THE SUNDAY OREGONIAX, PORTLAND, 3IARCH 6, 1910-
CTBC
J.1VL
1Q BILL. CONNOR sat In a. big
arm chair, in the captain's pri
vate office, -with his hands clasped
In front of him. He 'was slowly twirl
ing: his thumbs as he paid strict heed
' to the voice of the captain.
"A diamond sunburst stolen from the
residence of Paul Ward, in Fifty-sec-tnd
street; six large stones in center;
IB smaller stones in circle; $500 reward
Tor recovery," read the captain, handing-
the detective a blue, printed slip
received from headquarters In Mul
berry street.
"This was a second-story case," add
ed the captain. "While the Ward folks
were downstairs at dinner, the thief
opened a rear window, pinched the
sparkler from a dressing table, and
made a get-away over an extension
roof to the alley in the rear. It looks
to me like the work of Blue-eyed Bos-
. ton. Take It up. Bill, and search every
pawnshop In the precinct."
Detective Connor realized that he had
a long day's work before him. There
were 16 pawnshops in the sixth pre
cinct, and they were scattered all the
way from Canal to Fourteenth street,
but the most of them were strung along
the Bowery, which would help some, as
far as the walking was concerned. Into
the haunts of the three-balls Big Bill
journeyed, and when night came he
.had finished a dozen of his 16 quests,
. with no sign of the missing sunburst.
Bill dropped in at Bobby Havens'
oyster place lor his evening meal, and
then strolled around to the station to
report that in the course of an hour
or two his search would be concluded,
B
Just as he started out again rain be
ran to fall in torrents, but Bill never
i amlnded the weather, and, turning up
the collar of his coat, .he made toward
the three-ball shop of old man Mlchel
- . eon. Bill recalled that he had not seen
old man Michelson since Christmas eve,
iwhen the hue and cry had been raised
over the robbery of the pawn shop.
On this particular night old man
Michelson stood, winking and blinking.
Inside his Iron-barred door, with his
ifat hands folded across the fullness
. of his waistcoat. He was long and
wide and thick as men go heavy
cheeked and small-eyed, and short
breathed, as well as short-haired. He
was proud of his fatness, proud of the
fcig rings on his fingers, and proud of
the gold and jewels in his iron safe.
Stanton street had known old man
Michelson for upward of 50 years;
Stanton street owed its bread to him,
Jts drink to him, Klta clothes to him
t ever since- that eventful day long ago
when three new brass balls appeared
over the doorway of No. 46. The brass
balls were dull with age now, and
Michelson was older, too, and stouter,
and the gold in his iron strong box a
thousand times heavier. He had seen
many changes In his day. Old folks
had passed away never to return, leav
ing in Mlchelson's hands cherished
remnants of lost heritages; young folks
had come to him with their strange,
young faces marked with anxiety and
care, and many a token of youth and
hope was left with Michelson.
The day had been long and dreary In
the dingy pawn shop. Upstairs, in the
living rooms, his wife, Rebecca, had
worked in solitude with garment and
needle awaiting the hour when Michel
eon would put up the shutters and
cllmVb the stairs for his 10 o'clock tea,
and afterrrard to sit by her side and
tell her of the profits and losses of the
day's trade. As the evening advanced
the thunder roared and the rain beat
a tattoo on the windows of the shop.
Michelson, whistling softly, began put-
1 ting away his trays and his boxes in
the Iron safe.
At this very moment Bill Connor came i
CHILDHOOD AND
(Published by request of the Sons of the
American Revolution.)
JOHN BACH MHAKTBR, that philoso
phic and brilliant American historian,
has truly said: "General Washing
ton 1 known to us, and President Wash
ington. But George Washington. Is an un
known man." If Washington, the man, is
unknown, "there Is much fiction and some
falsehood In the story of his childhood
and youth. Tlie tender and affectionate
narrative contained In "Weems" Life of
Washington," that loving and lovable old
"rector of Mount Vernon" has made a
profound impression upon the youthful
minds of American children, and has left
upon tho general understanding some in
definable notions that Washington as a
child and youth, was, in some sense, un
like any other to be revered and Idolized
as a model, and yet somehow, with no
well-defined or definite traits of character
to be specially mentioned or distinguished.
Speaking of the mythical character given
to Washington and its author, Henry
Oa-bot Lodge, the distinguished scholar,
historian and statesman, says: "In Its
Inception this second myth Is due to the
Itinerant parson, bookmaker, and book
seller. Mason Weems. He wrote a brie-f
biography of Washington, of trifling his
torical value, yet with, sufficient literary
skill to make it widely popular. It neither
appealed to nor -was read by the culti
vated and instructed few, but. It reached
the homes of the masses of the peo
ple. It found Its way to the bench of
the mechanic, to the homes of the
farmer, to the log cabins of the fron
tiersman and pioneer. It was carried
across the continent on the first waves
of advancing settlement. Its anec
dotes and its simplicity of thought
commended It to children at home and
at school, and passing through edition
after edition. its statements were
widely spread, and It colored Insensibly
the Ideas of hundreds of persons who
never had heard even the name of the
author."
This, you must not forget, is the
criticism of the cultivated, critical and
learned American scholar, who Is the
rich product of the best New England
culture, and who perhaps has never
seen or fully appreciated the simplicity
and sweetness of life among the early
settlers In this country, and who has
certainly no conception of the priva
tions, hardships, and poverty of the
oarly American pioneers and builders
of Commonwealths.
There is no doubt some pleas
ant Action in the simple and homely
narrative of Weems, and his Washing
ton Is In part a reilectod picture of the
colonial life of the times. The artist
paints his own race. In the face of his
madonna, and the historian and eulo
gist is quite apt to dress his hero in
the familiar, garments of his time,
and to bestow upon the character of
his distinguished subject the glamor
of the simple divinity that gives life
and color to the beloved portrait. But,
whatever may be the value of this
little book as a historical work it is
conceded that its value Is chiefly that
more than any other book, it has in
spired the young to love and revere
the memory of Washington. Who does
not remember the story of how Lin
coln secured his copy. It Is said
in, shaking the rain droj.s from his broad
shoulders like a big dog Just out of his
bath.
Old man Michelson looked up in sur
prise. "So late a visit, Mr. Connors T' he
queried.
"Rather late." answered Bill, "and it's
a bad night at that. Do you happen to
have a diamond sunburst In your safe,
my dear . uncle; nice big affair with
plenty of shiners In It? Been put up
within a week?"
"A sunburst, Mr. Connor!" exclaimed
the old man. "You make me stop my
breath. I haven't seen a good stone of
any kind in a month. Mr. Connor. Busi
ness has been very bad, very tad. I'm
too generous, Mr. Connor. I help so
jiuuiy people, j. m tne iriena oi every
body, Mr. Connor. But diamonds! Huh!
They don's bring sparklers tci old man
Michelson any more."
Connor stepped behind the high coun
ter as he chatted with the shopkeeper.
and was quite out of view of the front
door, when that very same door swung
open, letting in a gust of wind and rain
A small, sickly young man, made, pre
maturely old by work and pain, stepped
m and closed the door behind him.
Upon the .counter he laid a small parcel
wrapped in a newspaper.
Michelson opened it brusquely with an
air of business.
"Nasty night, Peter. What you got
this time? he chuckled.
"Only a trifle, Mr. Michelson. There's
nothing else, and will you make it IS
cents. It's bread I must have, Mr.
Michelson."
The little man spoke In whispers, and
sadly, too, with tears In his eyes.
Old man Michelson held up in the dim
light the other man's offering a baby's
little sacque trimmed with dainty lace.
"Umph! You're right, Peter," grunted
the shopkeeper, with a. smile of disgust
upon his fat face. "It's nothing noth
ing at all. Ten cents Is a risk, my
friend a great risk "
"Males it 16. Mr. Michelson," pleaded
the whispering customer.
Old man Michelson shook his ' head,
and, reaching Into the till, his thick
fingers picked out a new and bright
coin. Ho laid it tenderly on the coun
ter. "Only ten!" murmured the young man
sorrowfully.
Mlchelson's face relaxed and his fat
hand sought the till again. Two pen
nies followed the silver djme, and the
small man seized them eagerly.
"They can't call me a hard man,
Peter; I'm the friend of all the poor."
the shopkeeper cried. "See! I give you
12 cents instead of 10. But it's bad
business, my friend very bad busi
ness." -
But the door had already closed on the
little man, hurrying away Into the night.
"Bad business very bad business," re
peated the friend of all the poor, turn
ing to Connor.
"Yes, d d bad!" grunted BUI. "Who's
the little man?"
"Who? Pet erT' exclaimed the other.
"Last name Hardesty. Lives at 86 Stan
ton street, second floor rear. Nothin
crooked about him, Mr. Connor. He's
simply out of work and making a hard
fight of it."
Connor took out his notebook and
scribbled down the address. Then he
hade Michelson good night and went out
into the storm. A few steps away he
turned and glanced back. .The rain beat
a tattoo on the windows of the shop.
Old man Michelson,' winking and blink
ing, stood with his . fat hands folded
across the fullness of his waistcoat.
"Friend of all the poor," sneered Con
nor. "The old scoundrel! He'd take
the pennies from a dead man's eyes."
Three more pawnshops and Bill Con-
that when Abraham Lincoln was
about fifteen years of age, he
greatly desired to secure a copy of this
work. He had in his little Library the
Bible. Aesop's Fables, Robinson Cru
Boe, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, a
History of the United States, and had
borrowed from Josiah Crawford
Weems" Life of Washington. One
night, before going to bed, the lad
placed the borrowed book in the open
ing between two logs of the cabin
wall, thinking to care for It in a
place of safety. During the night the
rain flooded the place, and stained the
leaves and warped the binding, and
Crawford, who was a stingy man ef
some wealth, wanted to exact seventy
five cents from Lincoln as Its , price.
The boy had no money, but loved the
book and also wished to pay the debt,
so it was finally compromised that he
should shuck corn three days for
Crawford, In full satisfaction and pay
ment of the debt. Little did Crawford
know or realize that this child of pov
erty, schooled in hardship and nursed
in sorrow, should build upon the sim
ple life of Washington, as told by
Mason Locke Weems, his own great
character that should lead him through
civil strife into the same great office,
first adorned by Washington. Weems,
as you may recall, was a Virginian,
born in 1760, in Dumfries, and at the
time of his birth Washington was
about 28 years old. He was rector of
Pohich Church. Mount Vernon parish,
of which Washington, in the days of
his fame, was an attendant. Later he
was an itinerant book peddler, em
ployed by Mathew Carey, the publisher
of Philadelphia, and as such he lec
tured and wrote, and in 1S00, published
this book. The first edition was pub
lished by Joseph Allen, and sold by
Lippincott. Grambo & Companv, No. 14
North Fourth street. Philadelphia. On
the title page is printed these words,
written by Major-Gen eral Lee: "The
author has treated this great subject
with admirable success irr a new way.
He turns all the actions of Washington
to the encouragement of virtue by a
careful application of numerous exem
plifications drawn from the conduct of
the founder of our republic from his
earliest life." Which one of you can
repeat the opening sentence of this
classic among children's histories of
distinguished men. Some years since
it was my good fortune to secure a
copy of the original first edition, and
I made mention of the fact to that
great lover and student of books Har
vey W. Scott who immediately re
peated the first paragraph which had
slept in the chamber of hl3 memory
from his early boyhood:
"Ah, gentlemen!" - exclaimed Bona
parte 'twas just as he was about to
embark for Egypt some young Ameri
cans happening at Toulon, and anxious
to see the mighty Corsican. had ob
tained the honor of an introduction to
him. Scarcely were past the custom
ary salutations, when he eagerly asked,
"How fares your great countryman, the
great Washington?"1 "He was very
well." replied the youths, brightening
at- the thought that they were the
countrymen of Washington; "he was
very well. General, when we left Amer
ica." "Ah, gentlemen," rejoined he,
"Washington can never be otherwise
than -well. The measure of his fame
Is full; posterity will talk of him with
reverence as the founder of a great
empire, when my name shall be lost
in the vortex of revolutions."
Bear In mind that these words were
put in the mouth of Bonaparte in the
year 1800, and 'that Washington died
at Mount Vernon, December 14, 1799.
and that all the world 'was full of his
DETECTIVE
SAY, YOUNG FELLER,"
nor's. work was done. Hhe stopped at
the station, made his report and then
took a crosstown car and was soon dry
and comfortable In his hall bedroom In
old Greenwich, village.
But there was little sleep for Bill that
night. Perhaps it was the howling of
the wind and the patter of the rain that
made him restless and wide-awake. Per
YOUTH
praise and of glorious tribute to his
great name.
It is not strange that the simple
rector of Mount Vernon parish should
gather together the sweet and loving
traditions that surrounded the child
hood and youth of Washington, or that
he should put in simple form the stories
that placed an affectionate halo about
his early life. It must also be remem
bered that Washington was the son of
a distinguished Englishman, and that
he came from the landed aristocracy
of his time. His great-grandfather,
John Washington, came from East Rid
ing, of Yorkshire, England, with his
brother Augustine, in 1657, and settled
at Pope Creek, In Westmoreland Coun
ty, Virginia, where he became a plant
er, a Magistrate and a member of the'
House of Burgesses. His grandson, Au
gustine Washington, the father of Gen
eral Washington, was born in 1694. Au
gustine had four children by his first
wife, who died in 1728, and he married
Mary Ball on March 6. 1730, and her
first-born was George Washington. On
February 22. 1732, 178 years ago to
night, at Pope Creek, near Bridges
Creek, In Westmoreland County, Vir
ginia, not far from the Potomac River,
on the old family homestead, and where
the Washlngtons had first settled upon
their arrival from England this first
born of Mary Washington saw the
light. There were two half-brothern of
the baby boy in the household, Law
rence and Augustine; the other two
children had died, preceding the moth
er. And what were their surroundings
at that-early time. In Virginia? Sena
tor Lodge says: "The house in which
this event occurred was a plain woodr
en farmhouse, of the primitive Vir
ginia pattern, with four rooms on the
ground floor, an attic story with a
long sloping roof, and a massive brick
chimney. Three years after George
Washington's birth it is said to have
been burned, and the family, for this
or some other reason removed to an
other estate, in -what Is now Stafford
County. The second house was like
the first, and stood on rising ground
looking across a meadow to the Rappa
hannock, and beyond the river to the
village of Fredericksburg," which was
nearly opposite."
When Washington was 11 years old.
his father, Augustine, died suddenly at
the age of 43, and thus was left Mary
Washington, widowed and with five
children, the eldest of whom was
George.
A look at the map will give us a
panoramic view of the birthplace at
Bridges Creek, and of the childhood
homo, near Fredericksburg. Westmore
land County lies between the Potomac
and the Rappahannock, and on the
south bank of the Potomac, and Bridges
Creek is very near the Potomac River
at a point where the stream is about
five miles wide. It is below Mount
Vernon, and by a straight line about
20 miles from Washington City, and
about 20 miles northeast from Rich
mond. Fredericksburg is about 12 miles
from his birthplace, and about the same
distance from Mount Vernon.
. m
It must be remembered that under
the custom and laws of descent then
In effect In Virginia, the bulk of the
estate of his father went by will to
Lawrence, the eldest son and the half
brother. Augustine, the second son and
half brother. Inherited most of the rich
lands in Westmoreland County. The
farm on the Rappahannock went to
George Washington, to become his in
possession when he became 21, subject
to his mother's life estate. The bal-
WILLIAM M. CLEMENS
AVTMOR OF
CQMtORS
ADVENTURE"
SAID BILL, "ONE OF OUR LEADING PHILANTHROPISTS HAS APPOINTED ME SPECIAL
MESSENGER TO MAKE YOU A PRESENT O FTHIS.
haps, too. It was the sickly face of a
very small man and the memory of a
baby's little garment that disturbed his
rest.
And all next day Bill was haunted by
that night scene In the pawnshop. He
went about his work as usual, but the
face of Peter Hardesty seemed to appear
constantly before him. Twice he opened
OF WASHINGTON
ance of the estate was shared by him
with his three younger brothers and
one sister, , under the guardianship of
the mother thus left without any
means beyond the meager income from
landed estates of the kind In those
early days. Lawrence had been sent to
England to be educated, as was the
custom among the wealthy proprietors
of landed estates, but George, owing to
the death of his father, was denied
this privilege, and was educated In the
parish schools of his county. Law
rence, upon his return from college at
the early age of 21 years, obtained a
Captain's commission under Admiral
Vernon, and served under him and Gen
eral Wentworth nearly two years. At
this time George was only 8 years old,
and it may well be that the knowl
edge of his brother's experience Im
planted In his childish heart that love
of military and naval fame that after
Wards distinguished his career.
After his father's death the boy was
sent to live with his half-brother. Au
gustine, at Bridges Creek, where he
might attend school and secure some
advantages over those obtainable with
his mother on the Rappahannock, and
while living here he became proficient
in the elementary studies of reading,
writing, arithmetic, geography, history,
bookkeeping and In surveying. . Beyond
this he had no education or special train
ing. Meantime his eldest brother. Law
rence, had married the daughter of Will
iam Fairfax, a cousin of Txrd Fairfax,
and had settled at Mount Vernon. Upon
a visit to Mount Vernon when he was
about 14 years old. Lawrence obtained a
midshipman's warrant for him, and
George was about to Join the navy. His
baggage was packed, everything was
icady for his departure, but at-the last
moment bis mother broke down and
pleaded with him to remain at home with
her. His strong love for his widowed
mother finally overcame him. and he
reluctantly gave up his commission, aban
doned his ambition and returned to
school.
Speaking of the childhood and youth
of Washington, Henry Cabot Lodge con
cisely states. In few words, the Interest
ing events of that early time: "Unfor
tunately, these same facts are at first
very few. so few that they tell us hardly
anything. We know when and where
Washington was born, and how. when he
was little more than 3 years old, he was
taken from Bridges Creek to the banks
of the Rappahannock, where he was
placed under the charge of one Hobby,
the sexton of the pariah, to learn his
alphabet and his pot hooks, and when
that worthy mainstore of learning was
exhausted, he was sent back to Bridge
Creek soon after his father's death to
live with his half-brother, Augustine,
and obtain the benefit of a school kept
by Mr. Williams. There he secured what
would be caled a fair common school edu
cation, wholly destitute of any instruc
tion in languages, ancient or modern, but
apparently with some mathematical
training. That he studied faithfully can
not be doubted, and we know, too, that
he matured early and was a tall, active
and muscular boy. He could outwalk
and outrun and outride any of his com
panions. As he could no doubt have
thrashed any of them, too, he- was. In
virtue of these qualities, which are re
speoted everywhere by all wholesome
minds, and especially by boys, a leader
among his school fellows. 'We know fur
ther that he was honest and true, and
a lad of unusual promise, not because of
the goody-goody anecdotes of the myth
makers, but because he was liked "and
trusted by such men as his brother Law
rence and Lord Fairfax. There he was
his. notebook and glanced at the address
in Stanton street, and late in the day.
Just at dusk. , he clenched his big fist.
"I'll go and see!" he said, with a. smoth
ered oath.
Climbing two long nights of stairs at
S6 Stanton street. Detective Connor found
himself in a large, square hallway. The
only light came from a small sky-win
at all events, in his 14th year, a big,
strong, hearty boy, offering a serious
problem to his mother, who was strug
gling along with many acres, little
money and five children."
The story of the attempted enlistment
in the naval service Is scouted by Mr.
Lodge, and he denies that the boy was
to enter the royal navy, -or that a mid
shipman's warrant was ever obtained for
him, but the severe critic of popular tra
dition admits that contemporary Virgin
ian letters speak of his "going to sea"
and that Mr. Ball, his mother's brother,
a lawyer, who was naturally interested
in his promising nephew, distinctly says
that it was planned that he should enter
the boy on a tobacco ship, with an ex
cellent ciance of being pressed on a
man-of-war. and with a final prospect
of either getting Into the royal navy,
or that the boy might ultimately become
the captain of some petty trading vessel
so familiar to the planters of Colonial
Virginia. There Is, however, no doubt
that the family was much concerned
with plans for Washington, and that se
rious and sober thought was given to
his future vocation. His situation re
quired that he should be making his own
living, and opportunities for employment
in which he could earn money were few,
and not so plentiful as today. Speaking
further upon this phase of Washington's
boyhood. Mr. I.odge says:
"A bold, adventurous boy. eager to
earn his own living, and make his way
In the world, would, like many . others
hefore him. look longingly to the sea. aa
the highway to fortune and success. To
Washington, the romance of the sea was
represented by the tobacco ship creeping
up the river and bringing all the luxu
ries and many of the necessaries of life
from vaguely distant countries. No doubt
he wished to go on one of these vessels
and try his luck, and very possibly the
royal navy was hoped for as the ulti
mate result. The effort was certainly
made to send him to sea, but It failed,
and (he went back to school to study
more mathematics." And I may add that
there is nothing Inconsistent in this nar
rative with the touching, filial story that,
after his devoted mother had consented
to the. consummation of plans to send
him to sea, and after tho boy was about
to embark, and after his slender bag
age had been gathered for shipment, she
broke down and begged him to forego
his boyish ambition and delay a little
longer that departure from home that is
a sad epoch in the life of every mother
a son going out Into the world to make
his own place, severing the tenderest of
all earthly ties.
.
And so the young boy studied two years
more, and gave all his time to prepara
tion for the only gainful pursuit then
open to a young man without fortune,
tlie work of a surveyor In the wilds of
the Virginia Mountains, locating the un
marked boundaries of vast landed es
tates, where only the American Indian
had been a familiar figure. Mary Wash
ington was a woman of strong affections
and strong common sense, and her life
was given unreservedly to her children.
She was profoundly serious in all her
thoughts, and the burdens of her little
family were upon her shoulders alone. It
is said that Bhe placed In the hands of
her gifted son at this early time a copy
of Sir Mathew Hale's "Contemplations,
Moral end Divine," and that the Inspira
tion of Washington's great life was drawn
from this work of this greatest of the
Chief Justices of England. Lord Hale
was a preacher of righteousness and a
great administrator of Justice, and his
mottoes, maxims and rules of conduct
were calculated to make, in the circum
stances, a lasting Impression upon so se
dow overhead and the corners of the
hall were like so many dark closets. He
moved slowly toward the door of the
back apartment, where, according to old
man Michelson, tie would find the home
of Peter Hardesty.
. He had hardly taken half a dozen steps
before the sound of voices caused him to
stop suddenly, stand very still and listen.
He was- close to a door at his right hand
on the opposite side of which two men
were evidently quarreling.
"I tell ye, no!" came to Bill's ears.
"Ye can't hock it here! You'd get pinched
In an hour. I tell ye we've got to take
It to Montreal or Toronto. It's the only
safe way."
A string of curses followed from the
other man, and then the declaration:
"Well, I'm going out for a drink. Make
up your mind, and we'll settle the thing
when I get back."
There was a moving of feet Inside and
Connors tiptoed back to one of the dark
corners of the hall. A short, stocky
man came out of the door and shambled
down the stairs'. Bill leaned over the
stair rail and saw, by the dim light of a
flickering gas Jet, the face and figure on
the floor below. He felt pretty certain
that he recognized in the short man a
character well known to the police of a
dozen cities. Then it occurred to him
that the conversation he had Just over-,
heard had something to do with theft, or"
at least with the pawning of Jewels or
an article of value.
In another mement he had determined
upon a course of action. He stepped
softly to the side door and cautionsly
turned the knob. Luckily, the door
moved and opened, having been left un
locked. Bill drew his revolver and held
It in his right herd behind him.
"Excuse mo." he said politely to a
round-faced, bald-headed man, who sat
at a small table In the center of the room.
The man was slowly filling a pipe and
looked up at Bill with a scowl on his
face. Then he seemed to recognize Con
nor, for, with an oath, he leaped to his
feet.
"That will do," exclaimed Bill, bring
ing his revolver into view. "Hands down,
my boy! Behave like a gentleman, now,
and there will be no trouble. I suppose
you'll walk around and see the captain
and make no fuss about it."
'Guess I'll have to." growled the
other, with his eye on the gun in Bill's
hand. He reached for his hat, and,
seeming to know the method of proced
ure, stalked toward the door, with Bill
and the gun' close at his heels. But on
the table, under the lamp, the detective
saw a very small parcel something
wrapped In tiwnie paper with a rubber
band around it, and he deftly picked it
up. with his left hand and dropped it In
his pocket.
Bill kept close to his man all the way
down the stairs. At the street door the
hand holding the revolver was hidden In
the outer pocket of his coat, while his
left arm was locked In the right arm of
his prisoner.
They walked Into the station-house arm
In arm. .The captain, smoking a big
cigar,, was standing at the sergeant's
desk. He looked up with a smile on his
face.
"Hello! hello!" he cried, "And if here
Isn't our old friend. Blue-eyed Boston!"
Later Bill Connor handed over the tis
sue paper parcel.
"And the Fifty-second street sunburst,
too!" exclaimed the captain. "Bill, you're
In luck."
Then Connor and another plainclothes
man hurried back to the Stanton-street
house just in time to capture the com
panion of Blue-eyed Boston as he was
entering the room on the second floor.
The next morning the detective again
climbed the stairs of the tenement in
Stanton street and knocked at the door of
Peter Hardesty. He had a good excuse
for calling now, for in his official capac
Address by William D. Fenton Before the Sons of the
American Revolution on Formative Period
of Our First President.
rious-minded a boy of 16 years as was
George Washington at this formative
period of his life. His mother had read
to hhn these maxims while he was a lad,
and he had heard them read by her to
the little family of orphan children from
the time his father had died and she
alone was left to guide their young
minds into right Ideals. Is it any won
der that the little volume, with the auto
graph inscription of Mary Washington,
fihould have been sacredly preserved and
cherished by him in his library as long
as he lived?
Dr. Jared Sparks has emphasized "the
debt owed by mankind to the mother of
Washington," and to my mind the sweet
and simple picture of those early and
tender years when she was forming his
character, exemplifies the power and
glory that crown the life work of Mary
Washington. Just before her death he
came to bid her a last farewell on his
way to the first inauguration as the first
President of the United States, but she
had foreordained him to that great office
while she was a devoted mother training
him in the home on the old plantation on
the Rappahannock, and while she was
filling his heart and mind with the lofty
ideals and splendid sentiments of a clean
Virginian home. God bless Mary Wash
ington and all such mothers of men they
are the forerunners of the greatness of
nearly every great man In the world.
Nor was the gentle influence of Mary
Washington unaided in the development
of the great character of this young man.
He was only 14 years of age when Lord
Fairfax, his subsequent patron and em
ployer, first came to Virginia, lie was.
as Woodrow Wilson, the historian, tells
us, "a man of taste and culture; he had
written with Addison and Steele for the
Spectator; a man of the world, ho bad
acquired, for all his reserve, that easy
touch and Intimate mastery in dealing
with men which come with long practice,
of such men of fashion as are also men
of sense. He brought with him to Vir
ginia, thqugh past SO, the fresh vigor of
a young man. eager for the free pioneer
life of such a province. He tarried but
two years with his cousin, where the col
ony had settled to an ordered way of
living. Then he built himself a roomy
lodge, shadowed by spreading piazzas,
and fitted with such simple appointments
as sufficed for comfort at the depths of
the forest, close upon 70 miles away,
within the valley of the Shenandoah,
where a hardy frontier people had but
begun to gather. The great manor
house he had meant to build was never
begun. The plain comfort of "Greenway
Court" satisfied him more and more eas
ily as the years passed and the habits of
a simple life grew increasingly pleasant
and familiar, till 30 years or more had
slipped away and he was dead at 91,
broken-hearted, men said, because the
King's government had fallen upon final
defeat and was done with in. America
It was in the company of these men and
of those who naturally gathered about
them In that hospitable country that
George Washington was bred." Nor was
he uninfluenced by the achievements and
ambition of Lawrence Washington, his
eldest brother. He was only 25 years of
age when the father died, April 13. 1743.
He had been, as we have seen, educated
In England, and he was past 21 when he
returned to Virginia, Three years before
his father's death the mother country
had called for troops to go against the
Spanish armies In the West Indies, and
Lawrence Washington enlisted and ob
tained a commission as a captain In the
Virginian regiment that had volunteered
to go to the defense of England. He saw
service at Carthagena, with Vernon's
fleet and Wentworth's army, and was
ity ho could make inquiries as to wnt
Hardesty knew about the men who had
occupied the room next door.
Peter himself answered Bill's knock, and
the detective made himself at home with,
a very few words. All about the room
he saw Indications of extreme poverty
and want. When Peter Introduced his
wife, & nod of the head came from a
couch In the corner, where a thin, pallid
face and deep, sunken eyes told of Ions;
weeks of suffering. There was a puny
baby sleeping In a crib by the window.
And Peter, too, was weak and emaciated.
His hands trembled and he had & trou
blesome cough.
By dint of adroit questioning and per
tinent Inquiry, Bill Connor soon learned
the story of the struggle and the fight
that the man, the woman and the child
had made against hunger and privation.
It was an old story old to Bill Connor
old to the great Bast Side with Its be-'
draggled, disheveled, half-fed multitudes
a very old story, yet always new to
those who never Journey east of the Bow
ery that long dividing line between food
and famine.
Peter's father had been rich. The soil
had never learned to work. Then fail
ure came, and death followed, and after
awhile the young man found himself and
his wife alone. It Is a quick, easy way
downward oh, so very easy. And Peter
did not know how to work, nor how to
obtain work. His boyhood had been a
training for spending money, not for
earning It.
They kept moving eastward because
eastward the rent was lower and the
food cheaper, and there was not the em
barrassment of meeting old acquaintances
on the East Side; anywhere east of the
Bowery is a place to hide in or to die In.
Then there came the baby! There were
a few dainty,- lace-trimmed garments for
it, even if food was scarce, for the
mother had treasured the materials, from
other days, better days, long before. And
Mrp. Peter had passed through a. siege
of illness, months of suffering, and Peter,
too, had been ill and crippled by pain.
Yet they were very proud. They fought
the hard fight alone, making no cry, ask
ing no favor, seeking no aid. The onjy
friend that Peter found was old man
Michelson, at the shop of the three ballet.
That was the story that Big Bill Con
nor learned from Peter Hardesty. and he
cheered up the little man, cheered up
the pallid face woman, threw a bit of
human sunshine Into the dreary back
room, of Stanton street, and when he went
away he left a wave of optimism and an
atmosphere of hope behind him.
A few days later Detective Connor was
called to headquarters In Mulberry street,
and,- with more or lees red tape and cere
mony, was. paid $500 In crisp bills as his
reward for the reclvery of the Paul Ward
sunburst. Twenty minutes afterward he
was climbing the stairs at S6 Stanton
street.
Peter Hardesty met him at the door.
"Say. young feller," said Bill, quietly,
"one of our leading philanthropists, who
says he knew your father and remembers
you when a very small boy, has appoint
ed me a special messenger to make you
a present of this wherewithal." and he
laid $300 in crisp bills on the table.
Peter's sick wife, who had observed
and overheard, began to sob softly. Peter
himself, with tears in hia eyes, started in
to protest. But Big Bill had taken h!
hat and was already out of the door.
As he turned the corner Into the Bow
ery, Connor chuckled to himself.
"Why not?" he murmured. "Half of it
belongs to him, don't It? If he hadn't
gone to old Mlchelson's that wet night,
I wouldn't have gone to him, would I?
And I'd never got Blue-eyed Boston,
would I? Nor the sparkler? Not a bit of
it. He's a chap that earned the dough,
and he needs it, and I don't. What I do
want Jut now Is an oyster stew, with
milk in it, at Bobby Haven's1."
one of that heroio and brave command
that had, 1200 strong, stormed Fort San
Laza.ro, and one of the tiJ0 that had sur
vived the assault. He had returned late
In the year 1742, only to seo his father
suddenly called by death, and to have
thereby cast upon him the headship of
the family and the care of a widely scat
tered landed estate. And still his love
for military life led him to accept a com
mission aa major in the Colonial Militia,
and as adjutant-general of his military
district. He settled down among his
neighbors aa a landed proprietor In Fair
fax County and gave to the broad estates
the name of Mount Vernon, In honor of
and as a compliment to the brave sailor
with whom he had seen active service in
defense of the British flag. George
Washington was at this time only 10
years old. and in common with all others
in the colonies at that time, his young
heart was full of love fqr the land of his
fathers and their heroic deeds by land,
and sea inspired him to emulate their
zeal and devotion. The boy was much of
the time at Mount Vernon, sometimes at
'Belvoir, the -country seat of I-ord Fair
fax, and at other Units with his mother
on the Rappahannock. He lived on the
old family homestead on Bridges' Canal,
that had been his ancestral home since
his great grandfather had first ascended
the Potomac, and there he finished hfs
si-hool days and completed his final prep
arations, at the age of not nuUe 16, to
become a surveyor In the wilds of the
Blue Kidgc Mountains.
In March, 174S. when he was hut a
month past 16 years of age, Lord Fair
fax commissioned him to lead a little
band of hardy woodsmen, with George
Fairfax, a son of William Fairfai,
into the mountains upon the waters of
the Shenandoah and the upper Poto
mac. Here, with these plain and sim
ple people, in the wilds of these moun
tain forests, this sturdy boy earned his
first wages as a surveyor, and schooled
himself to the hardships of outdoor
life, with only now and then a rude
cabin In a small clearing as the only
sign of that wonderful civilization
which was so soon to cross the Blue
Ridge and Allegheny Mountains and
make conquest of the wilds of Tennes
see and Kentucky, both settled and
conquered by the brave sons of Vir
ginia and the Carollnas. This employ
ment continued for three years, and
because of his success and reputation
as a careful and competent surveyor,
and upon the recommendation of Lord
Fairfax, he received at the hands of
the president and master of William
and Mary College the appointment as
official surveyor for Culpepper Count v.
But the course of three years In this
arduous outdoor life was suddenly
ended by the illness of his brother,
Lawrence Washington, in 1751. when
George Washington was still only 19
years old. The privations of the cam
paign in the tropics, under Vernon, had
bred the fatal malady, and in the Au
tumn of 1751 Lawrence Washington
was sent to the Bahamas, a victim of
consumption. And so it became the
duty of George Washington to attend
him upon the last Journey and to min
ister to the brother who had been both
brother and father to him In all these
yearH since their father's death. In
1743. Iawrenee did not survive, and
passed away the next Summer, at the
age of 34. George became his broth
er's executor and residuary legatee of
the estate of Mount Vernon, and rap
Idly succeeded to the place of respon
sibility and trust hitherto resting upon
Lawrence Washington. i
He became, by appointment of Lieu
tOoncluded on Page 5.