Reminiscences of Pioneer Days in St. Paul Part 10

Among the many thousands left dead and dying on the blood-stained field of Pittsburg Landing there was one name that was very dear in the hearts of the patriotic people of St. Paul,--a name that was as dear to the people of St. Paul as was the memory of the immortal Ellsworth to the people of Chicago. Capt. William Henry Acker, while marching at the head of his company, with uplifted sword and with voice and action urging on his comrades to the thickest of the fray, was pierced in the forehead by a rebel bullet and fell dead upon the ill-fated field.

Before going into action Capt. Acker was advised by his comrades not to wear his full uniform, as he was sure to be a target for rebel bullets, but the captain is said to have replied that if he had to die he would die with his harness on. Soon after forming his command into line, and when they had advanced only a few yards, he was singled out by a rebel sharpshooter and instantly killed--the only man in the.

company to receive fatal injuries. "Loved, almost adored, by the company," says one of them, writing of the sad event, "Capt. Acker's fall cast a deep shadow of gloom over his command." It was but for a moment. With a last look at their dead commander, and with the watchword 'this for our captain,' volley after volley from their guns carried death into the ranks of his murderers. From that moment but one feeling seemed to possess his still living comrades--that of revenge for the death of their captain. How terribly they carried out that purpose the number of rebel slain piled around the vicinity of his body fearfully attest.

The announcement of the death of Capt. Acker was a very severe blow to his relatives and many friends in this city. No event thus far in the history of the Rebellion had brought to our doors such a realizing sense of the sad realities of the terrible havoc wrought upon the battlefield. A n.o.ble life had been sacrificed in the cause of freedom--one more name had been added to the long death roll of the nation's heroes.

Capt. Acker was born a soldier--brave, able, popular and courteous--and had he lived would undoubtedly been placed high in rank long before the close of the rebellion. No person ever went to the front in whom the citizens of St. Paul had more hope for a brilliant future. He was born in New York State in 1833, and was twenty-eight years of age at the time of his death. He came to St. Paul in 1854 and commenced the study of law in the office of his brother-in-law, Hon.

Edmund Rice. He did not remain long in the law business, however, but soon changed to a position in the Bank of Minnesota, which had just been established by ex-Gov. Marshall. For some time he was captain of the Pioneer Guards, a company which he was instrumental in forming, and which was the finest military organization in the West at that time. In 1860 he was chosen commander of the Wide-Awakes, a marching-club, devoted to the promotion of the candidacy of Abraham Lincoln, and many of the men he so patiently drilled during that exciting campaign became officers in the volunteer service in that great struggle that soon followed. Little did the captain imagine at that time that the success of the man whose cause he espoused would so soon be the means of his untimely death. At the breaking out of the war Capt. Acker was adjutant general of the State of Minnesota, but he thought he would be of more use to his country in active service and resigned that position and organized a company for the First Minnesota regiment, of which he was made captain. At the first battle of Bull Run he was wounded, and for his gallant action was made captain in the Seventeenth United States Regulars, an organization that had been recently created by act of congress. The Sixteenth regiment was attached to Buell's army, and partic.i.p.ated in the second day's battle, and Cat. Acker was one of the first to fall on that terrible day, being shot in the identical spot in the forehead where he was wounded at the first battle of Bull Run. As soon as the news was received in St. Paul of the captain's death his father, Hon. Henry Acker, left for Pittsburg Landing, hoping to be able to recover the remains of his martyred son and bring the body back to St. Paul. His body was easily found, his burial place having been carefully marked by members of the Second Minnesota who arrived on the battleground a short time after the battle. When the remains arrived in St. Paul they were met at the steamboat landing by a large number of citizens and escorted to Masonic hall, where they rested till the time of the funeral. The funeral obsequies were held at St. Paul's church on Sunday, May 4, 1862, and were attended by the largest concourse of citizens that had ever attended a funeral in St. Paul, many being present from Minneapolis, St. Anthony and Stillwater. The respect shown to the memory of Capt. Acker was universal, and of a character which fully demonstrated the high esteem in which he was held by the people of St.

Paul.

When the first Grand Army post was formed in St. Paul a name commemorative of one of Minnesota's fallen heroes was desired for the organization. Out of the long list of martyrs Minnesota gave to the cause of the Union no name seemed more appropriate than that of the heroic Capt. Acker, and it was unanimously decided that the first a.s.sociation of Civil war veterans in this city should be known as Acker post.

THE DEATH OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN.

The terrible and sensational news that Abraham Lincoln had been a.s.sa.s.sinated, which was flashed over the wires on the morning of April 15, 1865 (forty years ago yesterday), was the most appalling announcement that had been made during the long crisis through which the country had just pa.s.sed. Every head was bowed in grief. No tongue could find language sufficiently strong to express condemnation of the fiendish act. The entire country was plunged in mourning. It was not safe for any one to utter a word against the character of the martyred president. At no place in the entire country was the terrible calamity more deeply felt than in St. Paul. All public and private buildings were draped in mourning. Every church held memorial services. The services at the little House of Hope church on Walnut street will long be remembered by all those who were there. The church was heavily draped in mourning. It had been suddenly transformed from a house of hope to a house of sorrow, a house of woe. The pastor of the church was the Rev. Frederick A. n.o.ble. He was one of the most eloquent and learned divines in the city--fearless, forcible and aggressive--the Henry Ward Beecher of the Northwest. President Lincoln was his ideal statesman.

The members of the House of Hope were intensely patriotic. Many of their number were at the front defending their imperiled country.

Scores and scores of times during the desperate conflict had the eloquent pastor of this church delivered stirring addresses favoring a vigorous prosecution of the war. During the darkest days of the Rebellion, when the prospect of the final triumph of the cause of the Union seemed furthest off, Mr. n.o.ble never faltered; he believed that the cause was just and that right would finally triumph. When the terrible and heart-rending news was received that an a.s.sa.s.sin's bullet had ended the life of the greatest of all presidents the effect was so paralyzing that hearts almost ceased beating. Every member of the congregation felt as if one of their own household had been suddenly taken from them. The services at the church on the Sunday morning following the a.s.sa.s.sination were most solemn and impressive. The little edifice was crowded almost to suffication, and when the pastor was seen slowly ascending the pulpit, breathless silence prevailed. He was pale and haggard, and appeared to be suffering great mental agony.

With bowed head and uplifted hands, and with a voice trembling with almost uncontrollable emotion, he delivered one of the most fervent and impressive invocations ever heard by the audience. Had the dead body of the president been placed in front of the altar, the solemnity of the occasion could not have been greater. In the discourse that followed, Mr. n.o.ble briefly sketched the early history of the president, and then devoted some time to the many grand deeds he had accomplished during the time he had been in the presidential chair.

For more than four years he had patiently and anxiously watched the progress of the terrible struggle, and now, when victory was in sight, when it was apparent to all that the fall of Richmond, the surrender of Lee and the probable surrender of Johnston would end the long war, he was cruelly stricken down by the hand of an a.s.sa.s.sin. "With malice towards none and with charity to all, and with firmness for the right, as G.o.d gives us to see the right," were utterances then fresh from the president's lips. To strike down such a man at such a time was indeed a crime most horrible. There was scarcely a dry eye in the audience.

Men and women alike wept. It was supposed at the time that Secretary of State Seward had also fallen a victim of the a.s.sa.s.sin's dagger.

It was the purpose of the conspirators to murder the president, vice president and entire cabinet, but in only one instance did the attempt prove fatal. Secretary Seward was the foremost statesmen of the time. His diplomatic skill had kept the country free from foreign entanglements during the long and bitter struggle. He, too, was eulogized by the minister, and it rendered the occasion doubly mournful.

Since that time two other presidents have been mercilessly slain by the hand of an a.s.sa.s.sin, and although the shock to the country was terrible, it never seemed as if the grief was as deep and universal as when the bullet fired by John Wilkes Booth pierced the temple of Abraham Lincoln.

AN ALLEGORICAL HOROSCOPE

IN TWO CHAPTERS.

CHAPTER I.--AN OPTIMISTIC FORECAST.

As the sun was gently receding in the western horizon on a beautiful summer evening nearly a century ago, a solitary voyageur might have been seen slowly ascending the sinuous stream that stretches from the North Star State to the Gulf of Mexico. He was on a mission of peace and good will to the red men of the distant forest. On nearing the sh.o.r.e of what is now a great city the lonely voyageur was amazed on discovering that the pale face of the white man had many years preceded him. "What, ho!" he muttered to himself; "methinks I see a paleface toying with a dusky maiden. I will have speech with him." On approaching near where the two were engaged in some weird incantation the voyageur overheard the dusky maiden impart a strange message to the paleface by her side. "From the stars I see in the firmament, the fixed stars that predominate in the configuration, I deduce the future destiny of man. 'Tis with thee. O Robert, to live always. This elixer which I now do administer to thee has been known to our people for countless generations. The possession of it will enable thee to conquer all thine enemies. Thou now beholdest, O Robert, the ground upon which some day a great city will be erected. Thou art destined to become the mighty chief of this great metropolis. Thy reign will be long and uninterrupted. Thou wert born when the conjunction of the planets did augur a life of perfect beat.i.tude. As the years roll away the inhabitants of the city will multiply with great rapidity.

Questions of great import regarding the welfare of the people will often come before thee for adjustment. To be successful In thy calling thou must never be guilty of having decided convictions on any subject, as thy friends will sometimes be pitted against each other in the advocacy of their various schemes. Thou must not antagonize either side by espousing the other's cause, but must always keep the rod and the gun close by thy side, so that when these emergencies arise and thou doth scent danger in the air thou canst quietly withdraw from the scene of action and chase the festive bison over the distant prairies or revel in piscatorial pleasure on the placid waters of a secluded lake until the working majority hath discovered some method of relieving thee of the necessity of committing thyself, and then, O Robert. thou canst return and complacently inform the disappointed party that the result would have been far different had not thou been called suddenly away. Thou canst thus preserve the friendship of all parties, and their votes are more essential to thee than the mere adoption of measures affecting the prosperity of thy people. When the requirements of the people of thy city become too great for thee alone to administer to all their wants, the great family of Okons, the lineal descendants of the sea kings from the bogs of Tipperary, will come to thy aid. Take friendly counsel with them, as to incur their displeasure will mean thy downfall. Let all the ends thou aimest at be to so dispose of the offices within thy gift that the Okons, and the followers of the Okons, will be as fixed in their positions as are the stars in their orbits."

After delivering this strange astrological exhortation the dusky maiden slowly retreated toward the entrance of a nearby cavern, the paleface meandered forth to survey the ground of his future greatness and the voyageur resumed his lonely journey toward the setting sun.

CHAPTER II.--A TERRIBLE REALITY.

After the lapse of more than four score of years the voyageur from the frigid North returned from his philanthropic visit to the red man. A wonderful change met the eye. A transformation as magnificent as it was bewildering had occurred. The same grand old bluffs looked proudly down upon the Father of Water. The same magnificent river pursued its unmolested course toward the boundless ocean. But all else had changed. The hostile warrior no longer impeded the onward march of civilization, and cultivated fields abounded on every side.

Steamers were hourly traversing the translucent waters of the great Mississippi; steam and electricity were carrying people with the rapidity of lightning in every direction; gigantic buildings appeared on the earth's surface, visible in either direction as far as the eye could reach; on every corner was a proud descendant of Erin's n.o.bility, clad in gorgeous raiment, who had been branded "St. Paul's finest" before leaving the sh.o.r.es of his native land. In the midst of this great city was a magnificent building, erected by the generosity of its people, in which the paleface, supported on either side by the Okons, was the high and mighty ruler. The Okons and the followers of the Okons were in possession of every office within the gift of the paleface. Floating proudly from the top of this great building was an immense banner, on which was painted in monster letters the talismanic words: "For mayor, 1902, Robert A. Smith," Verily the prophecy of the dusky maiden had been fulfilled. The paleface had become impregnably intrenched. The Okons could never be dislodged.

With feelings of unutterable anguish at the omnipresence of the Okons, the aged voyageur quietly retraced his footsteps and was never more seen by the helpless and overburdened subjects of the paleface.

SPELLING DOWN A SCHOOL.

When I was about twelve years of age I resided in a small village in one of the mountainous and spa.r.s.ely settled sections of the northern part of Pennsylvania.

It was before the advent of the railroad and telegraph in that locality. The people were not blessed with prosperity as it is known to-day. Neither were they gifted with the intellectual attainments possessed by the inhabitants of the same locality at the present time.

Many of the old men served in the war of 1812, and they were looked up to with about the same veneration as are the heroes of the Civil War to-day. It was at a time when the younger generation was beginning to acquire a thirst for knowledge, but it was not easily obtained under the peculiar conditions existing at that period. A school district that was able to support a school for six months in each year was indeed considered fortunate, but even in these the older children were not permitted to attend during the summer months, as their services were considered indispensable in the cultivation of the soil.

Reading, writing and arithmetic were about all the studies pursued in those rural school districts, although occasionally some of the better cla.s.s of the country maidens could be seen listlessly glancing over a geography or grammar, but they were regarded as "stuck up," and the other pupils thought they were endeavoring to master something far beyond their capacity.

Our winter school term generally commenced the first week in December and lasted until the first week in March, with one evening set apart each week for a spelling-match and recitation. We had our spelling match on Sat.u.r.day nights, and every four weeks we would meet with schools in other districts in a grand spelling contest. I was considered too young to partic.i.p.ate in any of the joint spelling matches, and my heart was heavy within me every time I saw a great four-horse sleigh loaded with joyful boys and girls on their way to one of the great contests.

One Sat.u.r.day night there was to be a grand spelling match at a country crossroad about four miles from our village, and four schools were to partic.i.p.ate. As I saw the great sleigh loaded for the coming struggle the thought occurred to me that if I only managed to secure a ride without being observed I might in some way be able to demonstrate to the older scholars that in spelling at least I was their equal. While the driver was making a final inspection of the team preparatory to starting I managed to crawl under his seat, where I remained as quiet as mouse until the team arrived at the point of destination. I had not considered the question of getting back--I left that to chance. As soon as the different schools had arrived two of the best spellers were selected to choose sides, and it happened that neither of them was from our school. I stood in front of the old-fashioned fire-place and eagerly watched the pupils as they took their places in the line.

They were drawn in the order of their reputation as spellers. When they had finished calling the names I was still standing by the fireplace, and I thought my chance was hopeless. The school-master from our district noticed my woebegone appearance, and he arose from his seat and said:

"That boy standing by the fireplace is one of the best spellers in our school."

My name was then reluctantly called, and I took my place at the foot of the column. I felt very grateful towards our master for his compliment and I thought I would be able to hold my position in the line long enough to demonstrate that our master was correct. The school-master from our district was selected to p.r.o.nounce the words, and I inwardly rejoiced.

After going down the line several times and a number of scholars had fallen on some simple word the school-master p.r.o.nounced the word "phthisic." My heart leaped as the word fell from the school-master's lips. It was one of my favorite hard words and was not in the spelling book. It had been selected so as to floor the entire line in order to make way for the exercises to follow.

As I looked over the long line of overgrown country boys and girls I felt sure that none of them would be able to correctly spell the word.

"Next!" "Next!" "Next!" said the school-master, and my pulse beat faster and faster as the older scholars ahead of me were relegated to their seats.

At last the crucial time had come. I was the only one left standing.

As the school-master stood directly in front of me and said "Next," I could see by the twinkle in his eye that he thought I could correctly spell the word. My countenance had betrayed me. With a clear and distinct voice loud enough to be heard by every one in the room I spelled out "ph-th-is-ic--phthisic." "Correct," said the school-master, and all the scholars looked aghast at my promptness.

I shall never forget the kindly smile of the old school-master, as he laid the spelling book upon the teacher's desk, with the quiet remark: "I told you he could spell." I had spelled down four schools, and my reputation as a speller was established. Our school was declared to have furnished the champion speller of the four districts, and ever after my name was not the last one to be called.

On my return home I was not compelled to ride under the driver's seat.

HALF A CENTURY WITH THE PIONEER PRESS.

Pioneer Press, April 18, 1908:--Frank Moore, superintendent of the composing room if the Pioneer Press, celebrated yesterday the fiftieth anniversary of his connection with the paper. A dozen of the old employes of the Pioneer Press entertained Mr. Moore at an informal dinner at Magee's to celebrate the unusual event. Mr. Moore's service on the Pioneer Press, in fact, has been longer than the Pioneer Press itself, for he began his work on one of the newspapers which eventually was merged into the present Pioneer Press. He has held his present position as the head of the composing room for about forty years.

Frank Moore was fifteen years old when he came to St. Paul from Tioga county, Pa., where he was born. He came with his brother, George W.

Moore, who was one of the owners and managers of the Minnesotian. His brother had been East and brought the boy West with him. Mr. Moore's first view of newspaper work was on the trip up the river to St. Paul.

There had been a special election on a bond issue and on the way his brother stopped at the various towns to got the election returns.