage, will you not honour me by coming up to my house to dine, and staying with us over night?" asked the Secretary. "I shall not leave this office until you write out that order releasing my son, Mr. Secretary," was the calm, persistent reply. The Secretary departed. The building was empty, save for a watchman, to whom the Secretary said in passing, "There is a gentleman in my room. When he wishes to leave let him out of the building."
About nine o'clock at night the Secretary became anxious. Telephones were not common then, so he went down to the office to investigate; and sitting there in the place where he had been all day was Dr. Talmage. The order was written that night. This incident was told me by a friend of the Doctor's. There can be no doubt that Dr. Talmage was justified in this demand of paternal love and sympathy, since numbers of such concessions had been made by the Secretary and his predecessors. His daring and his pertinacity were overwhelming forces of his genius.
In the winter months of this year I enjoyed another lecturing tour with him through Canada and the West. The lecture bureau that arranged his tours must have counted on his herculean strength, for frequently he had to travel twenty-four hours at a stretch to keep his engagements. Occasionally he was paid in cash at the end of the lecture an amount fixed by the lecture bureau. I have seen him with perhaps $2,000 in bills and gold stuffed away carelessly in his pocket, as if money were merely some curious specimen of no special value. Sometimes he would receive his fee in a cheque, and, as happened once in a small Western town, he would have very little money with him. I remember an occasion of this kind, because it was amusing. The cheque had been given the Doctor as usual at the end of his lecture. It was about eleven at night, and we were compelled to take a midnight train out to reach his next place of engagement. At the hotel where we stayed they did not have money enough to cash the cheque. We walked up the street to the other hotel, but found there an equal lack of the circulating medium. It was a bitter cold night.
"Here we are out in the world without a roof over our heads, Eleanor," said the Doctor, merrily. "What a cold world it is to the unfortunate." Finally Dr. Talmage went to the ticket office of the railroad and explained the situation to the young man in charge. "I can't give you tickets, but I will buy them for you, and you can send me the money," the clerk said promptly. As we had an all-day ride before us and a drawing room to secure, the amount was not inconsiderable. I think it was on this trip that William Jennings Bryan got on the train and enlivened the journey for us. The stories he and the Doctor hammered out of the long hours of travel were entertaining. We exchanged invitations to the dining car so as not to stop the flow of conversation between Mr. Bryan and the Doctor. We would invite him to lunch, and Mr. Bryan would ask us to dinner, or vice versâ, so that the social amenities were delightfully extended to keep us in mutual enjoyment of the trip. Dr. Talmage and myself agreed that Mr. Bryan's success on the platform was much enhanced by his wonderful voice. The Doctor said he had never heard so exquisite a speaking voice in a man as Mr. Bryan's. He always spoke in eloquent support of the masses, denouncing the trusts with vehemence.
Travelling was always a kind of luxury to me, when we were not obliged to stop over at some wretched hotel. The Pullman cars were palatial in comfort compared to the hotels we had to enter. But Dr. Talmage was always satisfied; no hotel, however poor, could alter the cheerfulness of his temperament.
In January, 1901, Queen Victoria died, and Dr. Talmage's eulogy went far and wide. I quote again from my scrap-book a part of his comment on this world event:
"While Queen Victoria has been the friend of all art, all literature, all science, all invention, all reform, her reign will be most remembered for all time, all eternity, as the reign of Christianity. Beginning with that scene at 5 o'clock in the morning in Kensington Palace, where she asked the Archbishop of Canterbury to pray for her, and they knelt down imploring Divine guidance until her last hour, not only in the sublime liturgy of her established Church, but on all occasions, she has directly or indirectly declared: 'I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth, and in Jesus Christ, His only begotten Son.'
"The Queen's book, so much criticised at the time of its appearance, some saying that it was skilfully done, and some saying that the private affairs of a household ought not to have been exposed, was nevertheless a book of rare usefulness, from the fact that it showed that God was acknowledged in all her life, and that 'Rock of Ages' was not an unusual song at Windsor Castle.