Oliver Otis Howard, Autobiography of Oliver Otis Howard, major general , United States army : volume 2

---

[558]

Chapter 70: D. L. Moody on board the Spree; Spanish War, 1898; Lincoln Memorial University; conclusion

While writing the life of Isabella, I felt the lack of local knowledge, and so determined, if I could get a leave of absence, to visit Spain. General Schofield, commanding the army, gave me permission to be absent from my headquarters from October 15th for two months. At that time I had on my personal staff Lieutenant Charles G. Treat¹ as aid-de-camp, and he accompanied me, leaving New York October 15th, on the steamer Fulda, North German Lloyd. I enjoyed the passage from New York to Gibraltar exceedingly.

On Sunday morning we had a public religious service at which I read selections from the sermons of Bishop Brooks. Noticing that an Italian Catholic priest, on his way from Kansas to Italy, did not participate in the service, I rallied him pleasantly on the subject. lie said that he had had a headache and that was the reason he did not come out. I then said to him: “Father, why don't you preach the Gospel?” He answered: “What do you mean, General Howard? I do preach the Gospel.”

I replied, “I do not think you do, for here are 300 Italians on board, who are going from the United [559] States to Italy. Why do you not preach the Gospel to them”

The father then roused himself and said with considerable spirit: “I would if I could get a chance.”

I laughed and said, “I'll get you a chance.”

I went to the captain and told him I wished he would give the priest a chance to speak to the Italians.

He answered: “Yes, Yes, I'll do so. I'll build you a throne.”

The captain had a platform constructed, and the Italians were invited to attend the meeting. They all came, men, women, and children, and the father gave them a good sermon in Italian. He told them that they owed the opportunity for the service to me. I then asked, “Can't you sing?” One tall, bright-eyed man said, “Yes, we can sing the Litany.”

The tall man then began a religious chant and all the people, with glad faces, joined in it, and I do not think I ever heard any song or hymn more melodious than what they sang. The father was glad of this opportunity and didn't mind my sitting with him on the “throne.” ²

Mr. Treat and I visited every part of Spain where we could find that Isabella had been from the time of her birth till her death and burial. It was an interesting journey and one very helpful to me in the work I was prosecuting. My son James's wife and child were visiting her home in Gottingen and I met them at Bremen in order to accompany them home. Mr. Treat had left me for England while I was en route to Bremen. Mrs. James Howard and her little girl were there on my arrival, and the next day we set out for home on the steamer Spree. At Southampton, England, [560] I was delighted to see Mr. D. L. Moody and his son Will Moody come on board. After this accession, Adelheid, my daughter-in-law, having many friends on the vessel, we had the prospect of a happy voyage. On the steamer were people of every nation, 750 of them, separated into first and second cabin, without any steerage passengers.

After midnight Friday, we were about eleven hundred miles on our way, when the main shaft of the propeller broke, sending two large fragments through the bottom of the steamer. The bulkheads had not been closed and for a time about half the compartments speedily filled with water. Of course, the compartments were instantly shut off from each other by the bulkhead doors and the water was pumped out from every compartment except the last two near the stem. These two could not be secured without straining the ship and producing a great leakage. The second-class passengers had been caught in their berths and staterooms, and rushed to the deck saving scarcely any of their luggage. At first the electric lights were out and the gloom and terror that followed the accident cannot easily be described; yet Captain Willerode, his crew, and all other employees in the ship showed no panic, but every man kept his place and did his duty. My room was near the dining-hall and my daughter-in-law's farther back. I had her take mine at once and then went in search of her nursemaid, Matilda. As I was passing through the crowd, Matilda, who knew no English, got a glimpse of me and seized my hand, which she held with great tenacity till we reached her mistress.

Early next morning I found Mr. Moody and his son sitting on deck. Mr. Moody was weakened by sickness, [561] but as soon as he could speak he said: “General, let us go down to my stateroom.” As we started he added: “Come, my son, come with us.” As soon as he had entered his stateroom he knelt down by his berth and prayed, saying: “O Lord, when Thy disciples were on the sea and in trouble, Thou didst save them. Are we not Thy disciples? Please smooth the waves so that we shall not be drowned, and please send us a ship.” His son and myself followed Mr. Moody in prayer, also asking for God's mercy and blessing. Then Moody arose, sat on a high stool, and began to read the Ninety-first psalm. He paused while reading and smiling said: “That psalm seems made for just this occasion, doesn't it?”

After this, with very little delay, we went back to do whatever we could to comfort and cheer the people. Mr. Koop, whom I knew, had with him his wife and two daughters. Mrs. Koop almost immediately became delirious, but under the doctor's care was very soon quietly asleep. Mr. Koop said to me: “Do you think a man who hasn't been doing his duty ought to pray at such a time as this It seems a little ignoble, doesn't itt”

I answered: “Perhaps the trouble was permitted, so far as you are concerned, to lead you to pray.” Then I showed him, giving him an instance, how men have been led to prayer through meeting with accidents. I had hardly finished when Mr. Koop's countenance was filled with hope. From that time on he became the helper of others who were in need. There were many cases where people shed tears, some in great terror and some in great distress.

The acuteness of the situation was shown when during the first, almost hopeless condition, my daughter-in-law [562] said to me: “Father, I have given up my home people and my husband, but I do not see how I could bear it if Hildegard (then three years old) should cry as we go down.” A French countess who was in perturbation of mind told me she prayed constantly, but still she was so afraid she could not take off her boots.

One elderly Jew from Russia was on his knees most of the time weeping. He insisted that he was the Jonah because he had come away from home without bidding his family adieu. He thought that if we would throw him overboard safety would surely come.

On Sunday morning I was trying to encourage a fellow-passenger who had hard work to repress his fear, when from the next table a member of Mr. Beecher's old church in Brooklyn called out: “I don't see where you get your confidence.” I put my hand on my breast and said: “I do not know, but it is in there.” I suppose, accustomed to danger as I was, this did not disturb me as much as it did some others.

Mr. Moody proposed to me that we have a service, as it was Sunday. He said: “You see the captain; you can do that better than I can.”

I found the captain in his place in the pilot house. Though suffering excruciatingly from an attack of cholelithiasis, he answered: “A Christian service! Oh, yes, I am that way myself.”

I went at once and saw the head steward and arranged for a service between ten and eleven o'clock of that morning in the dining salon. Then I reported to Mr. Moody what I had done. He said, “Tell the people.” I went one way and said that Mr. Moody would have a service in the dining salon, and Will Moody [563] the other way and said that General Howard would have the meeting. At last he and I met, having given the general notification. Before the hour everybody came crowding into the salon. This was filled, and all the passages leading to it. I think everybody on the ship responded to the invitation, except, of course, those on duty. For a while, in the imminent danger, everybody attempted to pray. Mr. Moody stood at the head of the table and led the reading and the prayer. A good Catholic lady from South America, returning to New York, led our singing, beginning with “Nearer, my God, to Thee.” There was singing in English and German. I led the speaking, using the words: “Let not your heart be troubled.” A German officer followed me in German, and I heard him use some words with which I had closed: “Man's extremity is God's opportunity.”

The rest of the day we watched for a steamer, and saw the day close without any substantial answer to our petitions. After the accident a young man, a second-class passenger, occupied one of the berths in my stateroom, while I slept under the window with my feet toward the door. The electric light had been revived and my door was held open a little way by a long hook. About three o'clock Monday morning, I opened my eyes and saw Matilda looking in from the hallway smiling. She said in plain English, for her mistress had just taught her the four words: “The ship is coming, Herr General.” Indeed it was true. The steamer Huron, crossing from Canada, had seen our signals of distress, and she came, just in time, to our relief. We had drifted out of the usual course of ships, and to many on board there appeared very little hope of our rescue. [564]

By nine o'clock Monday morning the Huron was towing the Spree by two strong cables, and we were quietly dragged for eight days on a smooth sea back to Queenstown, Ireland. As soon as we touched land, the most of the passengers ran to the nearest church. It was of the Methodist persuasion and when the house was well filled, Moody mounted the pulpit and preached a sermon from the text, “God is love,” and we all gave thanks. Moody preceded me to the United States, going over by another line. I returned by the Harvel, a sister ship of the Spree. When I arrived, I found the newspapers filled with opposition to Moody's theory, which he expressed in the brief phrase, “Prayer saved the ship.” When correspondents met me and asked me for the facts, I said: “Mr. Moody's prayer had been, ‘Please send us a ship, and smooth the waves so that we shall not be drowned.’ The ship Huron did come in time to our rescue and we had a smooth sea for eight days back to Queenstown, Ireland. What we asked for came, but whether our Heavenly Father performed a miracle to bring this about I do not know. You ask for daily bread and receive it, and that is sufficient.”

It was remarkable that only one man perished on the Spree. He jumped overboard and refused the help offered him; a German sailor said: “He murdered his-self.”

That homeward trip had hundreds of incidents peculiar to such a situation, but whatever our belief, surely we were made to feel, as Moody said, that “God is love.”

The long detention prevented our reaching home till after Christmas, and in that way I was made to overstay my two months leave of absence. Under the [565] circumstances I was forgiven the delinquency, which could not have been prevented.

Lieutenant Guy Howard's efficiency brought him promotion to a captaincy in the quartermaster's department, and he was sent not long after to survey, lay out, and build Fort Ethan Allen, some four miles from Burlington, Vt. It is a beautiful post, well constructed, and regarded in the army as a great honor to its builder.

My retirement from the army occurred November 8, 1904 (my sixty-fourth birthday). At noon, the officers of the department staff very kindly gathered at the headquarters on Governor's Island, and I took leave of those who had been so closely associated with me at this my last station. In the evening my family and I, accompanied by my late aids-de-camp, Captain Wm. W. Wotherspoon, Lieutenant Charles G. Treat, and Lieutenant Godfrey H. MacDonald, attended a farewell reception generously extended to me by the U. S. Grant Post G. A. R. in Brooklyn. After the cordial greetings of old war veterans, a slight feeling of homesickness came over me as I looked on the full uniforms of my three young officers; I gave them my last order — to leave me-bidding them an affectionate farewell. Although I had anticipated this retirement, still it finally came like a shock, and it took me some days to become used to the situation, with no one to command.

On our way to Portland, Ore., where we were to spend the winter, we stopped at Fort Snelling to see my good friend Colonel E. C. Mason, who had been my chief of staff during the Nez Perces Indian campaign, 1877. Although I protested, stating that I was supposed now to be retired, the Colonel welcomed me [566] with a military salute of eleven guns. He said that I would always be his commander and so gave me a review of his entire regiment. In the march past, commanding a company, was my former aid-de-camp, Captain M. C. Wilkinson, who in the Nez Perces War in the battle of the Clearwater, July 11 and 12, 1877, had under my eye performed such gallant services in action that he was brevetted a major on October 5, 1898. He was killed in leading an attack against the Indians at Bear Island, Leech Lake, Minn.

While in Portland we lived near our daughter, Mrs. James T. Gray, and her family, and also had the companionship of my aid, Captain Joseph A. Sladen. When I saw him a clerk of the United States Court and a prominent leader in all good works, it gave me a peculiar satisfaction.

I continued my writings, and while returning to the East filled lecture engagements in California, Colorado, and elsewhere. At Denver we visited my half brother, Judge Rodelphus Howard Gilmore, who is a prominent lawyer of that city. In that year, 1895, we came to Burlington, Vt., where my son, Captain Guy Howard, continuing his work at Fort Ethan Allen, was likely to remain for some years. We lived in a rented house for two years, then built a permanent home on the ridge which overlooks Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks. We here received word of the marriage of my fourth son, Lieutenant John Howard, to Emily Britton in San Francisco. John had been commissioned a second lieutenant, Nineteenth United States Infantry, in 1891. During the Philippine insurrection he became major of the Forty-eighth United States Volunteer Infantry. He has seen continuous service with three tours in the Philippines, and has [567] now reached the rank of captain in the regular army.

After extraordinary efforts on the part of General Horace Porter and several other strong friends of our late General U. S. Grant, the monument erected to his memory in New York was at last completed and ready for unveiling. The procession was large, and General Grenville M. Dodge was made the grand marshal for the occasion. I was selected to command the veteran division and so located as to review all the troops as they passed on northward toward Grant's Tomb. I sat with my staff for over four hours reviewing the parade. My station was in the vicinity of Seventieth Street, with my back toward the river. There was nothing very remarkable except the excessive coldness of the weather, which could not, however, dampen the ardor and enthusiasm of the people. While there, Chief Joseph of the Nez Perces, who had been my stalwart enemy, came along in the column with Colonel W. F. Cody (Buffalo Bill). As they moved past, Chief Joseph smiled very happily and seemed to be gratified to be with the staff of General Dodge and participate in the parade. We were all satisfied with the beauty and completeness of this great ceremonial in honor of him, whom as general we had followed and trusted above every other.

During 1895 we had the first break in our family, then numbering seven children and twelve grandchildren, or, when we take in those by marriage, twelve children. My daughter Grace, Mrs. Gray, brought her five children from Portland, Ore., to Burlington. Her eldest daughter, Elizabeth Howard Gray, then sixteen years old, who some time before had had scarlet fever, died at our home, and was buried in the beautiful [568] cemetery on Lake Champlain. She was lovely in person and character.

It was during that year that I was called to Cumberland Gap, Tenn., for a lecture. A large hotel with some 600 acres of land, called the Four Seasons, about a mile and a half beyond the village, had, prior to my visit, failed, leaving the property unoccupied. The little Harrow school at the village was in financial distress, owing to the fact that its patrons no longer assembled at the hotel. Hon. Darwin R. James, of New York, the Rev. Fred. B. Avery, of Ohio, and I, with some others, sat one evening on the Harrow school porch. “What shall we do with our school” was asked. I remember to have been walking up and down and thinking of the situation. I stopped suddenly and remarked: “Friends, if you will make this school a larger enterprise I will take hold and do what I can.” Out of the conference has grown the large and thriving institution which is chartered as “Lincoln Memorial University.” The first president of the board was Dr. Gray, editor of the Interior, of Chicago. The 600 acres which embraced the Four Seasons property were purchased, but Dr. Gray's health and strength soon failed him, and I had from him and others an earnest entreaty to take a more active part in the planting and development of the institution. I reluctantly consented, but began to work with all the strength I could muster. I have had associated with me some noble men, and the institution has been steadily progressing until more than 500 of the youth of the mountains are receiving excellent and systematic training. The organizing of the institution, the raising of funds for its plant, the establishment of an endowment, and keeping up the running expenses have [569] been for eleven years a decided labor of love. The continued success of this enterprise as a last work of an active life I greatly desire and earnestly pray for.

In 1896 was the first presidential campaign in which I participated. I had made up my mind, as soon as I was retired from the active list of the army, that I would engage in political work as an example to my children, and also as I wished to carry out my theory as to the importance of citizenship. I began by canvassing Vermont and then Maine, making many addresses in different parts of those two States. Suddenly I received a dispatch from my friend, General R. A. Alger, entreating me to join his special car in Chicago for a political tour. There with General Sickles, General Thomas J. Stewart, Corporal Tanner, and a few others I joined General Alger. We were designated a little later by the opposition as “The Wrecks of the Civil War.” We made a remarkable campaign, carefully scheduled so as to pass from place to place and give addresses, sometimes from the rear platform of our car, but mostly from stands arranged for us near the railway line. We began habitually about seven o'clock in the morning and met audiences, as a rule, every half hour during the day, and often had meetings that lasted until eleven o'clock at night. We passed through Illinois, Minnesota, the Dakotas, Iowa, Nebraska, Kansas, Missouri, Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky, and finished in Pennsylvania. To carry it through and meet all the expenses of this extensive tour, cost General Alger upward of $25,000. As we met the old soldiers, their children, and their grandchildren in every part of the land, we received a royal welcome, and I am sure contributed largely [570] to the election of our comrade, William McKinley, to the first office in the land.

After the Spanish War in 1898 was well under way, Mr. D. L. Moody, the chairman of the Evangelistic Committee, selected Major D. W. Whittle (my provost marshal during the war) and myself to go to the various camps of the volunteer soldiers and “witness for the Master” as best we could. We met early in May and took counsel together. From the American Tract Society we obtained important booklets, Cromwell's Bible, and other publications for distribution. The religious newspapers, especially the Christian Herald, aided us with weekly papers. From other sources we obtained dailies in abundance. After we had laid in an ample supply for the camps then existing, for example, Camp Alger in Virginia, Camp Thomas at Chickamauga, the encampments at Jacksonville and Tampa, Fla., and Mobile, Ala., we went together first to Camp Alger. At each camp we found that our young men had already given and pitched a large tent called “The Pavilion.” It was well supplied with tables, chairs, and desks. Plenty of headed paper with envelopes was provided for the soldiers. Here was piled up for their use abundance of books and booklets.

A young man well selected by the Y. M. C. A., sometimes with one or two assistants, was attending to all the wants of the Pavilion. We saw a large tank of ice water and noticed a column of soldiers waiting one after another to obtain a refreshing drink. In the early evening we had an opportunity of addressing all who could come to the Pavilion, bringing to the soldiers our Christian message, and reminding them as well as we could of their friends and their homes.

Twice we went to Chickamauga, once to each of the [571] other camps, and stayed for quite a length of time at Tampa. My early Christian association with the churches of Tampa made the visit there especially interesting to me and afforded me much to talk about in the line of reminiscence. Major Whittle, not being well, did not go with me throughout the Southern tour. After-we separated I had as an associate a very agreeable young man, William C. Howland. He and I met Chaplain Steele, United States Navy, at Key West. Steele had secured a large old-fashioned warehouse just then unused by the owner. This warehouse was made to answer the purpose of the Pavilion elsewhere. At Key West I had my first opportunity to address soldiers and sailors together. The story of the Cross made simple in its presentation interested them. After that, we were invited to go on board vessels in the harbor, where the naval officers seemed happy to meet us and give their men the opportunity to listen to our proclamation of the truth as we saw it. We went on down from Key West to Guantanimo and there met our fleet under the command of Admiral Sampson. He very kindly sent me on a little steamer, the Vixen, commanded by Captain Sharp (a nephew of General Grant), to Santiago de Cuba. I next passed after arrival to the transport steamer Comal, which was fastened to the dock in the inner harbor. From this ship I had a clear view of many streets of Santiago. Here I saw crowds of Cubans, wretched, impoverished, and almost blind with starvation, working their way to get at the food which Clara Barton had been providing for them. Touching the work of the Y. M. C. A. Christiaa Commission I wrote: “We rejoice indeed at what was done and only regret that it was so limited.”

Mr. Howland and I came back on the Yucatan as [572] far as the Tampa quarantine station, then we went on board the Seguranga, where there were at least 200 sick people. Every available place in the social hall held a sick man, bolstered by his knapsack. The majority were afflicted with severe malarial fever. It was difficult to find any relief from the gloom of that ship. Of course, Howland and I did what we could to alleviate the situation all the way from Tampa to New York City.³

My son Guy Howard was sent early before the struggle began to Atlanta, Ga., and controlled an important supply station for the army. When I was at Camp Alger, he was chief quartermaster of the Second Army Corps, then commanded by General William M. Graham. One incident at that time indicated to me the marked executive ability of Colonel Howard. Some great difficulty was had in arranging and loading two large sea transports at Newport News. The Secretary of War (General Alger) telegraphed General Graham: “Can't you name an officer of the quartermaster's department who will go to Newport News and get those vessels loaded and off” General Graham answered: “Yes, I can.”

“Who is he?”

“Colonel Guy Howard.”

“When can he go?”

“ By the next train.”

Colonel Howard did go by the next train, and the day after his arrival the two vessels had all their supplies and the soldiers on board in good order, and put to sea.

During all the operations Colonel Howard gave [573] great satisfaction for the most effective service, so that when the reduction occurred by the mustering out of the volunteers used in Cuba, Porto Rico, and along the coast, he was retained in his department as major and soon sent to the Philippines, where he became the chief quartermaster of General Lawton's division. In Lawton's most important northward expedition he was about to depart from San Isidro, and he needed his important supplies. My son went down the river in a little steamer, the Oceania, and securing two large barges, was slowly pulling them up the crooked channel of the Rio Grande, when near the mouth of the Rio Chico a body of armed Filipinos, hiding in the tall grass some 75 yards from the shore, suddenly shot nearly everybody on the launch. Some were killed and others wounded. My son and his messenger fell immediately to the deck. A shot had passed through Guy's right lung. He sprang to his feet and cried: “Whatever happens to me, keep the launch going,” then instantly fell and died.

Sergeant Harris, Second Infantry, whom Colonel Howard had selected to accompany him, seized the machine gun and set it in motion, firing rapidly; others of his guard from the barges quickly began their fire, while friendly Filipino pilots steered the boat, after two had been killed. The attacking force was driven off and the barges were carried on safely to their destination.

The very same day, October 22, 1899, the news was telegraphed to his wife and family at Omaha and to us at Burlington. This is the heaviest blow that our family has had. His sister Bessie in the midst of her tears said: “Father, he would rather have died in that way than any other.” [574]

I do not think I have ever met with an officer abler to plan a campaign or more thoroughly to execute one planned by another than he.

In 1897 I had command of the veterans during the inauguration ceremonies of McKinley March 4th. Again in 1901 I enjoyed a double duty. In the morning General Sickles and I led the escort from the White House to the Capitol. This took about two hours. Later in the day I had charge of a division of the veterans of both wars. When the day was over I found that I had been in the saddle seven hours. That ride, which inaugurated McKinley for the second time, was taken in my seventieth year.

For several years I had kept up the custom of riding on horseback. Accompanied by my friend Frederick Chamberlin, three times I rode through the mountains of Kentucky, Tennessee, and Virginia about the time of the annual Commencement of our Lincoln Memorial University. We habitually made twenty miles a day for a week's time.

At the next inauguration, 1905, I was requested by President Roosevelt to perform a similar part in commanding the veterans; this I gladly did, and was honored by a special review in front of the Capitol, which was given me by Lieutenant General Chaffee.

I may remark here that I participated in the canvass of 1900 for McKinley, making extensive trips and many addresses, mostly in the West, for McKinley and Roosevelt.

In 1904 I did the same for Roosevelt and Fairbanks, going as far as Colorado, but spending most of my time in New York and Brooklyn. I made a special point of sustaining Governor Higgins, whom some politicians wished to lay aside under false assumptions. [575] As he was a good man, I pleaded his case before the people with ardor. He was elected; he performed his duties during his term of office with marked sincerity and ability. His death has recently occurred, and I am glad to see that all parties now speak of him with esteem and praise.

This same year our daughter Bessie was married in Burlington, Vt., to Joseph Bancroft, of Wilmington, Del. Their little daughter Elizabeth is, at this writing, the youngest of the thirteen grandchildren.

Two years later my youngest son, Harry Stinson Howard, named for my beloved aid-de-camp, married, also in Burlington, Sue E. Hertz, and they now share in the Burlington home. Harry has been with me as secretary since my retirement from the army, and has ably assisted me in all my varied work. He has, in the meantime, graduated from the New York Law School, and been admitted to the Vermont bar.

In addition to lecturing I have spoken on Sundays at different churches and often on other days in behalf of the Lincoln Memorial University. Mine has been a busy life. Indeed, I have never been able to spend more than a week, and hardly that, at any watering-place or chosen spot for summer rest. Thus far my rest has been the rest of change.

It is very gratifying to me that personal strength has continued so long, and that I have been so well received and kindly treated in every part of the country. Recently I went to Atlanta, Ga., to be present at the unveiling of a monument to General W. H. T. Walker; it was erected on the spot where he fell on the Confederate side in the battle of Atlanta. McPherson's monument and his are the same in form, and about 600 yards apart. [576]

A large body of Confederate veterans received me with warmth and treated me as kindly as if I had belonged to them. I think that they recognize the fact that I have been trying hard to sow the.seeds of education, and help build up the places laid waste by war.

After many blessed years of married life, Mrs. Howard and I reached the crowning point, the fiftieth anniversary of our wedding, on February 14, 1905. The golden wedding is permitted to a comparative few, so we were grateful to Him who had sustained us through our eventful life, that we might celebrate the occasion together with so many of our family around us. We held a reception in New York, to which old friends came in the afternoon; and thirty-four-brothers, sisters, children, grandchildren, and cousins-dined together, all recording their names in the old family Bible — a wedding gift from Mrs. Howard's mother in 1855.

Amid the rejoicings of the happy event we missed the familiar faces of those who had preceded us to the Heavenly Home, and my brother Charles was the only one present who had stood with us fifty years before, when our life's achievements were still in the future.